Page 44 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

Her voice cracked again. She was falling apart, sobbing, broken. He’d done this to her. He’d created this pain and he’d do anything to take it away, make things better. Make things right. “Forgive me, Clare.”

“I can’t.”

“Maybe not now—”

“Never.” She was crying so hard she hiccupped. “Did you think I would?”

“I’d hoped.”

“Then you’re a fool!”

He said nothing and his silence pushed her over the edge.

“Why?” she cried, leaning against a bookcase. “Why couldn’t you let me be happy?”

“I wanted you to know the truth—”

“We were doing well. We were happy. Rocco, for God’s sake, I was so happy with you. I loved being your wife. I thought finally it’s my turn for love and security, and now this? I can’t believe you had to do this. I can’t believe you felt it necessary to tell me this terrible history between you and your brother.”

He didn’t know what to say. He wished he had a good answer. He wished he understood himself. Because she was asking all the right questions. But they were questions he didn’t have an answer for. Why did he have to do this? Why when she was happy?

And just like that he knew.

Because he didn’t trust happiness. And he didn’t trust himself.

He didn’t feel like a good person and he needed her to love him for who he was, complex and complicated, lonely and confused, hopeful and afraid. He needed her love, and needed her to love him despite the stupid, selfish things he’d done.

Standing there, facing her, he realized that his hope was irrational. One didn’t just vomit out one’s sins—the crimes committed—and expect forgiveness. As she’d said, she wasn’t a priest, she couldn’t absolve him. And yet somehow he thought, hoped, she could forgive him. And still love him.

He needed her love.

He needed her.

He needed someone to know him, and accept him, flaws and all. Someone who’d say,You’re not a monster, Rocco.

But obviously he was. She was horrified and her disgust made him feel such shame.

He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn’t want to be the bad brother anymore. He loved her, and he loved Adriano, and he wanted to be a husband and father more than he’d ever wanted anything.

In his desire to have complete honesty, he broke her trust. In his desire to build a strong relationship, he’d destroyed the one they’d had.

He’d messed it all up. He destroyed her love. The truth had destroyed the love.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly, so quietly because if he’d spoken any louder his voice would crack and his pain would seep out, and he couldn’t embarrass himself further. He’d laid himself bare and he’d failed her...and Adriano. Adriano did not deserve any of this, either.

Clare leaned against the bookshelf, head bowed, and the heavy silence filled the dark library, weighting it. After long, painful minutes she exhaled. “I am, too,” she whispered, before walking out of the room.

Clare was in a hell of her own making. She’d agreed to marry Rocco for her son’s sake. That was why she’d married him. That had been the chief motivating factor. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have married. She had no need to marry, but once married to Rocco, she’d discovered how much she liked being married. How much she liked being his wife. How much she craved his touch.

She had enjoyed everything about their marriage—the companionship, the conversations, the meals together, the time spent with Adriano, and of course, the lovemaking. The lovemaking was unlike anything she’d known, and it made her feel young and alive, beautiful and vital. She’d been happy, so happy with him. But everything she thought was a lie built on a lie.

He’d married her under false pretenses.

He had not married her with Adriano’s best interests at heart. He’d married her to have her, as if she was a possession to be won. Claimed.

The betrayal was sickening. The betrayal changed everything. How could she look at Rocco and see him as she’d seen him before? He wasn’t the same person now. He wasn’t honest. He wasn’t a man she could admire, much less a man she trusted around her child.

There was no way to move forward with Rocco. She couldn’t imagine ever looking at him without seeing his selfishness. The ugliness. The absolute lack of morals and character.

---