Page 47 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

She frowned. “And the house? The palazzo?”

“Apparently he sold it. Close to two months ago.”

She dropped onto the edge of her couch. “The Cosentino home?”

“Yes. I heard about it through one of our staff. I checked into the story, wondering about the facts, and it seems they are true. The house was quietly sold to a private investor. Work is being done on the palazzo now. Some think it’s to be turned into a luxury hotel.”

Clare shuddered. She’d bought private homes that had been turned into resorts, but she’d never taken a private historic home and created a commercial property from it. “I don’t understand why he would sell his home. It doesn’t make sense. It was one day going to belong to Adriano. He said Adriano was the heir, and he was to inherit.”

“I believe, if I am correct, you told him to set you and Adriano free. I believe by selling the Cosentino palazzo he was doing just this—releasing you and Adriano from your ties and responsibilities to the Cosentino family.” Gio looked at her and waited, and after a minute had passed and there was only her silence, he excused himself.

Clare heard the door shut behind him, but she couldn’t make herself move. She was shocked, and horrified. Rocco had let the palazzo go? He’d left Rome entirely?

What in God’s name had Rocco done?

The week dragged by and May turned into June. Clare was tired of work, tired of the long nights, tired of trying to pretend she wasn’t missing Rocco, because she was missing him, even more if such a thing was possible.

During the day she could stay busy and distract herself with calls and meetings, discussing possible acquisitions, and then there was time with Adriano, and that was by far her favorite part of the day. She’d begun to let him stay up a little later just so they had more time together. But of course he eventually went to bed and it was during the long, quiet nights that Clare couldn’t escape herself, or her heartache.

Where had Rocco gone? What was he doing now? Did he ever think of her...of them?

One evening, exhausted, she wept into her pillow, the gorgeous pink diamond bracelet clutched tightly in her fist.

It took her a moment to realize Adriano was with her. “Mama, why are you crying?”

Clare sat up quickly, and setting the bracelet on the nightstand scrubbed her face dry. “I’m not,” she said, forcing a watery smile. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you eat enough dinner?” she asked, holding a hand out to him.

He climbed up onto her bed and settled into the crook of her arm. “I didn’t like it. I don’t like fish when it’s all mushy.”

“I didn’t think it was mushy,” she said, remembering that she’d had dinner at her desk tonight because of a late night meeting with the vineyard staff in California. “But it is a soft fish.”

“No more fish.”

“Fish is good for us.”

“Pizza is good for us,” he answered.

She laughed, and kissed his head. “You like other foods besides pizza. Gnocchi. Ravioli. Spaghetti.”

“Gelato. I love gelato.”

She felt some of the heaviness in her chest ease. “I like gelato, too.”

Adriano snuggled against her, his hand finding hers, fingers lacing tightly. For several minutes they just sat together comforting each other. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Where’s Papa Rocco?”

The pain returned with a vengeance, so sharp it felt like a knife between her ribs. “He’s traveling—”

“Still?”

“He works a lot. He owns many businesses and they all need to see him and speak to him.”

---