Page 49 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

His voice, those words, made her heart knot and ache. She was creating pain for him, and the fact that she was determined to stay angry at him baffled her. She didn’t consider herself an angry person. She didn’t like holding grudges. So why was she?

And then she remembered how he’d sold the Cosentino palazzo and had left Rome, and her anger burned again. “I understand you’ve sold the palazzo. Why?”

He said nothing and she took several steps toward him. “How could you, Rocco? Why would you? It was Adriano’s heritage. It was the Cosentino family home. You could have at least discussed it with me not because I wanted it or needed it, but Adriano is the heir.”

“How could I discuss anything with you?” he said quietly. “There has been no contact. Anything I’ve sent to you has been returned. Any call blocked.”

She dropped onto a chair, stressed and exhausted and so confused. “Would you have talked to me about it?”

“Of course. You’re my wife.”

Not, you were my wife, but you are my wife.

Her eyes burned. “Why did you sell it then?”

“I don’t think he should have to inherit a place, and be forced to care for it. The palazzo is huge and expensive, it’s a constant financial drain, and it traps him to a place, it traps him to a history he might not want. I did this to protect him, to protect his future. Adriano deserves to choose his future. He should be able to have the life he wants, not the life he must inherit. The problem of being an heir, whether it’s to a title, an estate or a legacy, is that you are locked into choices made long before you were ever conceived, choices that can be an unbearable burden.”

“You found being a Cosentino a burden?”

“When Marius was alive, it wasn’t a burden. The palazzo was expensive, there were always plumbing and electrical issues, there were ongoing repairs, and big gardens require tremendous care. But I didn’t mind then because it was for Marius, because we shared a legacy, and we shared the past. Once he was gone...it was an anchor, and not a good one. I was a caretaker for these immense estates, a conservator for wealth that I’d never spend, and there was no purpose for it—”

“Adriano.”

“I didn’t know he existed then. I didn’t realize there was another generation.”

“But you do now, and you’ve sold the Cosentino palazzo!”

“One’s life shouldn’t be spent caring for things.” He hesitated before adding, “It should be spent caring for people.”

His words made her heart ache. She had never been included in her father’s circle, she knew little about the people—or things—important to him.

For her, her legacy would be her son, and yes, Rocco was right. Adriano should have freedom to choose his path without being burdened with the relics of a past long gone.

Rocco had done Adriano a favor. She just hadn’t understood it at the time.

“What if he should want it in the future?” she asked. “What if he should want that responsibility?”

“Then he will have an opportunity to have it back. The palazzo isn’t exactly sold. It’s only been leased, albeit, a twenty-year lease to the Italian government. They plan to use it as a museum to house art collections by Italy’s twentieth-century artists. The gardens will be open to the public as well, so nothing will be destroyed, everything will be taken care of so should Adriano choose, at the age of twenty-three, to keep his home, the palazzo will be his. And should he want to sell it to the government, they have indicated they would like to own it. But it’s up to him. The palazzo is his, held in the Cosentino trust, of which he is the beneficiary.”

She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected any of this. “So you didn’t sell his birthright.”

“It’s not mine to dispose of. He is the future, but that means he chooses his future.”

She studied his face, seeing the fatigue there. “You never had that choice, did you?”

He shrugged. “He is Marius’s son. But I love him as if he were my own.”

Clare blinked back tears, aware that for a time, Adriano was his. She rose, and paced, running a hand across her face, drying her eyes. “I’ve been so angry with you,” she said, pacing back toward him, “for months now. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling this way about someone I once loved.”

She saw how he flinched at that and she hated that her words hurt him. She hadn’t meant to inflict more pain now. It was time for change. Clare was tired of being angry, tired of grieving; life was too short for all this unhappiness.

“How are you?” she asked him. “Really?”

“Now that you are here, I am better,” he answered. “And you? How are you,cara?”

She searched his lovely silver eyes so full of sorrow and shadows. “I am better,” she whispered, “now that I am here.”

“You haven’t changed,” he said after a moment, lips quirked. “You wouldn’t come because you needed me, but you’ve come because Adriano did.”

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