“I’ve lived without it. It’s not that bad.”
Such a heavy silence crashed down upon the garden, the bees seemed to stop buzzing in the flowers.
“I love you, Gio.” Nonno’s eyes grew damp. “I have loved you since the moment I learned you were on the way. I failed you by not letting you know that. By allowing you to believe for a long time that no one loved you. That is a cross I will bear all the rest of my days. Don’t do that to Molly. Don’t withhold your heart because you’re angry or hurt. Don’t leave her wondering and feeling that emptiness you suffered.”
“She’s fine,” he said through his teeth. She had her mother. Her sister.
She wouldn’t have the baby she was carrying, though.
How did she imagine she could give it up? That was the real question that was pounding like a rusty nail behind his eyes. Her attachment to her sister and mother was indisputable. He had seen her with his own eyes looking for signs of the baby in her body—not with a critical eye, but with a tender look and a shaping touch of her hand, revealing anticipation. If he wasn’t so confused by her and her motives, he would have calledthatlove.
How did she think she could walk away from the baby after carrying it so close to her heart? Why would she put herself through such an agonizing ordeal?
“I’m not the one who walked out,” he said. “If she wants to talk to me, she knows how to reach me.”
He went into the villa and tried to put her out of his mind, but reminders cropped up over the next days and weeks. If it wasn’t the cautious way people spoke to him at the Genoa office, it was a visit to New York, where he kept thinking about how near he was to her mother and sister. He had fully expected to meet them the next time he was here.
After a few hollow days in that city, where he worked nonstop, trying to shorten his trip, he found himself staring out a window. Far below, a woman pushed her baby in a stroller. How far along was Molly? Was she well? He couldn’t help thinking of the morning she had fainted. He’d been so worried—
Damn it!That had been the morning he’d told her about the Zamos car crash, he realized. No wonder she had passed out with shock. What if they had died? Would that have prompted her to tell him everything? Would she still be engaged to him?
Not that he wished the Zamos couple dead. He hadn’t even pulled his deal with Rafael, only left it in limbo. Rafael wasn’t reaching out, either, and that suited Gio fine.
When he found himself pacing that evening, still brooding, he impulsively texted her mother.
I’d like to speak to you.
Her response came promptly.
Tomorrow would be better. Libby will be at school.
He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by her willingness to see him, but he replied,I’ll come to you. If this was a conversation he wanted to have over a video chat, he would have had it already.
The next morning, he drove himself into New Jersey, halfway to Pennsylvania, turned up a country road, then climbed a short, private driveway. The lawn was mowed, but the house was surrounded by encroaching woods and shrubs that could have used some aggressive pruning. The garden was in need of weeding, but it was filled with vibrant color. The house was modest and quaint, with a gable over the porch and a pot of flowers next to the front door.
“Gio.” Patricia opened the door before he knocked. “Come in. I just made coffee. Have a seat.” She waved at the overstuffed blue sofa that faced the television.
He stayed on his feet, glancing over the home office tucked into the corner next to the wood fireplace, then at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with both fiction and what looked like medical textbooks.
“How do you take it?” she called from the kitchen.
“Black is fine.”
She came out a moment later and set his mug on the coffee table. She was an older version of Molly with silver strands in her brunette hair and a similar build encased in comfortable jeans and a T-shirt. She turned the chair from the desk to face the sofa.
“I’m going to sit and drink mine, if you don’t mind,” she said as she sank into the chair. “I had a late delivery last night. I’ve only slept a few hours.”
“You should have said. I could have come at another time.”
“Do you mean that?” she asked against the rim of her cup.
“No,” he admitted. “Thank you for seeing me, even though it’s not convenient.” He was still on his feet, too restless to sit. “Is Molly well? Do you know?”
“As a rule, I take confidentiality very seriously.” She lowered her mug. “But I’ll put your mind at ease and say that I have no concerns around her health.”
He leaped on that comment. “But you have concerns.”
“She just ended a relationship that was very important to her. She’s in a situation that is very complicated and makes it awkward for her to come home. I wish she was here, so I could feed her chicken soup and watch rom-coms with her, but I can’t.” She shrugged and sipped her coffee again.