The Broken One (Corisi Billionaires, #1)(18)

Sheer determination carried us through those first few years. Looking back, I don’t know why Therese married me. We’d met and fallen in love in college, but my focus after graduation had turned toward my obligation to my parents and siblings. My brothers had graduated without loans, because that had been one of my priorities. My parents had moved into a house in a safer community, because providing for them was a matter of pride for me.

Sebastian Romano—provider for his family.

Therese had never complained about the long hours I worked or how little of me was left for her at the end of the day. Despite having a degree, she had accepted my preference that she not work after we were married.

I’d had an image in my mind of what my family was supposed to be and what my role was in it. I provided. I protected. She managed the house. Had she been happy with the arrangement?

I never asked her.

My arrogance and single mindedness had cost me the opportunity of rectifying that or making the changes that would have brought her real joy. She hadn’t complained the day I told her I couldn’t take her to the doctor. It hadn’t been the first time I’d put work above going, and she’d never questioned my decisions.

What did that say about our marriage?

What did it say about me?

I’d had five years to think about it.

Five years to regret not having been the husband Therese deserved.

I read an email, then read it again, too lost in my own thoughts to care what it said. Two days past the anniversary of her death, I wasn’t supposed to still be floundering.

“Mr. Romano?” Miss Steele asked via the intercom on my desk phone.

“Yes?” I growled.

“A courier just delivered a package. Should I bring it in to you?”

“I didn’t order anything.”

“It looks like a gift.”

A gift? My birthday was months away. None of the women I’d been with recently were the gift-giving type. It was likely a mistake. “Double-check the name. It’s probably for one of my brothers.”

“I did. Your name is on the card.”

“Bring it in.” I wasn’t getting anything productive done anyway.

I met Miss Steele at the door of my office. She handed me a gift-wrapped square box about twelve inches in diameter. There were two cards taped to the top of it. My name clearly printed on each: one in an adult’s handwriting, one in a child’s.

I didn’t want it. I almost handed it back to Miss Steele.

She was smiling, though. “I bet it’s from the family you returned the stuffed animal to yesterday. How adorable is that? She had her daughter write you a note too.”

Adorable.

My stomach churned.

Refusing the gift would raise more questions than I wanted to field again. I thanked my secretary and put the box on a table in my office. I could always dispose of it later.

Yesterday was done and gone. All the gift had achieved was to remind me I owed the woman an apology. Was that why she’d sent it? Best way to make an asshole feel even worse about himself? Send him a gift?

I returned to my desk and forced myself to refocus on work. I was engrossed enough that I didn’t notice anyone had entered until my brother’s voice surprised me.

“Just checking in about the acquisition. It seems to be going as expected,” Mauricio said from just inside my office.

I stood and crossed to where he was standing. “That’s my take on it. I don’t foresee it being any different than what we’ve encountered before.”

“Good,” he said, rocking back on his heels. Although there was no mistaking that we were brothers, he had our mother’s brown hair and brown eyes. He also had her smile, which he’d used to charm nearly all the single women in our hometown of Brookfield. If he’d spent half as much time on business as he did with his endless string of lovers, he’d still be running the family company. Like my father, the ruthless business gene must have been recessive in him. He did, however, like the lifestyle having money allowed him—fast cars, wild parties, travel.

He was a good face for the company, though. He could clean up and present himself well. Men and women alike enjoyed his company. Having him around saved me from attending business-related social events.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked as he spotted the gift box on the table.

I cursed myself for not stashing it in the closet. “A thank-you from the woman with the stuffed animal.” No reason to hedge, the truth was obvious from the notes still attached to the top.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“I’m working.”

He tore one of the envelopes from the box. Ava’s. “You should at least read the notes. Mind if I do?” He opened it without giving me time to respond one way or the other and read it aloud: “Dear Mr. Romano, thank you for . . . I think the next word is beginning . . . no, bringing . . . thank you for bringing Wolfie home to me. Thank you for being so nice to him. You are my hemo . . . oh, hero.” Mauricio laughed and waved the letter at me. “You’re her hero. That is the sweetest thing. I might cry.”

Mauricio had taught me early that it was possible to love someone and want to smack the shit out of them. That luxury had departed along with childhood—sadly.

He reached for the second card. “This one must be from the woman Mom says is perfect for you. Helene? Hailey?”