The Broken One (Corisi Billionaires, #1)(56)

“I’m not a psychologist—but I wonder if being left by your mother hasn’t made you a little . . . proactive when it comes to cutting people out of your life. Do you think pushing them away is better than being afraid they’ll leave you?”

“You’re right, Erica. You’re not a psychologist. I’m past being affected by anything my mother did.”

“Are you? Before you deny it again, I just want you to consider that everything we do teaches our children something. Ava has a grandfather she doesn’t know. I hope she doesn’t one day have children who don’t know you.”

I gasped as if sucker punched. “That would never happen.”

Erica just held my gaze.

My eyes misted. “My father didn’t approve of me adopting Ava. You think I’d want him around her after that?”

“You want to protect Ava; I get it. People make mistakes, though. They say things they regret. I just hope that if I ever say something stupid, I won’t be the next one you refuse to talk to.”

“I promise you, if we ever argue, I will come back for advice on how to make up with you.” I sniffed. Erica knew me better than anyone else did. If she thought she was one argument away from being cut out . . . what did that say about how I was living my life? And about what Ava was learning from me?

I’d told myself that I’d left the past in the past.

Maybe I hadn’t.

Maybe I was still as confused as I accused Sebastian of being.

“If we ever do fight, I’ll leave my door open for that talk.” Erica leaned over and gave one of my hands a pat. “Just don’t accuse me of making your junk itchy. Apparently that’s a trigger for me.”

I chuckled.

“Now”—Erica lowered her voice and leaned closer—“tell me about this house he took you to . . .”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT



* * *



SEBASTIAN

After a restless night, breakfast with my mother wouldn’t have been my first choice, but she wanted to hear about my trip, and I had told my brothers they wouldn’t see me back at the office that week. Time out of work was supposed to be relaxing, but I had only been back in my apartment for a day, and I was already climbing the walls.

As I entered my parents’ home, my mother rushed over. I ducked down so she could give my forehead a big hand-on-either-side-of-my-face kiss. “Morning, Mom.”

She stepped back and looked me over. “You look tired.”

“Jet lag.”

“Are you hungry?” she said as she led me toward the kitchen. I wasn’t, but she would fill a plate with food for me regardless of what I said.

“Sure.” I settled down at the counter of the kitchen island. She handed me a cup of steaming coffee.

“So how was Montalcino?”

“Nice. I didn’t understand much Nonna said, though. My Italian is rusty.”

My mother set a heaping plate of eggs in front of me. “She might also not be speaking clearly. She’s ninety-two. When you’re ninety-two, we’ll see how well you speak.”

I blew on the coffee. “Did you tell her to fatten me up? I probably put on five pounds from all that homemade pasta.”

That pleased my mother. “That’s how you know she loves you. I’m glad you went to see her. At her age, every year we have her is a gift.”

I nodded. “Curious, though, I didn’t see any table wine while I was there. Not once. No after-dinner digestif either.”

My mother sat on a stool on the other side of the island. “That is curious.”

“It was almost as if they’d been told I couldn’t be around alcohol.” When my mother didn’t deny her involvement, I added, “Mom, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“A mother’s job is to worry about her babies. I don’t care how old you are, Sebastian; you’ll always be my baby.”

I smiled down at my coffee. Parts of my life had gone very wrong, but I knew how blessed I was that other parts were very, very right. I could imagine Heather saying something similar to Ava. She was a good mother, a good person.

I groaned.

My mother sighed. “Sebastian, you have always been my most serious child. You’ve also always assumed responsibility for things even if they weren’t your fault. When you were little, if your brothers fell, to you it was your fault for not keeping them safer. You’re not God, Sebastian. You can’t control the twists and turns life takes.”

“I know.”

“Talk to me. What were you hoping to find in Montalcino?”

I shook my head, then admitted, “Some of who I used to be. I don’t like who I’ve become.”

She bustled around the kitchen, then placed a freshly baked piece of bread next to the plate of food I still hadn’t touched. “You’re too hard on yourself, son. We’ve all made mistakes. We all have things we wish we could go back and do differently. You can’t let that define you. Who is this Sebastian you don’t like? The one who married a woman he loved? Worked hard to provide for her? Do you dislike the loving son, the one who put his pain aside to build a good life for all of us? I look at you, and I don’t see anything I would change.”