The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(41)

“God, I was such an asshole to you. I’m so sorry for how I treated you.”

Warm lips caress my forehead. “You didn’t know where I came from, just that I invaded your life. And let’s be honest, I liked your attention in whatever form it came.” He chuckles softly. “You’re so beautiful when you’re angry, amore mio.”

My love.

“I love you,” I tell him, softly and fervently.

I feel his smile against my hairline. “I know.” A sigh passes my ear. “When I was ten, my father’s abuse became more frequent and severe. I was hospitalized twice, once for broken ribs and then for a concussion. After the last time, my mother checked me out of the hospital and we fled to some friends of hers in Florence. A week later, he found us.”

Sebastian drags in a slow, trembling breath. His heart pounds fast; I feel the reverberations against my skin. Feeling helpless, I hold him and wait for the rest.

“I wasn’t there,” he continues. “I’d gone for a walk. Florence is so beautiful at night. I stood on the Ponte Vecchio, the oldest bridge in the city, and stared at the water of the Arno for hours. I remember feeling… free. Hopeful. My mother and I had spent the last days dreaming about a new life in the United States with her sister. Nona had bought us plane tickets—we planned to get visas. When I finally returned to the apartment, there were police everywhere and a crowd in the street.” Another slow breath as he wills out the words. “He’d gotten his hands on a gun, killed my mother and her friends, then turned the gun on himself.”

Blood roars in my ears. Already primed from earlier tonight, my tear ducts overflow. “Bast, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, don’t cry,” he soothes, smiling softly as he wipes tears from my face. “I survived. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Sniffling, I groan. “This is fucked up. I should be the one comforting you.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had many years to come to terms with it. I don’t want you to feel pain for me, Candace, but I’m grateful for your tears because it means you have all of me now. I always hoped—dreamed—that someday I’d stop being afraid of you long enough to give you the last piece. Tell me this doesn’t change how you feel, that you’re not ashamed of my past.”

I gape at him, shocked. “Are you kidding? Of course it doesn’t change how I feel. If anything, it makes me love you more. You’re an idiot.”

Sebastian cracks a smile, his sleepy eyes glittering with humor. “I’m glad my confession hasn’t dulled your tongue. I was worried you’d treat me differently.”

I smack his arm, but gently. Looking into his eyes, my own well again. “Jesus, I’m a weeping fool tonight.”

He kisses my nose, then pulls me closer, tucking my head beneath his chin. “You know, I’m still waiting for an explanation for that shit you pulled in L.A.”

I snuggle closer, kissing his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs into my hair. “It’s actually a relief to know I wasn’t the only one who was afraid.”

Inhaling a decadent mix of our scents, I admit, “I was terrified. You’ve always been my Achilles’ heel. The secret shadow in my heart. Honestly, I’m still terrified. Of a lot of things.”

“Seems like we’ve both spent years playing the part we thought was expected. What do you say we drop the act?”

“What does that mean?” I ask through a yawn.

“It means we finally let go of the idea that we don’t deserve to be happy.”

The words hang in the air, trembling with rightness. I think of the years I wasted trying to prove to the world I was a good person to make up for my family’s wealth. And the deeper issue of my worth—the one woven into my psyche since the death of my mother, since overhearing that phone call in my father’s office. The question of love’s validity.

Allowing my thoughts to ramble out my mouth, I murmur, “Remember when I told you that I don’t believe a love like my parents shared is possible for most of us?” He nods. “I’ve been angry for a long time, Bast. Bitter that my definition of love was a lie—if my father could betray my mother while she was dying, their love was bullshit. I guess what I’m finally realizing is that even if he didn’t break Mom’s heart—even if she never knew—I allowed it to break mine.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his focus, his acceptance and love. So I conclude, “I’m going to talk to him about it.”

His arms tighten. “Are you sure?”

I nod, then sniffle out a laugh. “I need to know. If I can forgive you for being a dick and breaking my heart in college, maybe I can find a way to forgive him, too.”

“No more breaking hearts,” he whispers. “No matter what, Candace, I’ll never leave you again.”

No matter what.

I choke out, “Even if—”

“Even if,” he interrupts. “You’re stuck with me. Deal with it.”

I relax against him, my fears melting away. “Gladly.”





27





Thanksgiving morning, I wake up to an empty bed. The guesthouse is quiet, no signs or sounds of life. For a few moments, I hang suspended in amorphous dread—last night was a terrible, beautiful fantasy.