It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(43)

Patricio scratched his chin. “I know you are right. I do. And I will tell her, but now is not the time, Lily. I know my mother, and just like your heart is broken, this will break hers. She deserves better.”

Oh Jeez. Why did he have to love his mommy so much, and why did I have to think it was so sweet? That being said, “Look, I know you wanted me to come here and meet everyone so that I might change my mind about us, but you need to believe me when I say that I’m not ready for a relationship. I never should’ve started dating you to begin with.”

“So you lied when you said you loved me.” I watched his face flush.

What a hothead. I mean, there was passion and then there was this. Impulsive, irrational, trigger-happy with the anger. It didn’t scare me, but not knowing when someone might lose their temper wasn’t conducive to a peaceful, stress-free life.

Maybe it’s an Italian thing. Still, it wasn’t a Lily thing.

“I think I loved the idea of us becoming more. I loved our friendship. I loved how you made me laugh and how we had so much fun together.” It had been easy with Patricio, and I suppose after having endured something so not-easy with Max I didn’t want to take any real risks with my heart again. Nevertheless… “Everything I said to you was true, and there was a moment that I could’ve seen us happy if we gave our friendship time to grow.”

“And now?”

“You know about now.” Max had kicked me to the curb. I was pregnant. I’d been arrested for punching his mother—the horror-show mascot—and I had no clue where my business stood. Max had bought my building and put it in my name so while that saved me from an immediate catastrophe, I couldn’t and wouldn’t accept charity from him. I either stood on my own two feet or I didn’t. Yeah, but now you’ll have someone else depending on you.

Christ. I lowered my head into my palms and groaned. “My life is a mess.”

Patricio placed his hands on my arms and squeezed gently. “It doesn’t have to be. I still love you, Lily. I don’t care if you were with him. All right, si. I do care, but I can let it go if I had you. Please do not give up on us.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I can’t think about this right now. I really can’t.” Everything was so fresh and raw. I felt drunk—sad drunk, not happy drunk—with emotional uncertainty that tinged everything around me with gray.

“Fine,” said Patricio. “Then think about it later. But remember that Maxwell Cole has shown you who he is and what he’s made of.”

And Patricio had shown me what he was made of. I mean, the guy called me a whore and wouldn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn’t return my calls, he’d lied to his family, and now he wanted to talk reconciliation?

Both men had an ugly side, and I couldn’t accept either of what I’d just seen.

“I should go now,” I said.

“Stay for breakfast? You do not want to miss my mother’s fresh hot chocolate. Please. And then I won’t bother you again.”

My mouth watered.

“Porfavore?” he batted his green eyes. “If not for us, then for the baby. I’m sure it’s hungry.”

I narrowed my eyes. Low blow. But it worked. “Okay. I’ll stay.”





The rest of Patricio’s family showed up shortly after he and I talked. I had to admit their banter—mostly in Italian and borderline comical when the hand gestures came into play—had given me a lift and a welcomed distraction from my dark as hell mood.

His mother, who spoke the best English out of all of them, enjoyed telling me about Patricio’s pet duck when he was little. Apparently, his older brother’s dog ate it, which had sparked a lifelong feud. Then she and his father squabbled about some little detail of the story, but even that made me chuckle. Everyone roasted each other, but I didn’t sense any lack of love. As for breakfast, some cookie type of thing with powdered sugar and chocolate drizzled on top went perfectly with the most delicious coco ever. I seriously didn’t understand how they were all of a normal weight and still ate like this.

After the end of the meal, I helped with dishes and then said my goodbyes.

“You come back tomorrow for lunch, si?” his mother asked as I removed my apron and folded the dishtowel while the children—ages eight to fifteen—played soccer in the yard and the men argued about what attraction to see first.

I looked at Patricio, feeling awkward.

“Lily has to work tomorrow, but she will try, Mama,” Patricio interjected on my behalf.

“Then when will we see you again? We must talk about the wedding. And soon, eh. Very soon!” She turned and smacked Patricio’s arm. I took that to mean that she wasn’t happy about him knocking me up before the wedding. Of course, he hadn’t knocked me up, and we weren’t getting married, so I took that as my cue. “Bye, all. It was a pleasure.” I scrambled out of there as fast as I could, wanting nothing more than to take a breath.

Let Patricio deal with his family and his lies. I had to worry about me now.



I didn’t know what Max had to do or give up to convince his mother to drop the charges, but she had. I’d gotten the news from Mr. Krane first thing Monday morning. It would’ve been great to have heard from Max, too, with a great explanation for his behavior or begging forgiveness, but that didn’t happen either.