Chapter 18

I stood outside Matteo’s studio, a stone section of building situated on a busy corner. It had no letters and no sign anywhere. Black and white art hung in two large windows flanking the double doors were the only indication of its wares, although the doors themselves looked to be works of art as well. Planks of wood offset at a diagonal made up most of the surface and wrought iron designs lined the outside, likely holding the wood together. Above the doors stood a section of glass panels in the shape of a half flower. On either side of the doorways were contemporary, squared-off columns. Like the designer took Rome’s history and made it his or her own, both honoring and updating it all at once.

One of the doors opened and a couple stepped out, revealing the interior of the building. At least a dozen people browsed the art on the walls, all dressed in conservative and expensive gala attire.

I looked down at my rose pink gown and smoothed the silk. The dress hung off-shoulder with a slight notch in the center, accentuating my assets. A high slit ran up past my thigh on the left leg, and I held the other side of the skirt bunched in my hands so the hem wouldn’t sweep the dirty streets. My matching pink high heels with ankle straps made me feel flirty and fun, and I held a simple black clutch containing my phone and wallet. Everything screamed prom queen and not necessarily Italian gala material, but I didn’t care. I’d done it—shopped alone in Rome, put together an outfit, and made it here only a few minutes late. If I stood out like a tattooed biker at church, so be it.

I felt like a princess.

Taking a deep breath, I yanked the door open and stepped inside, letting my dress fall to the floor. Indeed, the other attendees—all dressed in black, might I add—glanced my way before letting their eyes settle on my gown.

Yes, I know. One of these things is not like the other. I looked past them, searching for a familiar face in the crowd.

As the whispers began and figures moved aside so I could enter, the art on the walls caught my eye. Clean, crisp frames and thick white mattes kept the focus on sections of Rome—crumbling ruins in the background with shoots of green coming up in front. The new contrasted with the old, all thoughtfully composed and captured in Matteo’s careful, meticulous way.

What a fool he must have thought me as I struggled to get good photos with my old camera. He stood there, a professional photographer, and said absolutely nothing. I could punch him. The guy had probably earned dozens of awards with these.

The majority of the crowd stood near the back wall, where a massive print hung. I could only see the top above the attendees’ heads, so I pushed forward, ignoring the irritated mutters of those I passed. Then I stopped as the art unfolded fully in my view, yanking a startled “Oh” from my throat.

A distant medieval castle emerged from a green valley, framed perfectly by trees. Birds traveled toward it from the right and a burst of flowers filled much of the photo. Matteo hadn’t bothered with black and white with this one. Instead, a burst of brilliant color filled nearly every inch of the frame. The contrast between spring color and the more muted stone of history made for a beautiful pairing. New and old, fleeting and permanent. Just like Rome itself. A poem in a single photograph. If this was how Matteo saw the world, I was in serious danger of losing my heart here and now. I had to remind myself to breathe.

“Il Parco della Caffarella,” Matteo said, appearing at my side. “My favorite place in Rome. I even sneak there at night to look at the stars sometimes.”

My voice was a whisper. “Not ruins and not a church, but the outdoors. The perfect place for a wedding.”

He nodded. Just like his art, I detected a world of meaning in those dark brown eyes. Layers beyond layers. His usual confidence, of course, flanked by doubt and a little bit of fear. Surprise and delight at seeing me here, dressed like this. Concern and hope for what this meant. All emotions likely reflected in my own eyes.

We knew what lay in the past. But could there also be a future for us?

“You’re here,” he said softly.

“I did some research,” I said. “You know this studio makes the whole put-down-the-camera-and-see-Rome-with-your-own-eyes thing a little weird, right?” I grinned to cover my sudden breathlessness at seeing him in a well-tailored, expensive tuxedo that brought out the broadness in his shoulders. Even the way he moved, so confident and at ease, made my legs weak. The man could compete with anyone Hollywood placed in front of me, hands down.

“You have to see Rome with all of your senses first. It’s only after you know her well that you can capture parts of her like this.” He didn’t motion to the art, instead keeping his eyes firmly on me as if nobody else in the room existed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the crowd backing up to give us space, their whispers growing louder.

“I want to know Rome that well,” I said softly. “And you too. But that would require time.”

Hope sprang to his dark eyes. “Yes, it would.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

He took a step forward and slid his hand around my waist. It sent a tingle of pleasant shivers across my body in every direction. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

My voice was barely audible now. “You never asked me to stay.”

He blinked, understanding finally dawning. Hope swelled in his eyes as he stared into mine. I closed the distance between us, placed my hands on his chest beneath his tux’s bow tie, and slid them upward to hook around his neck. Then I pulled his head downward toward mine.

His mouth slammed onto mine just as it had the first time. Our lips communicated in perfect unison, exploring and enjoying every microsecond together. One of his hands slid below my waist, bringing me firmly closer, while the other lifted to my jaw, stroking my cheek, turning my face so he could reach me more easily.

I really could kiss this man forever.

The crowd around us murmured. A smattering of applause began and rose in volume. A couple of people hooted in approval.

Matteo’s mouth lifted into a grin as he pulled away and placed his forehead against mine.

“Jillian Travell,” he said. “Would you?—”

“I thought we were over this,” a woman’s voice snapped from the doorway.

Every pair of eyes in the room swung to find a stern-looking woman dressed in a simple black gown shooting invisible eye- daggers at us. She wore her black hair in an elegant bun and parted down the middle to bring emphasis to a pair of large brown eyes. Matteo’s eyes.

She strode across the room and halted in front of us. Matteo flinched.

“You want to know why I chose you to take over the business, Matteo? You’re the dependable, predictable one who never makes the same mistake twice. Until today.”

“Mother,” Matteo said, his voice deep and strained. “This is not the time nor place for this discussion.”

Her reply tore sharply from deep red, frowning lips. “It’s both, because I’m not leaving until you’ve heard what I have to say.”

“Then we’ll discuss this in my office.” He grabbed my arm and practically yanked me along, past the wall with the large print and around the corner to a room with a glass desk and several black chairs. I walked in a daze, feeling a swell of anger. How could she embarrass her grown son like this, in front of his customers? She even spoke in English, as if she wanted me to understand every single insult.

Matteo released me and held the door for his mother, closing it just as she entered. “Jillian is not Clara. You can’t cut me off from the family and then walk in here making demands at my first event.”

“I came to invite you back into the family.” Her eyes swept my pink dress with obvious disapproval. “I’ve seen your art being distributed and had a change of heart. I want you to continue your work here.”

He blinked. “You do?”

“Of course. If photography makes my son happy, it makes me happy. We have a long tradition of artists in the family, and I’m pleased to see you join them. I hope you’ll consider moving back into the estate very soon.”

“Move back in?” he repeated, looking positively floored.

I knew what this would mean for him. No more sneaking around his own house. He could focus on his work wholeheartedly and keep his relationship with Nonni and Vivi. He could keep his inheritance. Everything awry in his life would be fixed.

Everything except for one.

“Move back in,” his mother said again. “Keeping our family together is the most important thing. I was a fool, Matteo, for reacting as I did. Please forgive me. Leave this nonsense behind and come home.”

If she didn’t refer to his photography as nonsense, then I was the nonsense. Just me. Matteo could have his entire family back, but clearly I had no place in it.

Matteo frowned, looking back and forth between us. “Of course I forgive you, but?—”

“Your grandmother will be so pleased. She’s been terribly lonely since you left, and Vivi has been concerned about some of the choices you’ve made since then. As a family, we can continue the strong Italian traditions that would make your father proud.”

This woman was an expert at hinting without actually saying. She could be a politician. The export business probably required a lot of the same skills. Regardless, her meaning wasn’t lost on me. By Matteo’s pursed lips, he didn’t miss it either.

“I know you didn’t like Clara,” I said. “But Matteo is right—I’m different.”

“Yes, I can see that.” She frowned at my dress, and I suddenly felt less like a princess and more like a kindergartener playing dress-up. “But not in the most important way. Perhaps you haven’t done your research, Matteo. I know more about this young woman than you do. One mistake of social media ‘influencers’ is that they post far too much about their lives than they should. Have you seen her account, son?”

“Of course I have. She’s very talented.” His earlier defensiveness was back.

“And you’ve seen the photos of her past?”

Matteo looked at me, then away. “Yes.”

“Then you’ve seen the problem. No less than eight boyfriends, none of whom lasted longer than a month. She didn’t even try to hide it.” She turned to me. “Did you?”

I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it as my stomach sank in my gut.

“I’m aware,” Matteo said.

“Vivi was concerned about your repeating past mistakes, so she did some research. This woman’s last boyfriend, on his Instagram account, called her incapable of having a deep relationship. He said she simply refused to commit and would never invest in something that could lead to marriage.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “My dear son, I’m here to save you from yourself. After this event, we are packing up your belongings and going home.”

His hand went slack in mine, then pulled away. He looked as if he’d been slapped. “Jillie, tell her that she’s wrong.”

I swallowed hard, looking at Matteo’s pained expression and his mother’s triumphant one. “That may be my past, but I want my future to be different. It’s why I came. I think it can be different this time.”

“You think?” Matteo repeated.

“She thinks,” his mother repeated with a groan. “Come, Matteo. Let her play games with someone else. You’re an Italian heir with a long, upstanding history of culture and art and a bright future. You deserve far better than a poverty-stricken American girl from a broken family. We’ll find you someone far better.”

I felt as if I’d been sliced open, flayed, and scraped clean from the inside. My joy just five minutes earlier was nothing but a memory. I’d come to try, to offer myself, and his mother had effectively ruined everything.

“You could be right. I might be all those things, if they matter to you.” I turned to Matteo. “But they didn’t matter to you, so I’ll say this. I want you. I choose you , which is huge for me. Except I’m on this trip with my sisters and I’m learning how important family is. I don’t want to pull you away from yours. I want to be a part of them, actually. You made me fall in love with your family and your city and you, all at the same time. I hoped there would be a small place for me in all of that.” I paused, gathering the strength to say the last part. “But if you can’t have your family and me, and you have to choose one . . . choose them.”

It could have been my imagination, but his mother’s expression softened ever so slightly. Maybe Clara would have yanked Matteo from the room and stalked out. Maybe that’s what I should have done. By this time tomorrow, I might regret not doing that. But I didn’t want Matteo to choose me unless he was willing to give everything. Because, for the first time in my life . . . I was.

He looked at his mother, then back at me. His mouth opened, then shut again. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Broken hearts didn’t always happen with yelling and a door slamming. Sometimes they happened in complete silence, without a single word being spoken.

“Goodbye,” I whispered. I gave the man I loved one last glance and left the room.

I walked through the studio, numb to the curious gazes of Italians who parted to make my path toward the exit. A whisper or two peppered the air, but as a whole, nobody spoke as I stepped into the darkness of night alone.

It didn’t take long to find the pizza place. I almost wanted it to be across town so I wouldn’t have to go. But a deep, terrible part of me also wanted a parent right now. Mom was gone and my sisters were probably back on the ship by now. Dad was the next best thing, as weird as that sounded.

I found him at a table near the window, a full pizza spread in front of him. Not Neapolitan, as most pizzas were in Rome. This one had far more toppings. His head, however, seemed the opposite—he’d definitely lost hair over the past decade. A ring of hair above the ears was all that remained. His shoulders were more stooped than I remembered too, as if tired from carrying a heavy burden. Of guilt, hopefully.

As I took a seat across from him, he looked up in surprise. A wide, relieved smile crossed his face, crossed with confusion at my outfit. Other than the baldness and stopped shoulders, he looked much the same. It felt odd, seeing a slightly different version of that face in person, after everything.

“Since when do you like Capricciosa pizza?” I asked, taking note of the ham, mushrooms, artichoke, olives, and single egg sitting on top. He liked pretty much none of those things except the ham. I set my clutch in an empty part of the table and scooted my chair forward, lifting the hem out of the way.

“The menu was in Italian,” he said with a shrug, handing me a plate. “Since when do you wear dresses like that on vacation?”

“I had an event. They have translation apps now, you know.” I scooped myself a slice. “Same with these things they call phones, for calling your family.” I didn’t hide the bitterness in my voice.

“And voicemail, which I’m all too familiar with.” His smile grew apologetic now. “I wouldn’t have blamed you for not coming.”

“I almost didn’t.” To be honest, I still wasn’t sure whether I should be here. This reconciliation felt like a betrayal of the family we’d made without him. “Where’s your wife?”

“With her new husband on their honeymoon in Barbados.” He stared at his food.

Ah. Divorce explained the whole change of heart thing. “And the kids?”

“With her parents in New Orleans. They’ve always preferred living there anyway.” He picked at a piece of crispy crust on his plate, detached and forgotten. He always had eaten the cheesy part and ignored the crust.

“Won’t you miss them?” I asked, surprised he could talk about them so callously. Well, maybe not surprised. Just disappointed.

“I love and miss all my children, Jillie,” he said sharply. “I know you don’t want to believe that, but it’s true.”

My voice was flat. “I believe what I see.”

“You’re an adult. Things are more complicated than that. If it weren’t for the court order, I would have called you every week.”

I paused, my mouth full of pizza, and swallowed it whole. “Court order?”

“Of course. The one your mom got, to keep me from contacting you girls. I still did once in a while, hoping she wouldn’t find out and get me in trouble. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for stealing you two from me.”

Wait. This made no sense. “You’re saying that Mom got a judge to sign off an order keeping us apart? But what about Alexis?”

“She was supposed to be with your mom too, but we both agreed it was what Alexis wanted. Heaven knows what your mother told the judge to get him to keep a man from his own children.”

I tried to imagine Mom lying to the judge and came up blank. Whatever her reasoning, it was real. Mom wanted what was best for us through all of it, even if that meant losing Dad. I couldn’t doubt her now. “Mom wasn’t a liar.”

He snorted. “Your mother was a lot of things, God rest her soul, but a saint wasn’t one of them. Good thing nobody found out the truth of it while she was alive.”

My chest could hardly contain the pain of tonight’s events. First Matteo, and now Dad trying to tell me my mom was a liar and a cheat. “I don’t want to know.”

“I don’t want to tell you, either. Better to remember her as a victim of her horrible ex-husband, like everyone else does.” He took a sip of wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Regardless, she can’t stop me from having a relationship with you now.”

We had no relationship, and I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t lying about all of this. “Are you really going to contact Alexis and Kennedy?”

“Soon enough. I knew you’d handle it the best, since you always were the most easygoing of the bunch. You remember how it was. You and me, best buddies.”

I wanted to shove my plate away and never eat again. “You abandoned me on my birthday.”

He ducked his head. “Yeah, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that. Didn’t mean to ruin your birthday with what happened. I can’t take it back, but I want to celebrate your birthdays with you going forward. It’s unfair that we both missed out on that.”

Yeah, right. I couldn’t imagine Dad setting a birthday cake in front of me, all lit with candles, any more than I could imagine Matteo walking through that door and begging me to come back. Adulthood may be complicated, but it was also simple too.

“You know what’s unfair?” I folded my arms. “Having a father who’s close one day and then leaves you behind the next. Who then completely ignores the fact that you exist for ten years and replaces you with the boys he always wanted. Who shows up one day on your vacation and tries to blame the whole thing on your mom when she’s the one who actually cared enough to stay.”

“Honey, I tried.”

“Is that what trying looks like? Packing a bag and stealing a daughter?”

“Alexis wanted to come with me. She was angry at Mom for what she did. Frankly, so was I. In my grief, I couldn’t see another way out.”

“You know what? Fine.” I slapped the table and leaned forward. “Obviously you want to tell me what she did. So tell me.” I didn’t want to hear it from his lips, but the only person who could really make me understand was no longer around.

He mirrored my movement, leaning over his plate of pizza with a smirk. “When I got home from work one day, Alexis was crying on the front porch. Mom had brought her to soccer practice early. When she arrived, her coach disappeared. She found them kissing behind a tree.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the face. An affair was always in the back of my mind, but having it confirmed like this slammed everything into perspective. “Mom and Alexis’s soccer coach. You’re sure?”

“I went to confront him that night. He didn’t deny it. Apparently they dated in high school, and she had some sob story about being unhappy in her marriage or whatever. He swore that was the first and only time, that he initiated it, that she cut it off and told him to leave her alone. Said she seemed so vulnerable, he couldn’t help himself. I almost punched him in the nose then and there for lying. Who knows how many months that went on before they got caught?”

Or the coach could have been telling the truth—maybe they had a moment of closeness and the man took advantage of it as some men did. Either way, Dad’s story may have set himself up as the jilted husband, but it also explained Mom’s guilty behavior afterward. That much I remembered. My brain accepted it all, filing it away and looking backward at my past in a new light.

Knowing didn’t make me feel any better.

“You should have told me,” I said. “I was fourteen, not four. I would have understood. I might have even come with you.”

He paused, and I detected something new in his eyes.

Guilt.

In that moment, I knew. “That’s why, isn’t it? You didn’t tell me and Kennedy because we might have come with you. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep our family together. You wanted a fresh start.”

He swallowed and fixed his gaze on a billboard across the street. “Not exactly.”

Another thought hit me, and my stomach flipped at the very horror of it. “You wanted to punish Mom. Leaving her with two children meant she would mourn the third for the rest of her life.” And she had done exactly that. “Besides, with two daughters relying on her financially, she’d be too busy and overwhelmed to pursue another relationship.” And she never had. Not with the soccer coach, not with anyone.

Dad’s eyes returned and he studied me, looking disappointed. “You and I were close once. I thought that you, of any of them, would understand.”

“Because I’m the youngest and therefore easiest to manipulate.”

He said nothing.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “That’s what I thought.” I stood and started to walk away.

“Look, Jillie?—”

I whirled on him. “Don’t call me that. My nickname is for family only.”

“What family?” He sounded incredulous. “Your two sisters? Your mother is gone. I watched the funeral online and everyone weeping, like she was an angel in disguise. Even your grandfather, with all his secret millions he refused to let anyone else touch.”

I went rigid. And stared at the man. “Wait. You knew about Grandpa?”

“Of course I knew, but that doesn’t matter. The family we once had is gone, but with you three girls, we can create something new. Something better.”

Dad knew about Grandpa’s millions. The millions he wouldn’t let anyone else touch. Anyone . . . or Dad?

The pieces all fell into place like a magical puzzle. Dad’s new marriage failing. The timing of his reaching out to me to “get the family back together.” It couldn’t be a coincidence. The very thought made me feel sick inside.

“How did you really know we were in Rome?” I asked carefully. “Don’t tell me you were on my social media, because we both know you weren’t.” He hated that stuff.

Dad shrugged, but it looked forced. “I stopped by the house to talk to you but nobody answered, so I asked a neighbor where you were.”

I groaned inwardly. Dad was no fool. We could never afford an expensive trip on our own, just weeks after our grandfather’s death. It wouldn’t take too long to put it all together.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You lost a bunch of money in the divorce and you need a loan.”

He stiffened. “It wouldn’t be much. Just enough to get me back on my feet.”

“You are unbelievable. Good luck, Dad. Have a nice life.” I turned my back on him.

“Your life isn’t any better than mine,” he called after me. “With your little photos and cats and plants and heavy makeup? It’s all fake.” When I didn’t respond, his voice rose to a shout. “Jillie! Don’t you walk away from me, young lady. Come on, my baby princess. We need each other.”

I opened the door and turned to look at him one final time. “I’m not little, young, or your baby princess. I’m a grown woman who grew up without you, and I certainly don’t need you now.”

Then I let the door slam behind me, cutting off his dumbfounded expression for good.