The Billionaires (Lover's Triangle 1)

“It has everything to do with Jewel!” Sophia erupted, taking everyone aback. “It has always had everything to do with Jewel!”

Her mother’s intensity rocked Jewel. She reached out a hand and latched on to Vin’s dress shirt at his waist to stabilize herself. He placed a comforting solid hand at the small of her back.

“What the hell is going on?” Rogen slowly asked. As though he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Jewel was feeling a little queasy herself over the prospect of hearing out Rose-Marie. If she chose to spill. Because the look on her own mother’s face was one Jewel had never seen before. Full of sheer agony.

Yet Sophia quickly schooled her expression. Took several deep, calming breaths. Then said, “Tell them, Rose-Marie.” Her voice was much smoother, softer. That was Sophia Catalano for you—ever the expert at composing herself after an outburst, which she rarely tempered when she felt it was warranted. “This has gone on much too long. Tell them everything. Tell them why you used the development of the marketplace on the land we jointly own as an excuse to sever ties with my family. When everyone involved agreed the profits generated would far exceed those of a viticulture center. And that the return on investment was meant solely for Angelini and Catalano heirs—our children, Rose-Marie. And their children, their grandchildren, and so on. We’d all agreed to it. But you claimed that when Gian turned his back during Taylor’s illness, Anthony drove a knife in.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Jewel whispered. This was about to get ugly.

Actually, it already was.

Sophia continued. “The so-called family feud was nothing more than a dissolution of lifelong friendships and a successful business partnership.” She still spoke at a reasonable decibel, though pain and anguish tinged her voice. “The Angelinis needed an excuse for the fallout, and the land dispute worked perfectly.” With another hard glare toward Rose-Marie, she added, “And we let you use it.”

“I don’t understand,” Jewel said, her brows knitting, her gaze on Rose-Marie.

Who very bitterly told her, “I didn’t want you in my house, Jewel.” She more deliberately iterated, “I didn’t want you in my home.”

Jewel’s head snapped back as though she’d just received a physical blow.

“What the fuck?” Rogen boomed.

Vin pulled Jewel to his side, his arm protectively around her waist as she reeled.

Rose-Marie’s eyes turned nearly translucent as tears flooded them. “It wasn’t your fault,” she assured Jewel. “It was all mine. From the very beginning.”

Rogen grabbed some tissues from the box on the coffee table and handed them to his mother.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, notably trying to dial down his rage. It was his mother he was speaking to, after all.

Rose-Marie sniffled and told him, “I love you very much, Rogen. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was in love with the idea of having a child. So was your father. He was so proud of himself when he learned we were having a son that he passed out cigars and scotch before you were even born. And when that day came … When he held you in his arms for the very first time…” She smiled softly, albeit shakily. “There was a sparkle in his eyes and a look of absolute awe and wonderment on his face. He was hooked. Instantly.”

There was an eerie resonation to Rose-Marie’s voice. Precisely what Jewel had heard from her at Bayview. Only now it was darker. Much more ominous this time.

Rose-Marie said, “You and your father bonded from those first seconds together. It only strengthened from there. Even when you disagree on something. It’s always been an unbreakable bond. Something you share. Something that’s special just between father and son.”

Jewel’s gaze slid to Rogen, who appeared as perplexed as she felt. And both of them were quite concerned about his mother’s cryptic tone and visibly unstable state. Vin was as well.

Rose-Marie glanced over at Sophia. She said, “A couple of months later, my best friend gave birth. To the most beautiful baby girl.” Her attention shifted to Jewel. The tears streamed, tugging at Jewel’s emotions, her heartstrings. “You were perfect.” Another quivering smile. “Plump cheeks, wide eyes, the tiniest fists. You were a happy baby, always smiling, and cooing, and … hiccupping. You hiccupped a lot.”

Perhaps it was the gradual change in Rose-Marie’s tone to an almost trancelike cadence that caused Vin’s arm to tighten around Jewel.

“Mother?” Rogen asked in a quiet voice. “Maybe you should sit.”

Her gaze remained on Jewel, and she continued, as though she’d not heard her son. “Your mother was instantly addicted to you. Everyone was. The way you smelled, how adorable you were. How delicate. She took you everywhere—she was always in town showing you off. All bundled up in pink. And every time I saw the two of you together, I was … jealous.” She choked on a half sob. “I was so very jealous. I wanted what Sophia had—a daughter of my own.”

She finally tore her gaze from Jewel and it landed on Rogen. “I wanted to feel that special bond that you and your father shared. That Sophia and Jewel shared. Your father wanted another child, too, but it took us years to conceive. I grew more and more frustrated. More envious. The feeling clawed at me. Ate away at me.” Her voice cracked with agony … and shame. “Eventually, I got pregnant. And Taylor was born. And I had my own perfect daughter bundled in pink.”

Emotion rushed through Jewel. Along with the disturbing notion that she knew exactly where this was headed.

Sophia quietly said, “Taylor was precious. So inquisitive, and mesmerized by everything.”

“Yes,” Rose-Marie agreed, the fat drops still tumbling down her cheeks, unbidden. And she didn’t bother to brush them away. She said, “For nine years, I was deliriously happy. The frustration vanished. The jealousy fled. Everything was blissfully normal. Peaceful.”

“And then Taylor got sick,” Sophia said on a broken breath, deeply affected no matter her current disassociation from her best friend—or her goading for Rose-Marie to reveal the truth to their children.

“When she died,” Rose-Marie said in a distant voice, “it was like my own heart stopped beating. Like I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. But the evil fate of it all was that my heart actually was still beating and I was still breathing. And even though I balled my fists and pressed them to my temples, thoughts kept churning in my head. I’d press the heels of my hands to my eyes, but I could always see Taylor’s fragile, lifeless body.”