"It's not selfish to fall in love."
"In our life, son, that is exactly what falling in love is. It's selfish."
"Come on, Dad. Let's go get you a drink," I offered.
"How selfish are you, Luca?" he asked instead, eyes boring into me.
"What do you mean?"
"Are you selfish enough to take that girl, take that life of hers away, and toss her into this one? Where she will worry about your safety. About her sons' safety should she bear you them. About her own safety. Are you that selfish?"
I'd fooled exactly nobody, it seemed.
Everyone knew I had Romy stashed at my place.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"That might be something you want to figure out. Before. I didn't sit and think that way. I saw something I wanted, and I took it. I brought that perfect, innocent woman into my shitstorm. And she was the one to pay for it, not me. And that is something I want you to really think about before you make any decisions with Romy," he told me as he started past me.
"Hey, Dad," I called, making him stop, turn.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't know Mom for as long as you did. But I know that should she have been given the choice of a short life with you, or a long one without, she'd have chosen you every time."
To that, he gave me a nod, knowing it was the truth. Never had two people been so in love. Even in all the pictures I'd seen of the two of them, candid shots at family functions, they couldn't keep their eyes or hands off each other.
As a kid, it had been embarrassing.
As an adult, it was something to envy, to aspire to.
"I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy, Luca. And certainly not my own son. Sometimes, a lonely path is a selfless path. It will hurt in its own way. But it won't hollow out a place in your heart that nothing will ever fill again."
With that, he turned and followed his bodyguard back to his car, climbing in.
I don't know how long I stood there, staring off at the water, wondering if Romy was looking out the window at it as well.
He was right, of course.
He often was.
It was selfish to bring women and children into this lifestyle, one where I would not come home one night. One where they might have to have armed bodyguards at all times because enemies were lurking around.
It was selfish.
That said, I wasn't sure he was right about the last part.
If I let her go, sent her back to her old life, I was pretty sure there would be a hollowed out place in my heart. Even the thought of it made an ache start there, strong enough for me to need to place my hand there, try to rub the sting away.
On a sigh, I rested my forearms on the railing, scrubbing my face with my palms.
If my mother was here, if she could talk to me, I was pretty sure she would give me the exact opposite advice that my father just did. She would tell me he was hurting, and hurt people lashed out. She would tell me that happiness, true happiness, was worth striving for, holding onto. Even if it proved fleeting.
I don't think I ever saw my mother frowning. Not a day in her life. She beamed. She fucking radiated joy and love and contentedness. She lived deeply and fully and loved with her whole heart.
Did she get to live forever?
No.