“I’m okay. But a bath would be nice.” She followed him through the living area of the hotel suite into the amazing bathroom with its walk-in shower and enormous spa bath. This place was about ten times the size of her old apartment.
“What made you choose Rome?” she asked as Alex started filling the bath for her.
She sat on the small stool beside the spa bath and watched him.
“Paris seemed so cliché,” he told her. “Plus, you love gelato.”
Tara laughed. “I do love gelato. I’ve been to Paris, it’s beautiful as well.”
He turned off the taps and looked over at her. “You’ve been to Paris?”
She nodded as she swirled her hand through the water. “Uh-huh. I was about twelve. I went with my mom. She was dying of cancer and she’d always wanted to return to Paris. My father couldn’t take her, so she took me instead.”
“Oh God, baby.” He drew her onto his lap. “We’ve talked about your brother, but you hardly ever mention your parents. I assumed they were both dead.”
She shrugged. “My mom is, but I don’t like to talk about it.”
“I can understand why, but it’s not good to keep everything inside, Tara.”
“I know. Can we get in the bath now?”
Alex helped her stand. She was dressed in one of his t-shirts, so it didn’t take her long to strip and get in the water. He climbed in behind her, pulling her back against his chest.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Tara told him all about the mother she’d adored. How kind she’d been. Funny and sweet. Alex just listened as she talked.
“And what about your father?” he asked once she grew quiet.
She stiffened for a moment, but knew it was only natural he’d be curious. He’d told her his demons it was time she shared hers.
“Last I heard, he’s still alive. We don’t talk. He’s a cold, heartless bastard.”
“Tell me.”
Tara rested her head back against his chest. “We didn’t see a lot of my father growing up as he was always working. But somehow, it didn’t matter when my mom was alive. She was always there for us. I have no idea why she married that jerk. When I was nine she found out she had breast cancer. She died when I was thirteen. Eight months after Paris. Do you know what the first thing my father did after the funeral?”
“No,” he said quietly.
“He sent me to boarding school.”
“He what?” The incredulous tone in Alex’s voice soothed her.
“All I wanted was to stay with my baby brother. He was only six, he needed me. I’d promised my mom I would look after him.”
Alex wanted to hurt her father. To make him feel at least a smidgen of the pain Tara had obviously endured.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I ran away. I kept running away until they had no choice but to send me home. He wanted to send me to another school but I threatened to run away from there too. He told me that either I went to boarding school or he would cut me off when I was eighteen. I told him that if he left my brother and I alone that we would stay out of his way and once I turned eighteen he’d never see me again. That made him happy. I heard him telling his lover, who moved in with him three months after Mom’s death, that he’d never wanted the two of us.”
Alex hugged her close, but remained quiet not wanting to interrupt her.
“I looked after my brother. I kept him out of my father’s way. My father only every noticed the bad things, a poor mark on my report card, if I accidentally broke something. He never noticed how hard I worked to please him. Finally, I stopped trying.”
That asshole.
“I never actually expected him to do it, you know. I thought he would forget or weaken. But he didn’t. Once I turned eighteen, he kicked me out of home. I had nothing but my clothes, which he had boxed up and sent to me. My brother and I had to sneak around to see each other. I lived with a friend until I graduated high school.”