The Italian's Unexpected Heir

She paused in front of the photo of a man in this very room. Though she’d never met Aldo Bartolini, she knew without a doubt it was Enzo’s father. The resemblance was that great.

There were other photos of Enzo and his sisters when they were young. In one framed photo, the entire family was standing in front of four large holding tanks. “You all look so happy.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he muttered.

“Really?” Her gaze moved from him to the photo and back to him again. “Are you saying you and your family weren’t happy in this photo?”

“I’m saying I don’t know.” He moved next to her and stared at the photo. “I thought we were happy. But now I know all those happy moments were covering up big secrets. I don’t know what was real and what was just for show.”

“Maybe you don’t need to figure it out. Maybe you just need to accept the memories the way they are in your mind. I’m sure your parents w

ould want that for you.”

“But how can they be so happy when they were keeping something so explosive from us?”

“Perhaps it’s because they’d made peace with their decision. They had to believe they were doing the right thing for their family. And then they let it go because otherwise it would have destroyed the family you knew. Just like you need to let go of the anger at them and the guilt you’ve heaped on yourself before it destroys you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do that. You don’t understand.”

Sylvie turned to him. “Why are you so willing to just reject the happiness you felt? It was a real and genuine emotion. You should be embracing it instead of rejecting it.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Embracing the good memories of your mother?”

“I’m trying.”

“But you’re still blaming yourself for not being there for her as much as you feel you should have been.”

She nodded.

“Then how is that so different from what I’m doing?”

She glanced away. She supposed that in a way, it wasn’t. Maybe they both had some letting-go to do. Maybe it was what they both needed to do before either of them could be truly happy.

And then she remembered something she’d forgotten in her grief. It was a conversation with her mother near the end. Sylvie had been apologizing for having to leave for work when her mother had told her she understood. And she was proud of her. She said that Sylvie was the best daughter she could have ever hoped for. And that soon she would be reunited with Sylvie’s father, and both of them would be watching over her, smiling down upon her. She urged Sylvie to find a love like that for herself—a love that would last all of eternity.

Sylvie’s gaze moved to Enzo. What would her mother make of him? Would she tell Sylvie to cut her losses and leave the estate? She had so many questions. In this moment she missed her mother with such a fierce intensity.

“Sylvie, are you okay?” The concern in Enzo’s voice drew her from her thoughts.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“You’re crying.”

“I am?” She ran her fingers over her cheeks. They were damp. “I’m sorry. I was just remembering a conversation with my mother.”

“It must have been serious.”

“It was one of the times when I had to leave her to go to work and she told me she understood. She said she was proud of me. I can’t believe I’d forgotten that.” She left out the part about finding true love. She didn’t want Enzo reading anything into it. Her gaze met his. “Thank you.”

“For what? Making you cry?”

“No.” She smiled. “For giving me back a memory—an important memory.”

“You’re welcome, though I don’t think I did anything.”

“Sometimes it’s just having someone to listen. And you were that someone today.”

He smiled at her. “Let’s put these prints back on the wall.”