The Italian's Unexpected Heir

Sylvie scooted closer on the couch. She reached out, placing her hand on his thigh. It was all he could do not to jump back. Her touch was gentle and warm as she attempted to put him at ease. But didn’t she realize what he’d been trying to tell her? He didn’t deserve her kindness and understanding.

He jumped to his feet. He placed his mug on the end table. “I have to go.”

“Enzo, wait.” She rushed over to him. “I’m sorry. I pushed and I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me.”

Frustration and guilt churned in his gut. “Stop!”

Confusion clouded her eyes. “I’m sorry. I keep saying the wrong things.”

“No. Stop apologizing. You haven’t done anything wrong. I have. I don’t deserve your sympathy. If you knew...”

The words hung there. The sentence went unfinished because he just couldn’t bring himself to finish it—to ruin the illusion she had of him.

“We won’t speak of it anymore.” She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle tug. “Let’s sit back down. You didn’t finish your milk.”

While his body followed her, his mind said he was making yet another mistake. He should head for the door. And yet, he kept taking one step after the other until he was seated on the couch next to her again.

Sylvie reached for her mug and then took a sip. “You should finish drinking yours before it goes cold. It’s not as good then.”

He reached for his abandoned mug. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he could leave and be alone with his thoughts.

“If you don’t want to head into the city tomorrow,” Sylvie said, “I can go alone.”

He’d given his word and he intended to keep it. “I’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning.”

“But you’ll be tired—”

“So will you.” He wanted her to quit being so nice to him because it just made him feel worse.

But if he were to tell her the truth—tell her the deep, dark secret that he’d been keeping for years, then she’d realize she didn’t have to work so hard to be nice to him. In fact, she’d probably be anxious to leave the estate and start over somewhere else—just like his sisters had done after the journal had revealed the fractures in their perfect family.

“If you ever want to talk,” she said, “I mean really talk, I’m a good listener.”

“Sylvie, stop.” He didn’t look at her. He knew if he did, he’d never get the words out. “You don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I will,” she said ever so softly, “if you tell me.”

“I knew.”

The words popped out before he could stop them. It was the first time he’d made a vocal admission.

Sylvie’s fine brows drew together. “Knew what?”

He’d told her this much, he might as well get this over with and let the pieces fall as they may. “I knew my parents’ secret—that one of us was illegitimate.”

“You mean from reading the journal?”

He shook his head as he stared blindly down at the milky mixture that remained in his mug. “I knew years before my sisters read the journal.”

“Oh...” Her breathy response was more of a wow response.

“As you know, I’m the oldest. And when we were kids, I got to stay up a little later than my sisters. It was only a half hour but to me it was a big deal—something Bianca and Gia didn’t get to do. During that time, I would read in bed.” In his mind’s eye, he could see that night so clearly that it was as though he were still there. “I can’t remember which book I was reading but it was one of those that you keep telling yourself you’ll put down and go to sleep after one more page.”

Sylvie didn’t say a word. She didn’t move. She just sat there taking in everything he was saying. And he knew in the end she would look at him with disappointment and think he was a coward. Rightly so.

He drew in an uneven breath. “I knew it was late. Really late. And I heard some yelling. I was surprised because my mother always made a point of not raising her voice. She said yelling wasn’t necessary to get your point across. And then I heard a door slam.”

He wished he’d stayed in bed—that he’d gone to sleep when he was supposed to instead of shining a flashlight on his book and reading under the covers, because then he wouldn’t have overheard something that impacted so many choices he’d made in his life.