She told him every single thing her mother had said to her, over and over, almost daily since her childhood. Val heard her out, staying silent while the tears ran down her face. She hated that shame and embarrassment were so impossible to hide from him. When she finally stopped, when she couldn’t remember any more of the litany of her sins, Val groaned and dropped his face into her shoulder.
“I played right into your insecurities when you overheard the crap I said to Marge, didn’t I, Princess? Your fucking mother. She set you up to always feel inferior, and I just beat you down right along with her. I’m so sorry, Emme. I really am. You’re not anything like Eloisa has made you feel. Nothing like that at all. I don’t see you that way, and no one else does. Only you, because she wanted you to look at yourself that way. I have no idea why a woman would want her daughter to be so insecure.”
Emmanuelle had never understood why her mother despised her so much. She’d tried telling herself Eloisa had been hard on her because she was afraid for her and wanted her to be the best shadow rider possible. But why would she constantly belittle her looks? It was never-ending. She was hard on the boys, but not like Emmanuelle.
She kept her head down, refusing to look at Valentino. She’d never permitted herself to break down like this, even when she was alone. But a marriage of convenience, with eventual cheating by a man she didn’t love, was far better than having Val cheat on her. Or having Val look at her with the same disdain her mother held for her. She couldn’t bear that.
It was humiliating to confess it all to him, that she’d hidden away and made them both suffer because she’d been too much of a coward to face the truth. She’d been too ashamed to tell him. She hadn’t wanted to face the truth herself, let alone tell the man she loved.
Valentino rocked her gently, never once reproaching her. He didn’t force her head up or make her look at him, he just held her close to him as if she were the most precious treasure in the world, letting her cry until she couldn’t cry anymore.
How could she ever live without him? There was no way she could give him up, not when he reacted to a complete breakdown like that. Hiccups. Ugly crying. She was a mess. It didn’t seem to matter to him. He just held her, rocked her and stroked her hair or brushed kisses through it.
Emmanuelle began to focus on the things he murmured against her temple in his low, velvety voice. Soothing. Gentle.
“I love you so much, Princess. We can make it through anything together. We can. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. I know this woman, owns a store down in New Orleans, third generation, makes voodoo dolls, the real deal. Unless you’d let me let Dario loose on her. I mean, I’d do it myself, but down the line, I know you, you’d get all sentimental and you’d be mad at me. You’re not a woman to withhold sex, but I’m not taking chances, so it’s the voodoo chick or Dario if we’re going in that direction.”
She rubbed her wet face on her sleeve and blinked rapidly to try to clear her eyes. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Val kissed her temple and sat up straight, his arm sliding around her neck. “Your mother. I can’t exactly pay my respects myself, so I’m considering our options. The woman needs a serious kick in the pants. A wake-up call. If I could control that creepy little shadow, I’d send it, but I can’t, so my options are limited. I can’t do her in as much as I’d like to—she’s your mother—although, if she messes with you, that option may go back on the table.”
The low note in his voice warned her he wasn’t joking. She pressed her head into his chest hard. “Don’t threaten my mother. We can decide not to see her, but you can’t harm her in any way. I’m serious. She’s my mother.”
“Miceli’s my uncle. He’s Dario’s father. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to die. He absolutely does. No one hurts you, Emme. Stefano should have been protecting you. All of your brothers should have been. Eloisa is a bitter, vicious woman. I don’t care what she went through, so don’t defend her. You always do. She made your childhood a living hell. She’s not going to continue to make your life that way, and she won’t do it to our children.”
“No, she won’t,” Emmanuelle said decisively. “I tried very hard to be everything she wanted in a daughter, but I couldn’t measure up.”