Claiming My Bride of Convenience

‘I didn’t feel you deserved the same privilege or affection as Andreas. And you reminded me of your father, who was such a painful disappointment to me. I let it cloud my judgement. I admit that.’

‘And has anything changed now?’ I scoffed. ‘Or are you just fearful because you face death?’

‘I want to die in peace, yes,’ he said slowly, swaying a bit where he stood.

He looked old and frail, as if a breath might blow him away, and I tried not to care. Tried not to admit to the grief inside me. Because there was no earthly reason to grieve for this man.

‘I did provide for you, Matteo,’ he added with a small, sad smile. ‘Not in the same way as I did for Andreas, I know, but I tried to do my duty.’

‘Your duty?’ I sneered. ‘Was starving me your duty? Was slapping my face for just sitting down your duty? Or locking me in a cupboard?’ The words burst out of me, decades old, full of pain.

Bastian stared at me for a long moment. ‘What...what are you talking about?’

‘You know what I’m talking about. Eleni—the nanny you hired to look after me. She made it very clear what her orders were, how she was to treat the worthless bastard you’d been saddled with.’

Slowly Bastian shook his head. ‘Matteo, I admit I did not treat you fairly. I was harsh and unloving. But I didn’t know about those things. I certainly didn’t sanction them.’

For a second, no more, I wavered. But then, ‘Yes, you did. She told me. And in any case, when I did see you, you were completely dismissive. Nothing I did was ever good enough. No matter how hard I worked or tried, you were unimpressed. Always ignoring me or insulting me, even after you had to make me your heir.’

‘Yes,’ Bastian agreed heavily. ‘I admit to all that. I was not the man I wish I could have been. I wasn’t strong enough. I resented having to need you. I felt it should have been you, not Andreas...’ He shook his head. ‘It was wrong—all of it—I see that now. But I never would have countenanced such abuse. Please believe that at least, even if you cannot forgive me.’

I shook my head. I didn’t know what to believe. For over thirty-five years the bedrock of my life—of my whole being—had been my grandfather’s harsh treatment of me. It had taught me everything: never to be vulnerable, never to show fear, never to trust love. They were the staples of my soul, and now they felt like so much dross. I couldn’t let go of them just like that. If I did, I didn’t know who I’d be.

A man who could love. Who could let himself be loved.

‘What about Andreas?’ I demanded.

Bastian looked startled. ‘What about him?’

‘After his accident you ignored him, as well. You never visited him. You turned your love off like it was a tap.’

‘I admit I avoided him for several years after the accident. It was too painful for me to see him like that, and when I did see him he became distressed, which made it even worse. But I’ve been visiting him for years, Matteo. Decades. Every day, just as he said. I still love him. I’ll always love him.’

‘And me?’ I found myself saying, even as I hated the words, the exposing and needy nature of the question.

‘I wish I could have loved you as a child,’ Bastian said slowly. ‘You were deserving of it. But when you rebelled as a teenager it cemented my anger and bitterness. I shouldn’t have let it.’

I waited, my jaw tight, everything in me tensed and poised—for what?

‘And now...’ Bastian continued, choosing each word with painful care, his gaze steady on me. ‘Now I see a man who has an indomitable will, a fearless work ethic, and a loyalty to those he loves. You have always made time for Andreas—’

‘He’s my brother.’

‘And your wife.’

I let out a sharp laugh. ‘How little you know! I didn’t see her once for the first three years of our marriage.’

And I might never see her again.

‘But now you love her,’ Bastian stated—a fact, a truth. ‘I see it in your eyes...in everything about you. And I know you are a man who fights for what he wants. Who he loves.’

He paused, and then said the words I’d waited my whole life to hear.

‘I love you, Matteo. I don’t expect you to believe it, or even to care, but I do love you like a son. I only wish I had earlier, and that I’d been able to show it.’

I shook my head, denying it even as tears started in my eyes. My grandfather gave me a look full of sorrow and grief—and love. I saw it in his eyes for the first time.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ he said.