Chapter 51

Bianca

I stare at Roman’s lips. “What?”

He tilts my chin up with his fingertip, trying to draw my gaze to his. I let him. When our eyes lock, I ask him the question again. “What did you say?”

His bottom lip trembles slightly. “I met your dad when my grandmother was in Lennox Hill Hospital. He was a patient on the same ward. After she passed, I went back to see him often, and the day he died, I was there with him.”

I look down at my lap. “No. You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

I tug my hand free of his. “My dad died in Kentucky. He went to a medical conference there. Someone found him in his hotel room, but it was too late.”

“Your father died in Manhattan on a rainy Tuesday afternoon at four-thirty,” he says softly. “It was peaceful. He was comfortable. He slipped away thinking about you and your sister.”

“That’s another George Cuthbert.” I shake my head. “My dad couldn’t have died at Lennox Hill. He wasn’t even in New York.”

“He was in the hospital on and off for months.”

“No.” I move to stand. “That’s not right.”

“Your father had glioblastoma, Bianca.”

“That’s brain cancer.” I drop my hands to my stomach when I feel it roll inside of me. “He didn’t have that. My mom had cancer. She had ovarian cancer when I was eight.”

“They wanted to protect you.”

“Who?” I bark out. “My mom?”

He nods as he pushes to his feet. “Your dad too. He told me you and V had watched your mom suffer. He didn’t want you to go through that again so soon. He said you were too young for that much pain.”

I reach for him because I feel like I’m about to faint. “You talked to him?”

“For hours,” he admits. “I didn’t have a dad. He seemed like a great one, so we talked about a lot of things.”

I cry out. “Tell me.”

He takes me in his arms, gathering me close to him until my head is resting against his chest. “He told me he had two beautiful daughters. B and V. That’s what he called you.”

“He always called us that,” I sob. “Always.”

“George was proud of both of you.” He pauses. “He told me you were an ace at math, and V was better at science.”

I manage a small smile. “He was right.”

“He told me about your family vacations and the Friday night pizza dinners,” he goes on, “I know about the popsicle place.”

“The popsicle place,” I repeat. “Vivi and I went there last night.”

“He told me he wanted to play professional baseball, but he didn’t have the coordination.”

I nod. “He always said he was clumsy.”

“He loved the Mets.”

I move back to glance at his face. “You love the Mets.”

“Because of him.”

I stare into his eyes. “What else?”

His hands reach to cup my cheeks. “When he was slipping away, he told me he loved his girls.”

“Us.” A rush of tears spills from my eyes. “Me and Vivi.”

“I loved him,” he admits as he chokes back a sob. “I met him when my grandmother was dying. I kept going back because he became my friend. He was the father figure I didn’t have.”

“He must have loved you too.”

He drags a hand over his forehead. “He was the most important man in my life, even though I didn’t know him very long.”

“I can’t believe you knew him,” I whisper. “You knew my dad.”

“I wish he was still here.” He exhales. “I’ve wished that for a long time.”

“Me too, “ I admit. “I wish he could see us now.”

He presses a soft kiss to my mouth. “Bianca, there’s more.”

I cling to the lapels of his suit jacket, not sure if my body and heart can withstand more. “What is it?”

“When the twins were born, Elizabeth hadn’t considered names, so I made that decision.”

I study his face. “Are you saying?”

He nods. “Dora is named after my grandmother. I named my Georgie in honor of your dad.”

***

I cradle Roman’s phone in my hands as I stare at a picture of his daughters.

“You named your daughter after my dad.”

I feel him sit next to me. “He taught me a lot, Bianca. I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for him.”

I drag my gaze up to his face. “My mom must have known.”

He answers first with a nod, and then he sighs. “I’ve spoken to your mom. I called her to ask her why you thought your father had died in another state.”

My eyes widen as I feel a stab of pain rush through me. “You spoke to her?”

He scoops one of my hands into his. “I wanted her to know that I love you and that I was going to be honest with you regarding my history with your dad.”

“You told her that you love me?”

“Yes,” he answers succinctly. “I told her I’d do anything for you, and that includes telling you the truth.”

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Hawthornes of New York Romance
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