Brunetti's Secret Son

Maisie shook her head. ‘It’s not like that between Romeo and me,’ she painfully explained.

‘Maybe not, but the pain you are feeling right now, I’ve been there. It took weeks before I came to my senses, and I didn’t have a toddler to contend with during that time. You and Romeo—there’s something there.’ She stopped Maisie when she opened her mouth to deny it. ‘You had his child four years ago, and he married you within two days of seeing you again.’

‘Because of Lucca.’

Eva pursed her lips. ‘I married Zaccheo because I thought I didn’t have a choice. But deep down, I knew I did. Things happen for a reason, but it’s the endgame that matters. Fighting for what you want even when you think everything’s hopeless.’

‘I don’t think it’s hopeless. I know it is,’ she stressed.

Eva looked as if she wanted to argue the point, but her lashes swept over her lovely green eyes and she nodded. ‘Okay. I’m sorry for prying. I’ll let the matter drop, except to say I’ve never seen Romeo like this before. Sure, he has that sexy brooding thing going on most of the time, but never like this, not even five years ago, when his mo—’ She stopped, visibly pursing her lips to prevent her indiscretion.

Maisie’s chest tightened. ‘Something bad happened to bring him to Palermo then, didn’t it?’ It went to show how much she didn’t know about Romeo.

‘I can only say a bad chapter of his life came to an end. But he wasn’t as affected as he is now.’

Maisie shook her head. ‘This is all about Lucca,’ she insisted as they reached the beach.

Eva nodded, a sage smile curving her lips, before she pulled up the skirt to her elegant gown. ‘Okay. Now I’m probably going to ruin my dress, but since my husband refuses to allow me to swim in the ocean until our sons are born, but he happens to be annoying me a lot right now, I’m damn well going for a quick dip.’

Maisie gave a smile that barely lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘You know he can see you from the villa, right?’

Eva gave a stubborn, cheeky smile. ‘I’ll be out before he gets here.’

Maisie didn’t think it was wise to stand in her way. The waters weren’t especially deep for half a mile or so, but she kept an eye on her, trying not to think about what Eva had said.

Because it wasn’t a subject worth pursuing. Romeo had made himself more than clear. And if he’d looked shocked, it was because he probably hadn’t thought she would confront him about it.

After a few minutes, tired of the agony replaying through her soul, Maisie adjusted her clothing and waded into the warm, inviting water.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ROMEO DIDN’T LOOK UP from the fireplace when his friend joined him, but he accepted the glass containing a double shot of whisky Zaccheo held out to him.

‘Tell me your wife drives you half as crazy as mine does me,’ Zaccheo growled.

Romeo downed half the glass’s content and stared into the remaining amber liquid. ‘She’s not my wife,’ he growled.

‘That ring on your finger and the misery on your face tell a different story, mio fratello,’ Zaccheo challenged with a grim chuckle.

Romeo’s chest squeezed at the term. Although he’d only connected with Zaccheo for a brief month when they were children, he’d never forgotten the boy whose life had touched his. Rediscovering that bond of brotherhood as an adult had made Romeo believe he wasn’t truly alone in this world. But lately, he’d discovered there were various forms of loneliness.

A loneliness of the heart, for instance...

Zaccheo’s hand of friendship might have conquered a small part of his soul, but he was finding out, much to his emerging horror, that it would never be enough. Not like what he’d been secretly hoping for a few weeks.

‘The ring is meaningless. She doesn’t want to be married to me,’ he snapped and downed the rest of the drink. A replacement arrived seconds later, and he took it, his fingers tightening around the cold glass. The platinum-and-gold wedding ring in question caught the light, winking mockingly, and a deep urge to smash the glass moved through him.

Before he could give in to it, Zaccheo replied, ‘Before you tear the place to pieces, perhaps you should listen to what your woman has to say.’

‘She’s already said her piece. And I heard her loud and clear.’ Although he wished he hadn’t. He wished he hadn’t stopped her on the terrace in the first place, that he’d postponed the moment of complete rejection for a while longer.