Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Ma . . .” I found the strength to look at her—and that was a mistake.
She was a mess of tears, her makeup destroyed, her skin puffy, her eyes . . . like death. “Please.” She came to me, grabbed both of my hands, and squeezed them tight. “Please, I beg you.”
I’d never felt so shitty in my life. I’d made my mother bawl harder than she did at my father’s funeral. I’d broken nothing, but it was my responsibility to fix it. To suture the wound. To realign the broken bones. “Okay, I’ll talk to him, Ma.”
She yanked me into her and buried her face in my chest, sobbing against my apron and getting flour all over her clothes and hair. “Thank you, Con.” She sobbed and sniffed and squeezed. “My son.”
I took a drive down to Palermo.
It was on the other side of the island, a popular tourist spot in its own right. He’d moved there a couple months ago when the rift between us was the worst it’d ever been. When I didn’t come to the family dinners he attended, he seemed to think it was best to bow out altogether.
I had no idea what he did for work or how he spent his time. I didn’t know him at all anymore, and in a lot of ways, I felt like I’d never known him in the first place. My mom had given me the address, and when I pulled up to the villa, I double-checked her text to make sure I’d found the right place.
It was a beautiful building, with lion statues erected in front and a doorman posted outside. I had a two-bedroom apartment in Taormina, and it was nice but not flashy. But this place . . . seemed a little flashy.
I parked the car several blocks away, checked in with the doorman, and then took the elevator to his floor. It seemed like a renovated building that had kept its Sicilian charm. There were paintings in the hallways along with sculptures in the corners. When I made it to his door, I took a second to breathe, to question whether this was the right move.
I was certain my mother had already told him I was coming, so he wouldn’t be surprised to see me on his doorstep. If my mother hadn’t guilted me into being there, I would have been content with never speaking to him again. I knew she’d manipulated me into coming here, but after watching her bend over backward for all of us our entire lives and doing it alone, even before my father was gone, I knew I owed her everything. She never asked for anything—except for this.
So I’d give it to her.
I didn’t knock on the door, but Edric answered it as if I had.
Yep, he knew I was coming.
He stared at me, eyes shifting as he took in my appearance like he’d seen a ghost. There was no smirk, no joke, just a serious stare. And I could see emotion there, below the surface, simmering like a pan about to boil.
Then his eyes started to smart, the emotion splashing over the edges of the pan and extinguishing the flames beneath. He moved into me, then gripped me in his arms, squeezing me tightly, clapping me on the back as he took a heavy breath.
Caught off guard by the only display of emotion I’d ever seen my brother make, I stood there and let him hold me. And piece by piece, the anger started to fade. My arms eventually encircled him, and I gave him a gentle pat on the back.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice, tears about to break.
I patted him again, this time harder. “I know.”
We sat together at his dining table. He’d placed a bottle of wine there along with two glasses, but neither one of us drank. He had a nice apartment with luxurious furniture, but I didn’t pay much attention to it, given the circumstances.
We were silent for a long time, like neither one of us knew where to start.
“I’m really fucking sorry,” he said abruptly.
I gave a nod.
“I felt bad after it happened, but in the months since, I’ve felt so much worse. Like an infection that’s slowly spread to the rest of my body, it’s taken its toll. The guilt. The shame. The heartbreak.”
I watched my brother pour his soul out to me.
“But what I feel the worst about . . . is the fact that you two aren’t together anymore.”
The mention of her made my chest tighten, like always. “Yeah, it’s been rough.”
He stared at me for a while, the unspoken words about to fire off from his eyes. “It’s not too late, Constantine.”
Isabella continued to text me, but I told her that I didn’t want to hear from her anymore. That we both needed to move on. And when she continued to do so, I threatened to block her if she didn’t stop, and I didn’t want to do that. I still wanted her in my life . . . someday . . . when I was past this. So we hadn’t spoken in a while, about two months. “I’m done.”