The Italian's Unexpected Heir

by Jennifer Faye

  Not giving himself time to back out of this confession, he turned to her. In her eyes he saw caring and sympathy. He wasn’t worthy of either. That undid his final bit of hesitation.

  “Sylvie, I know this place means a lot to you, but to me, it is filled with ghosts of the past. Lies and secrets that I just can’t live with anymore. I need to move on—to start over.”

  “But wasn’t all of that dealt with when Bianca found your mother’s journal?”

  “No.” That single-syllable word hung in the nighttime air with all its possible implications.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. Why did she keep pushing? She wasn’t going to like what she uncovered. He wasn’t the upstanding guy that she thought he was.

  Sylvie scooted closer on the couch. She reached out, placing her hand on his thigh. It was all he could do not to jump back. Her touch was gentle and warm as she attempted to put him at ease. But didn’t she realize what he’d been trying to tell her? He didn’t deserve her kindness and understanding.

  He jumped to his feet. He placed his mug on the end table. “I have to go.”

  “Enzo, wait.” She rushed over to him. “I’m sorry. I pushed and I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me.”

  Frustration and guilt churned in his gut. “Stop!”

  Confusion clouded her eyes. “I’m sorry. I keep saying the wrong things.”

  “No. Stop apologizing. You haven’t done anything wrong. I have. I don’t deserve your sympathy. If you knew...”

  The words hung there. The sentence went unfinished because he just couldn’t bring himself to finish it—to ruin the illusion she had of him.

  “We won’t speak of it anymore.” She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle tug. “Let’s sit back down. You didn’t finish your milk.”

  While his body followed her, his mind said he was making yet another mistake. He should head for the door. And yet, he kept taking one step after the other until he was seated on the couch next to her again.

  Sylvie reached for her mug and then took a sip. “You should finish drinking yours before it goes cold. It’s not as good then.”

  He reached for his abandoned mug. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he could leave and be alone with his thoughts.

  “If you don’t want to head into the city tomorrow,” Sylvie said, “I can go alone.”

  He’d given his word and he intended to keep it. “I’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning.”

  “But you’ll be tired—”

  “So will you.” He wanted her to quit being so nice to him because it just made him feel worse.

  But if he were to tell her the truth—tell her the deep, dark secret that he’d been keeping for years, then she’d realize she didn’t have to work so hard to be nice to him. In fact, she’d probably be anxious to leave the estate and start over somewhere else—just like his sisters had done after the journal had revealed the fractures in their perfect family.

  “If you ever want to talk,” she said, “I mean really talk, I’m a good listener.”

  “Sylvie, stop.” He didn’t look at her. He knew if he did, he’d never get the words out. “You don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “I will,” she said ever so softly, “if you tell me.”

  “I knew.”

  The words popped out before he could stop them. It was the first time he’d made a vocal admission.

  Sylvie’s fine brows drew together. “Knew what?”

  He’d told her this much, he might as well get this over with and let the pieces fall as they may. “I knew my parents’ secret—that one of us was illegitimate.”

  “You mean from reading the journal?”

  He shook his head as he stared blindly down at the milky mixture that remained in his mug. “I knew years before my sisters read the journal.”

  “Oh...” Her breathy response was more of a wow response.

  “As you know, I’m the oldest. And when we were kids, I got to stay up a little later than my sisters. It was only a half hour but to me it was a big deal—something Bianca and Gia didn’t get to do. During that time, I would read in bed.” In his mind’s eye, he could see that night so clearly that it was as though he were still there. “I can’t remember which book I was reading but it was one of those that you keep telling yourself you’ll put down and go to sleep after one more page.”

  Sylvie didn’t say a word. She didn’t move. She just sat there taking in everything he was saying. And he knew in the end she would look at him with disappointment and think he was a coward. Rightly so.

  He drew in an uneven breath. “I knew it was late. Really late. And I heard some yelling. I was surprised because my mother always made a point of not raising her voice. She said yelling wasn’t necessary to get your point across. And then I heard a door slam.”

  He wished he’d stayed in bed—that he’d gone to sleep when he was supposed to instead of shining a flashlight on his book and reading under the covers, because then he wouldn’t have overheard something that impacted so many choices he’d made in his life.

  “I was supposed to have been asleep hours ago, but when I heard the shouting and the door slam, I thought something was wrong. In bare feet, I ran down the hall toward my parents’ room. I didn’t have to put my ear against the door because they were talking loud enough to be heard through the closed door.”

  He paused as he gathered his thoughts. Part of him wanted to stop here—to shove away the memory that had been troubling him most of his life—but the other part of him needed to say this—to put it out into the universe.

  He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm his insides. And then, ever so slowly, he blew out the breath. “I heard my mother say she needed to tell us that my father wasn’t the biological father of us all. Some of the words were muffled with her sobs. But then my mother said she’d messed up by having that affair and how guilty she felt.” Enzo paused, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “My father told her she couldn’t tell us—that we were too young to understand. And then she mentioned me and how I wasn’t a little boy any longer. But my father said it wasn’t fair to tell me a secret that I couldn’t tell my sisters.”

  Sylvie reached out, placing her hand on his arm. It was a quiet gesture—a caring touch. And it gave him the strength to finish.

  “I’m not sure how long I stood there, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. My mother had an affair. And at the time, I was certain I was the illegitimate child. Why else would she have mentioned my name?”

  “It must have been such a shock.”

  He nodded. “My mind was reeling. I wasn’t a Bartolini. I didn’t belong.”

  “Did you approach your parents?”

  He shook his head. “I went to bed that night and eventually I fell asleep. In the morning my parents acted totally normal. And being a kid, I was able to convince myself that it was just a dream. But deep inside I knew it was so much more than a dream.”

  “And so all of these years you’ve been dealing with that on your own? Without being able to talk to anyone?”

  “But it isn’t about me. It’s about my sisters. I was too ashamed—too worried about my own feelings—to speak up. But I should have said something. I should have done something.”

  “You were just a kid. That’s a lot to handle.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair once more. Frustration over his inaction and anger at his lack of courage twisted his gut up in a knot. “I can’t hide behind that excuse. I had a chance to speak up when my sisters found that journal. And yet, I kept the awful secret to myself. I didn’t think of how it would eat at them—the not knowing.”

  Sylvie’s hand slid down his arm until her fingers brushed over his palm. The sensation sent a sizzling sense of awareness zinging up his arm. Her fingers slipped between his as she squeezed
his hand.

  “I know your sisters wouldn’t blame you for being shocked when the secret came out. It had been years and you’d convinced yourself that it was a dream.”

  “But I should have said something. I was ashamed that I wasn’t a Bartolini. I was scared they wouldn’t look at me as their big brother. I didn’t want our relationship to change. I thought if I sat on the information that I’d have a little longer until the DNA results revealed the inevitable—I wasn’t a biological Bartolini.”

  “You’d just lost your parents—you were afraid of losing your sisters.”

  “That’s not good enough.” He pulled away from her and stood. His gaze drifted to the floor. “If I was a good brother—if I’d have protected my sisters the way my father had always told me to do—I would have spoken up.”

  Sylvie placed her fingers beneath his chin and lifted until their gazes met. “Maybe you should have spoken up sooner, but what you would have told them would have been misinformation. You are a Bartolini by blood. Perhaps it would have been worse for your sisters believing one thing, only to find out it wasn’t the truth.”

  “But if I’d have had the courage to speak up all those years ago, my parents could have talked to us. They could have explained their actions. Now we’re left with guessing at their motives.”

  “And this is why you’re selling the estate? You don’t feel that you deserve it?”

  He shrugged. “My sisters both moved away and started over. It’s time I do the same thing.”

  “Have you told your sisters all of this?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.” His sisters were all the family he had in this world. “I can’t risk losing them.”

  “Do you really think that will happen? Because I don’t. I know your sisters love you as much as you love them. And nothing will break you apart.”

  In her gaze he saw truth and compassion, but it wasn’t enough to change his mind. “I... I can’t do it.”

  “If you don’t, I don’t think you’ll ever find that fresh start you’re seeking, no matter how far you move from here.”

  He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong. But he didn’t. Sylvie was a smart woman, but the risk of revealing his secret to his sisters was too great. They’d already lost so much—been through so much. And he didn’t want them to look at him like—like he’d let them down.

  “You won’t say anything, right?” he asked.

  “You know you can trust me. It’s not my secret to tell. But for your own sake, you need to tell them.”

  “I... I have to go.”

  “Stay.” She approached him. “We don’t have to talk.”

  The thought of spending the night getting lost in her sweet, addictive kisses was so very tempting. Every fiber of his body longed to reach out to her and draw her close. But he knew if he did that, he’d never let her go.

  And that wouldn’t be fair to Sylvie—sweet Sylvie, who believed in true love, happily-ever-afters and the goodness in people. But he could be none of those things to her.

  His gaze automatically moved to her lips. Why did it seem like such a natural thing to kiss her good-night? Perhaps it was the same reason he’d entrusted her with his most deeply held secret.

  But he just couldn’t complicate matters even further. Not after he’d just told her the reason they shouldn’t be together. He wasn’t a person she could count on because he let down the people he loved.

  He raised his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Disappointment—or was that pain?—showed in her eyes. In a blink it was hidden behind a blank stare. She didn’t say anything as he turned and walked away.

  With each step he felt as though he was doing the wrong thing. Sylvie might be the best thing that ever happened to him, but he wasn’t the best for her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE DAY COULDN’T have been more beautiful.

  The sun was bright. The blue skies were clear. And the air was warm.

  But the mood in the car was anything but bright and cheery. The shadows under Enzo’s eyes said that he hadn’t gotten much sleep, if any. She’d at least drifted off for a few hours but her stomach wasn’t feeling the best. She wrote it off as motion sickness. It would soon pass.

  After a quiet car ride, they arrived in Florence. Without much sleep, espresso was very tempting. When Enzo repeatedly offered to get her some, her stomach still wasn’t up for it.

  On her phone, Sylvie did a search of stores in Florence. “There are a lot of shops we can check for decorations.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  She started reading off the directions. When she looked up, she noticed he’d turned in the opposite direction. “The shops are the other way.”

  “This is just a little detour.”

  “But we have to get back to the vineyard and finish setting up.”

  “Relax. We have time. And you did say you’ve never taken time to look around the city.”

  It was true. Since she’d moved from Patazonia, she hadn’t spent much time in Florence. Sadly, the few times she’d visited this beautiful and historically rich city, she’d been here to do wedding business and so still hadn’t seen much. She’d dreamed of one day taking the time to visit some of the city’s sights, but there was always a meeting to attend, a need to rush back to the estate and never enough time to just relax and be a tourist.

  The fact he was taking a detour this morning was something she’d wanted for a long time. So why was she fighting it? Why didn’t she just let go of her worries and enjoy the day—wherever it led them?

  Enzo parked the car. Sylvie stepped out and lifted her face to the morning sun. It warmed her skin and energized her. This was going to be a good day after all. This tour of Florence with Enzo as her guide would be priceless.

  “Where are we going to start?” Excitement pumped through her veins.

  “This way.” He gestured over his shoulder. “I hope you wore your walking shoes.”

  “I did.” She never imagined she would be touring Florence, but she’d dressed to do some serious shopping and that involved a lot of walking.

  The people of Florence shared friendly smiles and greetings. They made Sylvie feel as though she fit right in. Enzo started off by telling her that he wasn’t a professional tour guide so he wouldn’t be able to answer all her questions about the city, but he would do his best. She had no doubt that he was the perfect person to show her the sights.

  “Unless you want to take a professionally guided tour,” he said. “I’m not sure what time slots are available. Whatever it is, we can make it work. I don’t want you to miss out on anything.”

  Sylvie placed a hand on his forearm. “Stop. I would like you to do the tour, if you’re still willing.”

  He nodded.

  They set off, side by side. There was just something about seeing the city through his eyes that appealed to her. And with Enzo’s mood improving, the company was the best part of all.

  “Our first stop is the Ponte Vecchio Bridge or Old Bridge,” Enzo said. “It’s one of the oldest bridges in Europe. And it still has houses built on it, though most of them are now shops.”

  “I can’t even imagine living on a bridge.” She marveled at the idea.

  “There are some great views from there.”

  They started across the crowded bridge. There was an energy flowing through the crowd as they laughed and talked amongst themselves as well as conversed with the vendors, most of whom were jewelers. She was immediately drawn in by the showcases. She told herself that she was only going to browse. She didn’t have any extra money to splurge on any of the dazzling baubles for sale—not when she was about to lose her home and job. But looking didn’t cost anything.

  She was in awe at some of the remarkable pieces. But there was a necklace of silver
and gemstones designed to look like a cluster of purple grapes with green leaves all wired together. It was remarkable. And she loved it. Then she looked at the price. It was too much for her budget. She gave it a lingering glance then, with a resigned sigh, she moved on.

  She didn’t say anything to Enzo about the necklace, but when he was drawn in by a wristwatch, she backtracked to take a second look at the necklace. She didn’t want to explain to Enzo why she couldn’t buy it. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty over the events at the estate. After all, it was just a necklace—a stunning, handcrafted necklace—but a necklace all the same.

  As they continued across the bridge, Sylvie pushed thoughts of the necklace to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t change things to dwell on something she couldn’t have. However, the memories made today were priceless. She loved everything about her time in Florence—including her tour guide. As soon as the thought came to her, she dismissed it. Where had it come from? She was just letting the excitement of the day and their newfound easiness with each other get to her.

  She paused by the bridge’s outlook to take in the beautiful view of the river and the surrounding city.

  “Wait here,” Enzo said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared into the crowd. She wasn’t sure where he was going, most likely tracking down some espresso. A yawn tugged open her mouth. She refused to give in to her tiredness. Today she would take in all the sights. Tonight she could sleep. But right now she didn’t intend to miss a thing. Or at least whatever they had time to see.

  Enzo returned. “Turn around.”

  “What?”

  “Turn around.” When she frowned at him, trying to figure out what he was holding behind his back, he said, “Trust me.”

  With a bit of trepidation, she did as he asked. He reached around her, placing something on her neck, but he moved so fast that she couldn’t get a good look at what was in his hand. For a moment she thought it was the necklace she’d liked so much, but she dismissed the notion. He wouldn’t know about it, as she hadn’t mentioned it.