I only wish I’d done it sooner instead of waiting for so long. My relationship with Elena and Fabi suffered terribly because I refused to be even a little vulnerable around them.
I squeeze Elena’s shoulder, grateful for her support. “I’m not sure it will be enough.”
Fabi slides a comforting palm down my back. “Don’t you think that if anyone knows what it’s like to have a messed-up dad, it’s her?”
There’s a chance Cleo will understand. I’d be a coward not to take that chance.
It won’t be as easy as just showing up and telling her I’m sorry.
But that’s a good place to start.
CHAPTER 43
CLEO
After two days of relaxing on our girls’ weekend, we’re about to get on the road back to Casale di Principe. I climb inside the car with a full belly and an Aperol-spritz-fueled buzz from the lazy late lunch at a restaurant that served the best pasta I’ve ever had.
“This trip was a great idea,” I say with a smile.
Gemma grins at me. “Yeah?”
“I feel a lot better.”
She squeezes my hand. “You look better. You’ve even got a bit of a tan.”
I glance down. My legs are golden from the two afternoons we spent on the pebble beach below our house. I’ve never had girls’ trip like this, and it was everything I didn’t know I needed. I’m already thinking about when we can do the next one. It got my mind off Rafaele—briefly—and I feel closer to my sisters than ever.
I let out a sigh. Maybe everything will be okay after all. “Let’s come back again this summer.”
“We will.” Gemma hands me her phone. “Here. Queue up the next song.”
The four of us take turns with the playlist, blasting music through the open windows of the car, and the two-hour drive back passes in no time. We drop Mari and Gemma off at their homes first and then the driver takes Vale and me back to her and Damiano’s house.
When we walk through the front doors, Damiano is pacing the foyer. He’s on the phone, but when he sees us, he quickly wraps up his call. He strides across the floor and takes Vale into his arms. A grin unfurls across her face before he kisses it off her lips.
Jeez. You’d think we’d been gone for weeks instead of two days.
I look away, giving them some privacy and trying to ignore the pang inside my chest.
“How was the trip?” Damiano asks some moments later, having finished with the passionate make-out session.
“Amazing. We had a lot of fun,” my sister responds. “How were things back here?”
“Ah. They were…interesting.” There’s a strange note to his tone that makes me glance at him. Damiano’s gaze moves from Vale to me, and his expression turns wary. “Something arrived here for you, Cleo.”
Trepidation snakes up the inside of my belly. “The divorce papers?” I crouch down to remove my sandals, conveniently hiding my crumbling expression. “Good. I’m ready to sign them and move on with my life.”
Damiano clears his throat. “Not quite.”
The sound of steady footsteps reaches my ears, coming from somewhere up ahead. I’m getting the second sandal off when a pair of patent leather dress shoes appears in my field of vision. I recognize those shoes. Trepidation morphs into disbelief. I swallow. There’s no way.
“Hello, Cleo.”
Pressed black suit pants, gleaming leather belt, crisp white dress shirt, a triangle of tanned, tatted chest peeking from within. I stop before my gaze reaches his face.
For a few seconds, all I can do is breathe.
What is he doing here? He said it was over. Did he come just to break my heart again? To make sure it was sufficiently crushed under his heel?
No, he’s too pragmatic for that. If he wanted me to hurt some more, he could find a way to do it from New York. So why did he come? Did something else happen? Did something change? A pathetic flicker of hope appears in my chest. I crush it immediately.
No. Don’t go there.
Rising from my crouching position, I finally allow myself to look at his face. What I see expels the air right out of my lungs.
The entire time I’ve known Rafaele, even with his grueling work schedule, I’ve never seen him look more than a little tired. The man is built like a machine, his body and mind honed for performance. But for the first time, I spot cracks in his meticulous facade.
He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Slightly ruffled hair, dark shadows under his eyes, and a drawn expression on his face. When our eyes connect, his flash with unmistakable pain.