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I turned back around, looking in my brother’s direction. His mouth was twisted flat, and I couldn’t tell whether he was trying not to laugh or scream at me. “You said first of all earlier. What was the second thing that you wanted to say?”
I blinked a few times before remembering what he was referring to. “I was just thinking how strange it was that our mother was married to an Italian man, has been coming back here for so long, but she still has such a shit accent when speaking the language.”
Without another word, I slammed the office door behind me and strode down the hallway, making my way to the heavy doors that led to the terrace.
I breathed heavily in the fresh, fragrant air that smelled like the flowers coming from lemon trees and the wild rosemary plants in the enormous yard.
How could I be feeling this fucking upset? The better question was, why would I expect to feel any different?
This was, after all, how it’d been since I was a kid. My only defenses had been Dad, Stephen, and Nonna, and then it had only been the latter two after Dad’s heart attack.
I clenched my eyes shut and tightened my fingers around the marble statue that looked out over the gardens, trying my best to fight through the fog that always settled in when I interacted with my mother.
It had always been this way, and I swallowed a few times as I tried to fight my way out of the accompanying nausea. As a kid, having a conversation with my mom had always left me feeling as though I couldn’t trust what was going on in my own head, and I inevitably didn’t feel right afterward until I spent several days away from her.
Having the conversation was never the hard part. The hardest part for me was accepting that my own mother hated me. She always used the excuse of not wanting to be in my presence because I reminded her too much of my father. Who knew? Maybe that was true, but I had my doubts.
I’d come to a conclusion long ago that she was a sociopath. Perhaps that’s what I told myself to compartmentalize things. Because how could someone who was supposed to love you unconditionally be the one to damage you so irreparably?
I needed to get out of my head before I started to spiral into memories of my childhood. All the money in the world couldn’t heal these wounds, so why was I constantly fighting to protect my share of the family fortune from my sociopath of a mother just to get more injured in the process?
Fuck! This self-sabotaging bullshit will fuck me over if I let it.
I snapped out of my thoughts at the sound of sweet laughter coming from the stunning woman who was the most real part of my life here, even if she was here as my fake wife.
Fake wife or not, the sound of her laughter was all I needed to start thinking with the precision I was accustomed to. The weak and vulnerable version of myself I couldn’t stomach was effectively gone, and my focus returned.
I looked down into the shrubbery, grinning, and started down the steps.
That was it. I’d head into Sirmione for the night and regain my focus, keeping both feet firmly planted on the ground.
Chapter Fourteen
NAT
I nearly yelped when a strong pair of arms wrapped around my waist, and Spencer sharply pulled me back into his muscular chest. I tilted my head to look into his eyes, and he smirked at me as I heard Becca and Sloane giggling in front of us.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you make that sound,” he said in that low voice against my neck, “and I’ve coaxed a lot of sounds from you in the short time I’ve had the luxury.”
“Oh, behave,” I teased, smacking his arm. “There are children and family present.”
He didn’t answer. He simply leaned down and captured my mouth in a kiss that could only be described as impolite.
“Zio!” we heard Becca demand, and we broke apart to look at her. She was fighting against a noticeable smile. “Don’t be gross.”
“How am I being gross?” Spencer asked, not letting me go despite my pulling away from him. “If anything, you should complain to your zia too. She’s the one who’s kissing me back.”
“That is a terrible argument,” she said, looking at him like the tiny adult she seemed to be.
“You’re right,” he said, nodding solemnly. “I’m sorry. How has the tour been, ladies?” He stood at my side, slipping his hands innocently into his pockets.
I looked over at him. He was quite a delicious specimen. “It was even better than you said it would be,” I answered. “Everything go okay with your mother and Stephen?”
His mouth twisted up a bit, enough to tell me it had been just as bad as he’d imagined. After having lunch with that shrew, I could only imagine what had gone down.
Who knew? I had to assume it was a fight over money or estate management, or whatever else that would keep a wealthy family torn apart and seeking private meetings in this massive villa.
“Do you feel like doing a little bit of sightseeing?” he asked, successfully pivoting the conversation. “I thought we could go down to Sirmione; we can watch the sunset on the lake and get dinner there later. Just to get out of here for a bit and have some time to ourselves.”
