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“Anything else we can get you?” Gabriella asks.
A time machine, so I can go back in time and fix this shit show at the start. “No. I’m just tired.”
Gabriella nods and hands me a blanket from the other side of the couch. I accept it with a polite smile and curl up next to Liam.
Enzo sits on the coffee table in front of me, sets the bottle of scotch down, and leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. Looking directly at me, he grows serious. I eye him warily and pull the blanket tighter around me. Just like with Michael, I’ve also heard the rumors about the blond reincarnated Viking at his side who is as crazy as crazy can be. But he’s been nothing but kind to me from the start. It’s strange. Perception vs. reality.
“Rose, I understand you may not be ready to tell us why you and Michael were fighting, but I need to know…was he the one who hurt your hand?”
Yes.
No.
“It’s complicated.”
Enzo’s gaze drops to my ice-wrapped hand. “That’s complicated?”
I swallow a large sip and look away.
“I knew you didn’t slam it in a fucking door,” Enzo growls. “I’ll kick his ass.”
My face snaps up. “No. Please, don’t. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. There is no reason to hurt the mother of his child,” Enzo fires back, already reaching for his phone on the table.
Gabriella reaches out and snatches Enzo’s phone, making the man growl his annoyance. She tosses him a narrowed-eyed look before turning to me. “I think you need to tell us what happened.” Gabriella sets her other hand on my knee and squeezes gently in silent encouragement.
“I guess I should start by telling you that my name is not Rose Bennett. My name is…Rosaleen O’Leary.”
And then I tell them everything I wanted to tell Michael, and they listen. Without judgment, without criticism, they listen to every detail, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, and everything in between.
Explaining the insanity of the past ten months is a roller coaster of emotions, but it’s also incredibly freeing. Telling them is like having an immense weight lifted from my shoulders. Now that someone else knows the truth in its entirety, I feel lighter somehow.
“And that’s it. You two know everything.” I set my empty glass down and rub at my face. The alcohol sits warm in my belly, and exhaustion sets in. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Maybe I should. Maybe it’ll give Michael the time he needs. The time we both need.
“How much of this did you tell Michael?” Enzo’s the first to ask a question.
“None of it. He wouldn’t listen even if I had. He just accused me of being a spy for my dad and planning this whole thing. That I got pregnant on purpose and set him up.” I sigh. “None of that is true, by the way. My dad can rot in hell for all I care, and I never expected or intended to get pregnant either. I didn’t even know who he was that night. Mom kept me from all the High Table functions, so I never met him. Besides, he’s ten years older than me. What twenty-two-year-old is going to care about a twelve-year-old?”
“You’ve met me,” Gabriella reveals softly.
I look directly at her. “What?”
“It was at your mom’s wake. I remember catching sight of this little red-haired girl around my age running up the stairs. I followed you and found you locked in a bathroom. You were crying and thought I was your dad when I knocked on the door. You yelled at me to go away, and it was the cutest thing ever. So much spitfire and sass on such a sad day. It reminded me a bit of myself, and I wanted to be your friend instantly. I even told my mom about you, but then you went away. I’m sorry. I totally forgot about that until now.”
The memory is faint and tickles my brain as I struggle to remember. I spent most of that day in an angry, depressed haze and did my best to block the days after it in the years that followed. “I’m sorry too. I don’t remember it either, but it does sound like me.”
“Don’t be sorry. You were grieving.” Gabriella’s logic is so simple and pure.
I study them both, looking for some kind of anger but find none. Still, I have to ask. “Are you two mad at me?”
“Why would we be mad at you?” Enzo asks incredulously. “You didn’t know who we were, so it’s not like you lied on purpose. And I actually find it admirable that you were trying to protect us from your father. Not that Patrick O’Leary scares me, by the way.”
“I’m not mad either. I think it’s all very romantic the way you and Michael have fallen in love without all the pressures of the family dynamics.” Gabriella sounds wistful, like she’s talking from experience.
“We’re not in love,” I argue rather pathetically, ignoring how the admission stabs somewhere deep in my chest. Like I don’t want it to be true even as I say it.
Gabriella snorts and rolls her eyes. “Okay.”
