“Alright,” I said. “My father is a bastard. You’ve met him, so you know. My mother is… gone. Not dead. Just checked out. She spends her days at charity luncheons and her night’s drinking wine in her room. She’s been that way since I was twelve.”
Zara’s fingers tightened around mine. “What happened when you were twelve?”
I didn’t answer right away.
“I lost my brother,” I said finally. “Matteo. He was the good one. The one who was supposed to take over the family, marry the right girl, carry on the legacy.” I shook my head. “When he died, my father had no backup plan. So he tried to mold me into a replacement.”
The memories were old, worn smooth from years of repression, but they still had edges. My older brother, Matteo—the golden child, the heir my father actually wanted—was killed by a drunk driver when he was seventeen.
After that, everything fell apart.
My mother disappeared further into herself. My father became sharper and colder than ever. And me? I became the rebellion. The wild card.
“I’m sorry, Lorenzo. That must have been hard.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Zara was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “You have a sister, though. Right?”
“Yes, a half-sister, Isabella. She’s younger than me, married to a man my father picked for her. She’s the only one who gets to tell my father to go to hell.”
“Sounds like you.”
I smiled. “She learned from the best.”
Zara laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made my heart skip.
“What about you?” I asked. “Tell me about your family.”
Her smile faded, but not in a bad way. It softened, as if she were remembering something painful but distant.
“I’m the second oldest of four. My dad left when I was eight. Just… walked out one day and never came back. My mom worked two jobs to keep us afloat. She did her best, but she was always tired, always stressed. I don’t blame her. She gave up everything for us.”
“Four kids alone,” I said. “That’s not easy.”
“It wasn’t. But we made it work.” She paused, her eyes drifting to the water. “I think that’s why I’m so messed up. I never really learned what love looks like. My dad left before I could figure it out. My mom was too busy surviving to show me. And every guy I’ve been with since then… they either used me or left when things got hard.”
I stopped walking.
She stopped too, turning to face me.
“Zara.”
“What?”
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t like them. That I would never leave. That I’d do anything to keep her safe.
But instead, I just held her hand tighter and kept walking until we found a bench overlooking the harbor, and we sat down .
The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came after honesty—the kind that said I’ve shown you something real, and you didn’t run.
Zara leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, watching the boats bob in the distance.
“Can I ask you something else?” she asked tentatively, almost as if she were afraid of my response.
“Anything.”
She turned to look at me, her dark eyes searching. “Why me? I mean, you could have anyone. A billionaire heir with a penthouse, a bar, and a family name that opens doors. Why would you marry a random girl who showed up at your bar crying over her ex?”
