Page 159 of Pretender

I do my utmost to remain polite, but I want to blurt out all my questions. Their housekeeper brings us all coffee, offering a distraction, and saves me from being rude.

“Tell me, please,” I say, but where the hell do I even start? I clear my throat. There’s one thing the letters weren’t clear on that I still need to iron out. “When my father came here, did he have a relationship, an affair, with someone else? With Signorina Melinci?”

Edoardo mutters under his breath, and Nonna pats his knee. “The Melinci family, they were trying to find a way to join our families for decades. Giorgio was already in his twenties and didn’t seem capable of finding a wife for himself, so we finally conceded.” Nonna pauses, slowly leans forward and picks up her small cup of espresso. She sips it and puts it back, equally slowly.

I wait, holding my breath so I don’t burst with impatience. Tell me!

“We announced the engagement,” she continues, “sent invites to the wedding, and, well… He didn’t go through with it, as you know.”

Nonna shakes her head and pinches her eyes shut for a moment before blinking them open again.

“The Melincis were humiliated, and they held it over our heads for years. And when they later found out Giorgio was still unmarried, they kept pushing their spinster daughter on him when he visited. It was our fault she was still unmarried, they said. But I never saw him take an interest in her—in anyone—while he was here. Your mother had changed that in him.”

I drop my head into my hands and breathe to calm my racing heart.

Okay. Dad didn’t cheat on Mum. That’s what I’m hearing.

Dragging my hands down my face, I meet Nonna’s eyes again. Her wrinkled forehead has a crevice between her eyebrows. “My apologies,” I say. “I just, I’ve never been certain. It’s been hard to understand what he did when I’ve only had one fragment of the story.”

“As you will have read in the letters,” Nonna continues, “Giorgio had a period of his life when he made poor choices with regards to women, but he was a good man, and he, as far as I can tell, never broke your mother’s trust while he was here. He was also a good son, and we will always regret driving him away…” Her voice is barely a whisper by the end.

I nod.

“Look, I really need to understand… Why wouldn’t you answer Mum’s plea? Why didn’t you help us after Dad died?”

I sift through the pile of letters and find the one with Mum’s handwriting and show it to Nonna.

She shakes her head, holding up a hand and I put the letter back in the pile. “I’m terribly sorry to say this, but from the beginning we were certain Amara didn’t truly love our son. She didn’t look at him the way a woman in love does. She only wanted his money.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Linnea squeezes my hand on the couch, reminding me to let them finish.

“We got the letter, and we were deep in mourning over the loss of our only son. It was hard to see past the grief and the regrets. But we had a friend in England go and check on you for us.” Nonna twists her hands in her lap. “When they finally found you, you were living in a mansion in Cambridge. Amara wasn’t destitute. We were right not to give her your inheritance.”

I gawp at them.

“That wasn’t the case,” I say. “She didn’t live there. She worked there. As a housekeeper.”

Nonna blinks at me and Edoardo shifts on the couch.

I shake my head. “We had to move to Cambridge to live with her friends because we didn’t have any money.”

“Oh.” Nonna turns to Edoardo, and he lifts his hands, shaking his head.

“That’s not what we were told,” he says.

“Seems your ‘person’ wasn’t doing a very good job,” I mutter.

“We didn’t mean… Oh my goodness, we are so sorry,” Nonna breathes, her brown eyes watering as she clutches her heart. “We were too quick. Edoardo,” she says, turning to her husband. “She was telling the truth?”

Edoardo shifts on the couch again. “As I told you, we kept an eye out for you, and we knew you were doing well in Cambridge, which is why we never intervened in your life.” He clears his throat, looking down at his hands. “But the resentment we held against your mother must have made us shortsighted. We jumped to the conclusion based on what was given to us. How…” His voice cracks and he lifts a shaky, papery hand to his forehead. “How can we ever ask for your forgiveness?” he breathes, eyes that resemble mine looking straight at me.

Fuck.

“Despite not having a lot of money, we had a good life,” I say, hoping I won’t be the reason an elderly couple dies here today. “Don’t worry about that now. But I’m relieved to hear you weren’t malicious about it.”

“Only quick to assume, I suppose,” Nonna says. “And as the years passed, we didn’t think you wanted anything to do with us, because we never heard from you.”

“I could say the same of you,” I say, raising a brow. “I never knew you were looking out for me.”