Page 130 of Fractured Empire

Hesitating for only a second, she says, “As long as you don’t mind that I was friends with Cleo, I don’t have any objections either.”

“I don’t mind that at all.” I reach out, taking her hand to squeeze it, hoping to portray my genuine reassurance. “Cleo and Leon had a strained marriage, but I have so much to be grateful for because of her. If she hadn’t demanded he find a mother to love her sons, I may never have even met them, let alone become their mother. She made this happen, and she’ll always have my appreciation for that.”

“Thank you,” she rasps, eyes welling up. “No one talks about her fondly like that and it breaks my heart.”

I can’t imagine having your only friend pass away when she isolated everyone else who could have loved her. The Morettis weren’t allowed to love Cleo because she pushed them away for her own sanity, but I was never personally hurt by her rejection. And as much as I love Leon and I hate that he was without love and affection for so many years because she rejected him, I can never blame her for dealing with her situation the way that she did.

“I have no idea what I would have done in her shoes,” I tell Melani, getting a bit emotional as well. “But I get to spend every single day with the three best people in the world because she lived and because she was selfless enough to demand someone try to fill her place when she couldn’t live any longer.”

A cry catches in her chest and she surges forward, surprising me by wrapping her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Katya. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

“I’m so glad we talked.” Hugging her back, I feel like a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying has been lifted.

“I’ll let you get back to your party,” she sniffs. “I need to freshen up.”

“Of course.” I let her go, stepping back. “I think I hear the piano above us, actually. I’m going to see if Bastian is up there. Sometimes he needs a break from the crowd.”

“Yeah,” Melani concurs, dipping her chin. “I’ll text you after today, if that’s all right.”

“More than,” I agree, smiling.

Going our separate ways, I head upstairs and calm myself down from the deep conversation. I hadn’t expected it to happen, or for it to go so well, but I’m glad it did.

Before I make it to my sitting room to see if Bastian is on the piano, I see the shadow of my mom slipping into the room and hear the music stop shortly after. Curious, I can’t help but plant myself in the crack of the doorway, peering inside to investigate.

Like I predicted, my eldest son is sitting at my piano, but he’s stopped playing now that he isn’t alone.

“Did you need a moment away from all of that noise too?” my mom asks, approaching him slowly so that she doesn’t make him uncomfortable or scare him off.

Bastian assesses her for a moment, but nods, deciding she must be trustworthy. He’s met her several times, and only an hour or so ago, he witnessed his little brother accept her as a grandma.

“You play beautifully,” she tells him encouragingly, nodding to my piano. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“You can sit,” he replies with a little shrug.

I breathe out quietly, trying not to hold my breath. I really shouldn’t be spying like this, but I couldn’t possibly turn away from this moment. It means too much to me, seeing my mom with my kids.

“You sound just like my Katya when she plays, you know? I miss hearing her songs so much. She used to play for us every holiday and it was one of our best traditions. Sometimes I would even play with her, though I’m not nearly as good.”

“I play with her,” Bastian mentions, voice low and shy. Looking at her and then back at the piano, he nods to the instrument. “You can try, if you want.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” she replies with a small chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ears. I’m quite out of practice and it wouldn’t be any good, I promise you that. You could play something else if you like?” Bastian looks contemplative and she tilts her head at him. “Or we can talk? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can tell me to go away, even. I won’t mind. We all need privacy sometimes.”

“Are you my grandma now?” Bastian asks bluntly, blinking at her.

If the sudden question startles my mother, she doesn’t show it.

“I would absolutely love to be,” she replies without missing a beat. “But just because I’m offering, doesn’t mean you need to accept.”

“What do grandmas do?” He frowns as he asks the question, like he’s sad that he doesn’t know the answer himself. “Are they just like my papa?”

“Hmmm,” Mom hums, thinking about it. “Every nana, papa, grandma, and grandpa are a bit different, I think. Lots of nanas bake cookies, and wear soft sweaters, some of them play bingo. My grandma used to give me little bits of candy from her purse and take me to garage sales to find knickknacks.”

Bastian looks even more confused and she smiles at him.

“But mostly, grandmas are there to love and spoil their grandbabies. Your papa gives you gifts, spends time with you, and loves you, right? Well, I would do the same thing. I’m afraid I’m not very good at making cookies, but I’m a very good gift giver. Just ask your mom, she’ll tell you.”

“Aunt Rayna makes cookies,” Bastian tells her, like he’s trying to make her feel better about a perceived shortcoming. “So you don’t have to.”