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“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” His mother sounded annoyed, and Christos steeled himself to break her heart.

“Madre…the baby wasn’t Luca’s.”

She stared at him in blank incomprehension. “What…”

“The sperm bank made a mistake. They emailed a few days ago. The baby is someone else’s. Luca doesn’t have a child.”

The color drained from his mother’s face, but beyond that, she had no reaction. A full minute ticked by, heavy with sorrow. Then, surprising him, she gave a slow, accepting nod. “Maybe it is better this way,” she said quietly.

Christos straightened in his chair, staring at her in complete shock. “What?”

“You cannot live in your brother’s shadow, his ghost always at your shoulder…or mine. At least now it will be a fresh start for you. But why is Rose gone?”

“Because—because—” In his incredulity, Christos could barely get the words out. “Because there was no reason for her to stay.”

“Pah! What nonsense!” his mother exclaimed, sounding indignant. “The reason for her to stay, Christos, is that she loves you, and you love her.”

“Obviously not,” he replied in a low voice, and she stared at him hard.

“That woman loves you. Why do you refuse to see it?”

“Because she left,” Christos snapped. “Because she chose to leave as soon as she found out the news.”

“And I don’t suppose you thought to try to convince her to stay?” his mother demanded. “To reassure her? She’s been told since you found her that the only reason she is here is the bambino! Christos, of course she left. She would have assumed that was what you wanted because you didn’t tell her otherwise.”

Christos raked his hands through his hair as he closed his eyes, forcing out the words that were so painful to say. “Madre, I can’t make her stay with me if she doesn’t want to. I won’t do that, especially since I cannot offer her more children.”

“Oh, Christos.” His mother’s voice was filled with sorrow. “I know that has been a source of grief to you—”

“And to you,” he felt compelled to point out, his voice hoarse. “And to my father.”

“Yes,” his mother agreed after a pause, “your father was saddened due to the lineage, it is true. And I was saddened because of the grief it caused you. And yes, I am also sad, very sad, that I will have no grandchildren from my own children, my own blood. But Christos, that is not everything. It is not the most important thing.” She fell silent for a moment, seeming to struggle with her own emotions, but Christos felt too weary to ask her to elaborate. “You were also so serious as a child,” she said at last. “And Luca so light. I worried for him, with the ways he could get into trouble, and less about you, when maybe I should have. Maybe we put too much responsibility on you, Christos, responsibility you already felt yourself. Maybe I should have encouraged you to be more like Luca, and Luca more like you.”

Christos shook his head. “I could never be like Luca.”

“No,” his mother agreed, “you are yourself, and I love you for it. And more importantly, Rose loves you for it. Do not throw away the best thing in your life simply because you are scared.”

“I am not scared—” Christos replied, indignant, and his mother laughed, a throaty sound.

“Yes, you are. Scared that without Luca’s child, you are not enough for her. Please believe me, my son, when it comes to Rose Delaney, you are.” He stared at her, hardly daring to believe it. His mother continued, “and when it comes to me, you are, as well. I love you, Christos. Rose loves you. Now go find her—and fight for her, because I have a feeling that very few people ever have.”

Chapter Twenty

Rose had thought she knew what it was like to feel alone. Since she was seventeen, she’d felt it, the stark sense of isolation and otherness she’d never been able to escape, no matter how hard she tried to hide it with a smile and a sunny disposition. Now she found she couldn’t even smile.

Since arriving back in New York four days earlier, she’d stayed in her apartment, sleeping off the jet lag and heartache and trying to feel like there was a point to anything.

She also spent hours reliving her days—and that one tender night—with Christos, wondering how she could have gotten it so wrong. How she could have fallen in love with someone who so clearly felt nothing for her, or at least not enough. Not nearly enough. In the end, her departure hadn’t even been worth a conversation.

As the days passed, her five weeks in Italy started to feel like a fever dream, yet one that still dogged her every waking moment. She couldn’t let go. She didn’t even want to, because reliving those happy days felt like the only thing she had to hold on to. She didn’t have a job in New York; in another month or two, she wouldn’t even be able to afford her apartment. She had a couple of friends she could only sort of rely on, but no real support to have this baby. Now that she’d had a taste of what that kind of real support could look and feel like—a family, a home, a loving partner—coming back to this lonely little life of hers felt harder than ever.

By the fourth day, Rose told herself to stop with the self-pity. She showered—something she hadn’t done in some time—and dragged out her laptop to look at want ads online. Nothing looked appropriate or appealing.

“Come on, Rose,” she muttered to herself. “Get with the program.” Admittedly, it was hard when you’d spent a month and a half falling in love with a gorgeous man on a gorgeous estate in Italy, enjoying every imaginable luxury, to come to earth with a decided bump, but she needed to figure out her life, such as it was. And cake, Rose decided, would help.

She still had some money left on the gift card her boss Maya had given her back in June. Even though the café wasn’t close, Rose decided a walk—and a big slice of Cocoa Coma Cake—would go a long way to clearing her head and helping her to feel better about her life. Hopefully. A crazy-colored sundress—the same one, she realized, she’d worn when she’d met Christos—also lifted her mood. She could get over this, she told herself. She could move on.

If only, she thought on a sigh, she could travel back in time and never have met Christos, or Esmerelda, or gone to Italy. If only she could have just kept living her little life and feeling happy with it, or at least happy enough.