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“Hold myself together?” I yell.
Isa’s eyes dart toward the door, and she places a finger over her lips. “Please. Please, Shae, keep your voice down. This is not how I wanted you or my boys to find out.”
“Tell me how the hell I’m supposed to keep myself together,” I whisper-hiss, “when I’ve been fucking my brother!”
She jumps back. “You’ve slept with Dante?”
“What? No!”
“Oh, Shae,” she says softly. “No. No, sweetheart, you haven’t slept with your brother. Rex is not your brother.”
“He’s not?”
My stomach twists again, but this time I don’t have the urge to throw up.
“It’s Dante,” she whispers. “Dante is your brother.”
Oh, thank God.
My body sags in relief and happiness and grief as the weight of her words descends on my shoulders. My eyes shoot to the bathroom door. Dante is my brother. My flesh and blood. My living, breathing relative, and he’s right out there.
Everything I’ve longed for and dreamed of is right behind that door—and I’m not just talking about my brother.
“You can’t tell him,” she whispers.
“What do you mean I can’t tell him? Of course I’m going to tell him. He’s my brother. He’s a part of me and a part of my father.”
Then, in a flash, all the tiny things about Dante I’ve noticed over the past few weeks snap into place—the sidelong glance he gave me that reminded me of my father, his loud, boisterous laugh and over-the-top personality. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.
“I know this is shocking and scary and probably a little exciting for you. But please, please think of my boys. This will devastate them. This will tear my family apart.”
“But isn’t that what you wanted?” I ask, remembering my father’s words to her. “You wanted Dante to know my father was his father.”
She nods. “You’re right. I did. But that was before your father’s death. I can’t fight my husband on my own. If he finds out Dante isn’t his son, he’ll have me killed, and I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do to Dante.”
“You were willing to risk that fourteen years ago.”
“I loved your father, Shae. I would’ve done anything to be with him—”
“Does that include killing my mother?” I’m slightly pacified by the look of horror on her face.
“No. Absolutely not. I would never do that to your mother. Elena was a wonderful woman.”
“But you slept with her husband.”
Her eyes drop to the floor. “I’m not proud of what I did.”
“Then why do it?” I yell.
Her eyes find the door again, and I take a deep breath. If I want her to keep talking, I have to stay calm.
“Why did you sleep with my father when he was happily married to my mother?”
“Because he wasn’t happily married,” she says nervously. “They went through a rough patch after Camilla was born, and I hated my husband. I hated the way he treated me, and I hated the way he treated Rex.”
She shakes her head. “Your father and I grew up together. We were neighbors. He was my best friend, and at one time I thought I would marry him. But that’s not how this life works. I was promised to Sal, and I had no choice in the matter. Your father and I eventually went our separate ways. He married your mother, and I lived in a proverbial hell for years until one day…”
Her words trail off, and I wait with bated breath.
