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They fell into silence, which was finally broken with Sylvia’s question, “What did you overhear?”
“God,” Emelia wailed, “I need to tell someone because it’s a hell of a burden to carry.” And that was the truth. She’d spent years keeping everything to herself, but she couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe it all needed to be out in the open.
“I’d gone looking for Mom after a squabble with Diego. She was arguing with Dad. I waited in the hallway as they argued, and I’m not even sure what started it, but, as they calmed down, they talked about the past. Dad told Mom how much he’d grown to love her even though they’d married at the bequest of Francesca, my father’s first wife. Mom had sighed and said it hadn’t been a bequest because Francesca had begged them both to marry.”
Emelia hiccupped through her tears, and continued, “Then they started talking about another man and how they were both relieved he was no longer a threat because he’d died.”
She shook her head. It had felt like a betrayal, to know that her entire life…who she thought she was, was a lie. She’d wanted to storm into the room and scream at them, but she’d been stuck, frozen to the spot. She swallowed back the hurt and continued, “It turned out that my father had never slept with my mother until long after she’d given birth to Diego and me. And when I say long after, I mean six years after. It was after they’d renewed their wedding vows…after they’d finally fallen in love with each other.
”So you see, all this time, I’ve been raised as a true daughter to Emiliano, when, in fact, I have no blood relation to him or his own children. I could be with Dante, but, even though my heart breaks all the time for him, I have no idea how to tell him the truth without causing heartbreak for the entire family.”
Shock, horror, sympathy and finally, support crossed Sylvia’s face as she listened. Emelia hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the latter.
She couldn’t stop now that she’d started, and the relief she felt that someone else finally knew helped. “He’s a priest now and I know he loves his church…and his congregation, but I want him to be selfish. I want him to love me—to be with me. I need that with him badly that being away from him is a physical pain.” Emelia sat up and gripped both of Sylvia’s arms. “Please tell me what to do because I don’t know anymore.”
Sylvia looked surprised, and she opened her mouth to answer before she closed it again. She looked as confused as Emelia felt. Finally, she asked, “Does anyone know? Diego?”
“No.” Emelia shook her head. “I haven’t told anyone. Only you.”
“You haven’t asked your mom about it?”
“I’ve tried so many times but I always chicken out. Part of me is afraid that I misheard what was said, and another part hopes to God that I heard correctly. I will always love Emiliano as my father because he raised me from birth as his own, but I need what I heard to be true because of my feelings for Dante. Does any of this make sense to you?”
Sylvia smiled. “You make perfect sense, and I think we need to tell Eric. He loves you and, trust me, although it will be a shock to him, it will ease his mind over you both.”
“He worries,” she smiled, “I know. I always used to go to Eric when I was small. He would tell me a story or keep me away from Kasey who used to steal my things to make me mad.”
“Emelia?”
They turned at the sound of Eric’s voice.
Chapter One
One month later…
Nursing a whiskey in his hand, Dante sat in the dark living room. It had been a long day of trying to act as though he didn’t have a lot on his mind when his head was so full—about to explode. A bit like how his heart had felt when he saw Kasey’s truck in the ditch during the snowstorm at Thanksgiving. He’d feared for his siblings, but the relief he’d felt when Emelia came into view was nothing like it should have been for a sibling. Nothing could have stopped him from holding her in his arms…it didn’t matter how wrong it was or how others had looked at them. All that mattered was that he could touch her to make sure she was real.
He sighed and took a long draw of his whiskey as he looked around his father and Lucia’s living room. He always felt welcome, but the house never felt like home because he’d been away from the family as a child—completely by his own choice. At first it was because of how angry he’d been with his father for marrying Lucia…recently, it had been because of their daughter.
Emelia lived to drive him crazy and he wished she’d find a man of her own to keep her away from him. Perhaps the longing for someone who was forbidden—she was his sister after all…and he was a priest—would disappear. Deep down he knew nothing would release him from the feelings he had for her, and the jealousy of seeing her with another man would probably kill him.
The silence would get to him one day, but, so far, the alcohol worked fine to numb his heart. At least, it did until he looked at the entrance of the living room and saw the silhouette of Emelia. She stood and observed him without making any move closer.
He didn’t trust himself while his emotions were all over the place. Her scent was still inside him from when he found himself beneath the mistletoe with her. It had taken everything in him to only peck her cheek.
Shaking his head, Dante placed his empty glass on the side table. He stood and moved toward her, craving her touch no matter how wrong God said it was.
Emelia was breathtaking. Wide eyes, high cheekbones that were accentuated by the tiny, curling tendrils escaping the heavy, silken mass of black hair, and a small frame that fit against him perfectly. She looked more delicate and ethereal than ever in her leggings and fitted shirt, and he walked closer like a man caught in an enchantment.
His heart pounded in his chest at the sight before him. She was the only one to ever tempt him to break his vow to the church, and it was wrong. So wrong.
He clenched his fists, averted his gaze and tried to step past, but her hand on his wrist stopped him. Her touch warmed him in places that should be dead. When she wasn’t there, those places were dark and hidden—dormant until Emelia touched him. He used to be able to ignore them but now, he found them, more difficult than ever to ignore.
“We’re under the mistletoe,” Emelia whispered.
It was pure torture.
“Emelia,” he groaned in a whisper of desperation.
