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‘Wasn’t he?’ Dante persisted.
‘He was my Rock Hudson, Dante.’ Angela started to cry and finally he had his confirmation.
His head was reeling, but there was also a certain calm, for all his life he had felt he’d been lied to.
And as it turned out, he’d been right.
‘Why couldn’t he tell me?’ It was the question that first came to mind.
‘Dante?’ His mother helplessly shrugged.
‘Why couldn’t he tell me?’ Dante rasped. ‘I thought we were close...’
‘You were.’
‘Then why?’
‘Because I begged him not to. I didn’t want anyone to know that our marriage was all a charade and that Rafael could only ever try to love me.’
‘Is he even my father?’ Dante asked, while knowing it was the most ridiculous question, for they’d had the same build, the same eyes, the same dark humour.
‘Of course he’s your father. Dante, I am not going to take you into our marriage—’
‘Well, I’m very sorry to tell you,’ Dante said, cutting her off, ‘but I think you have to, because Stefano and Ariana will have the same questions as me.’
‘They must never know.’
‘Of course they have to know. When did you find out?’
‘He told me...’ Angela said, and she sat down on the edge of a plump sofa, clearly shaken.
‘Tell me,’ Dante implored, for he needed the truth.
She pointed to the decanter. He poured her a brandy and he watched as she took a sip and composed herself for a moment. ‘Please,’ Dante said, and finally she nodded.
‘The Romano brothers were the ones all the women wanted,’ Angela started in a shaken voice, but then she gave a bitter laugh. ‘I was thrilled when my mother said Rafael was to marry me. The Romano brothers were so handsome and everyone knew they were going places. His father, your nonno, felt that Rafael needed a wife. And we were okay at first—well, sort of—but I had nothing with which to compare...’
Dante joined her on the sofa, knowing this was difficult for her, and he took his mother’s hand.
‘I remember having coffee and biscotti with my friend and she said you have to do it at least once a week to keep a husband happy. I was lost as to what to say. We barely...’ Angela swallowed. ‘I did get pregnant with you, Dante, but that was it. I was too naïve to even have my suspicions; I was just angry and cross and felt unwanted. We would fight a lot, but then when you were five I screamed at your father that I wanted more babies and finally he told me why he could not give them to me.’
Dante was aching and hurting for his parents and all they had dealt with, yet still curious to know more. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘Many things...things that I shall regret for ever. But then anger left and we sat at the table. He cried and cried, because in every other way I think your father did love me, at least back then.’
‘Why did you stay?’
‘What choice did I have? I could not divorce him. Could you imagine our families? We were married with a child. Somehow we had to make it work. And so we talked, and we talked, and we agreed to try IVF. We bought an apartment here and I would stay in Rome for my treatments. I suppose we were happy then, Dante. I got pregnant with the twins and the business took off even more. I would come to Rome at weekends to see my son. I would watch your sport, and I met David.’
‘Does he know about my father?’
‘Yes,’ Angela said. ‘I told you, we have no secrets. Dante, I had a life here. I buried myself in my children, in charities, in functions. Your father was happier too, and no more so than when he met Roberto...’
‘How long were they together?’
‘Fifteen years. More than most marriages, and they would have been together for many more had your father not got ill, although the truth was starting to come out.’
‘How?’
