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And that was a possibility she had never prepared herself for.
It made her feel sick.
“Whatever you do,” she said, though it felt like a kind of surrender, “I beg you, do not toy with my son’s emotions for the sake of your own ego. Please, Pascal.”
But when the tension between them roared into a higher gear, she understood that somehow, her plea had made it all worse.
“I can understand that you’re not expecting me,” he bit out with a furious, exacting note in his voice that sounded to her like pure condemnation. “And I can even understand that you perhaps require some time to prepare him for this. But my patience is finite, Cecilia. And I am not leaving this valley until I not only meet my son, but also claim him—formally—as my own. I’m prepared to stay as long as necessary to make that happen.”
Too many things whirled around in her head at once then. Too many questions—and too much fear. What would happen if he claimed Dante, formally or otherwise? Would they turn into one more modern version of unconnected parents, forever shipping him off from one place to the other? Would Dante grow up without a sense of his own real home—which had always been one of the great comforts of Cecilia’s own life? How would she survive a life that included huge swathes of time without her own son?
She wanted no part of any of that. But she gulped down the questions that threatened to bubble over from inside her, because she was terribly afraid they would come out as tears. And that was the final, ultimate humiliation. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow it. It would break her.
And Cecilia refused to let him break her. Not this time. Not again.
“I hope you enjoy camping alfresco, then,” she said instead, heading toward the door. “Thepensioneis closed this time of year. And you’re certainly not welcome to stay with me.”
She shot a look over her shoulder at him when she reached the door, because she was so damnably weak, and something caught at her. Pascal stood where she’d left him, so solitary, and yet sosure. As if he were a pillar that held up the world, or at least this church, and could stand like that forever.
He will,something in her whispered, making goose bumps break out all over her skin.You will never be rid of him again.
“Alternatively, you can always throw yourself on the mercy of the nuns,” she threw at him, hoping her desperation didn’t show on her face. Yet somehow sure that it did. “I’m sure they remember you all too well. But no worries. They took vows. If you ask them for sanctuary, I believe they’re duty bound to take you in.”
With that, Cecilia threw open the door to the vestry and escaped from her past. But she knew, even as she slammed the heavy door behind her and collapsed against it, that it was only temporary.
And there was no one to help her or save her now as it tightened around her throat and pulled tight, like a noose.
