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“I’ve tried,” I snarl. “She won’t see me. She’s not answering my calls or texts. She hates my guts and I don’t blame her for it.”
He’s quiet for so long that I almost forget he’s there. So when he speaks again, I groan at the reminder.
“Why did you do it? Why did you have a fake wedding with Sophia if you care about her so damn much?”
“Because when I’m with Sophia I forget about Olivia and Kozlov and everything that happened. I wanted to keep my past at bay forever. And have a fresh start with Sophia. I never meant to hurt her, she wasn’t supposed to find out. Fuck, I don’t even know how Kozlov found out Olivia’s still alive. I’m a mess.”
Baron snorts. “I’m your best friend and even I didn’t know your dirty little secret. So, what are you going to do now?”
“Nothing. Unless you have any bright ideas.”
He hums. “Actually, I do.”
I lift my arm and squint at him. “What’s that?”
“Fix this, Roman.” He stands, casting me one last pitiless glance. He thrives on tough love. “Pull yourself together and do what needs to be done.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Figure it the fuck out.” He heads for the door.
“Wait! I’m serious, I don’t know what else to do.” I try to sit up, but the room spins too much.
“I’ll give you a hint: Do what you’reterrifiedof doing.” With that cryptic answer, he lets himself out.
What the fuck am I terrified of doing? I’m not afraid of anything—except never seeing Sophia again. I swear, Baron comes up with the most meaningless bullshit at times.
Then it hits me.
He means confronting my past, facing my pain and guilt. He means I need to finish this and go seeher. I need to choose Sophia over my revenge.
CHAPTER31
Sophia
The days go by in an unending blur of muted memories and dulled pain. Eventually, I cry less and eat more. My family gives me space when I want it and support when I need it. Bit by bit, I manage to pull together a semblance of myself.
I wish I could simply hate Roman and never think of him again. Instead, I end up hating myself for missing him. My thoughts keep drifting to him, even my dreams focus on him more often than not. Some mornings I wake up and reach across the bed, only to discover it cold and empty. Then the memories come crashing in and I live his betrayal all over again.
Am I a glutton for punishment, or what?
I’m not sure how many days I’ve been home when I finally decide to join my family for dinner instead of taking it in my room. Their stunned, hesitant glances tell me they weren’t expecting me to come out of my room yet. But I can’t waste away in there forever.
The past is just that, over and done. Its storm has done its worst to me. I need to find solid ground beneath my feet again.
I’m strong, I’ll survive this. Gradually, I’ll find myself in the remains of this wreckage, patch the pieces back together, and move on with my life. It won’t be so bad.
We eat in strained silence for the first ten minutes. Mama smiles encouragingly at me with each bite I take, while shooting daggers at Papa, who focuses on his plate. Ginevra and Arianna glance at each other like they’re carrying on a telepathic conversation. Since when do those two get along? Maybe they’re silently arguing.
“I’m sorry,” Papa’s voice brings everything to a halt. He glances at me. “I’m sorry for what you went through with De Luca, and I swear you’ll never endure such a thing again.”
I scrutinize him, attempting to get a fix on his angle. Papa never apologizes.
He wipes his mouth, then sets down his napkin. “Arranged marriages have been how we’ve done things for generations. The Pontrellis all the way back in Italy arranged their matches for the benefit of the family. When we came here, we kept our old ways, our traditions. Traditions that may be more harmful now than helpful.”
I glance at my sisters and Mama, who are as equally astounded as I am. Papa never apologizes for anything, he thinks it shows weakness. Now he’s giving us a family history lesson and saying they might have been wrong?
He continues, “Alliances with other families are important, but not at the expense of destroying my sweet daughters.” His gaze trails over my face. “Nikolai Kozlov gave you those bruises. I suspected what kind of man he was, but ignored my suspicions for the sake of the alliance.
