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Jealousy hits my chest. Does she often meet strange men for dates like this?
“How did you even meet my father? Are you a liar too, on top of being a psycho?” she asks.
“Come on. Give me the benefit of the doubt, Grace,” I say, savoring the name sliding off my tongue.
“Just tell me the truth.” She glares at me.
“I really did meet your father. In fact, I was one of the first people he told about you. He said our wedding was off because you’d gone missing.” I fix my gaze on her. I don’t want to miss a single detail.
Emotions flicker through Grace’s face—disbelief, confusion, realization, and finally . . . abject horror. She opens her mouth, but no words come out.
I interlace our fingers. “Have you run out of questions, wifey?”
Her eyes wide, Grace studies me, searching for clues as though I’d have my name written somewhere. “You . . . You’re . . . Who are you?”
It’s funny how she can’t even bring herself to say it.
“Matteo Guerriero.”
“Matteo.” My name slips between her lips. It has never sounded sweeter. She swallows visibly. “Matt.”
“That’s me, Grace. Unlike you, I didn’t give you a fake name. But you still didn’t figure out who I was. To be fair, though, it’s not like you could’ve called yourself Gra.” I grin, even as she continues to stare at me humorlessly.
“We were supposed to . . . You were the one I was supposed to marry?”
I nod.
“So when I called your phone and someone told me you were getting married, that was true? And she wasn’t your fiancée?”
“I didn’t know you’d called.” I frown. Things could’ve turned out very differently had I known.
“She . . . The person who picked up the phone. I told her to let you know.”
Damn it. “That must’ve been Rosa.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
I gaze at her. “All these years, my only focus was to find you. I haven’t thought about what to do once I do.”
“You mean . . . nobody else knows?”
“No.” I pull her hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “I’m the only one who knows your secret.”
“You’re not going to tell anyone?” Grace stares at me, suspicion glinting in her eyes.
“And share you with everyone else?” I give her a smile. “No. You’re all mine. My own little secret.”
Grace
I put one foot in front of the other and try not to think about where I’m going, who I’m seeing.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m running late. Not surprising since I pulled out every single item of clothing from my wardrobe and tried everything on—not that anyone would be able to tell since I ended up going with a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a long-sleeved black top, and a taupe trench coat.
Oh God, what am I going to do?
I can’t just walk away from this life and start yet another one.
When I pulled that stunt four years ago, I had a professional helping me. My lone hike ended at a quiet stretch of road, where a man was waiting for me, leaning against his car while taking a drag from his cigarette.
During the drive to the airport, he handed me some papers: my new ID, driver’s license, and passport. He told me to only use those fakes if absolutely necessary before I boarded the plane to Dover. Every time I present a fake ID to the authorities, I risk getting caught.
Now, I don’t know who to call. Unfortunately, I’m not as resourceful or well-connected as my mom. It’s not like I can find guys like him on Craigslist. Maybe I should’ve asked him for a business card.
Also, there’s another little difference. A toddler by the name of Jack.
Starting over was hard enough on my own. But with a dependent? I won’t even think about it.
Last night, when Matteo kissed my hand . . . For the first time in a long time, I felt the flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach. He’s the only man who has ever made me feel that way.
Naturally, it freaked me out. So I muttered something about a deadline, ran out of the restaurant, and hailed a cab.
I kept looking back from the backseat, expecting to see Matteo following me. I couldn’t decide if I was more relieved or scared when he didn’t.
I got home to find Jack asleep in his bed and Lily grinning from ear to ear, hounding me about how my date had gone. Giving her the same lie about a forgotten deadline, I thanked her and ushered her out, promising to tell her everything another day.
Just as I was lying wide awake in bed, my phone beeped with a text message from an unknown number.
Meet me at your favorite Starbucks tomorrow at 1. Sharp. M.
I take a deep lungful of air as the green logo of the café comes into view. A bell chimes when I push the door open.
