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Seven
A rolling darknesstook over outside as Emilia retired to her bedroom, still missing a bed. On a positive note, a second-hand fridge had been delivered, thanks to Ally, and furniture would be snuck into the cottage tomorrow at a time Blaine was scheduled to be out of the shop.
Emilia’s entire afternoon had been tied up with cleaning and cottage repairs, then she’d ventured to her front yard to put the plants Aggie had given her into the ground. To be honest, she didn’t hold much hope for their survival, but Aggie had been right about her needing more to fill her time. Her current funds would run out, eventually. She’d need to find a job, but for now plants would do.
Her feet ached from the day’s work, so she lowered herself to the floor with a groan and lay down on the minimal softness of her solitary blanket.
Oh, how the rich have fallen.
She chuckled to herself, still struggling to think of herself as wealthy since she’d grown up far from it. Her dad’s choices over the years might have been hard to understand, but there’d been no doubt he’d beaten the odds. He’d risen above the limitations of a dirt-poor migrant and built an empire. And while he’d exceeded in providing for her materially, in other areas… Well, all she could say was that money hadn’t kept her safe, loved, or happy.
Maybe their rundown home with no heating or cooling wasn’t so bad after all. Nor the carefully portioned meals or clothing worn until too thin to function. Because sure as anything, money hadn’t made life any simpler.
How ironic that she lay alone now, so little to her name, her current circumstance originating from her father’s insistence he knew best. She stretched out and grabbed the cell phone on the floor beside her, the one she’d bought after throwing her old phone away so no one would easily track her through it.
She dialed her father’s number, hoping by now he’d had enough time to cool off.
“Hello, Vittorio Bonacci.”
Her stomach churned at the husky fatigue in his voice. “Dad?”
“Emilia?” His tone lifted with a hint of concern, but overall, he held his usual stubborn rigidity. “Say something.”
“Dad, I…” She paused, about to apologize for all the upheaval, only to realize she’d done nothing wrong. “I wanted to let you know I’m okay.”
Dads were supposed to care if their runaway children were okay, right? Only, her dad’s expression of concern had been to coerce her into marrying Anthony, so maybe she could be excused for not being so sure.
What a predicament. She’d never changed her last name to Stucco because she’d never felt like part of that family, but could she say her feelings on being a Bonacci were in any way different?
Her dad let out a sigh; whether relief or exasperation, she couldn’t tell. “Well, at least there’s that.”
She blew out a breath. While he could have been happier to hear from her, at least he wasn’t yelling. And if it weren’t for their history together—her mother’s death, and the undeniable toll it had extracted from them both—she probably wouldn't have understood his lack of compassion when it came to relationships and love. She probably wouldn’t have called him now. Because as much as she’d worked to shut this man out, the little girl in her still pined for her daddy.
A long silence stretched, and it was her dad who spoke first.
“I got your fax. I’m taking care of everything, Em.” His tone dropped, like maybe these last days allowed resignation to settle in, his plans for her life in tatters. Well, one look at Blaine shone a spotlight on her tattered plans too, so maybe now she and her dad were somewhere close to even.
“Things are a big mess right now, aren’t they?” She swallowed at the hitch in her voice, hoping her father didn’t hear.
A loud sigh crossed through the phone, but he didn’t reply for the longest time. Personal affairs aside, she’d done the right thing by Bonacci Jewelry. If she’d kept her mouth shut, Anthony would have bankrupted the entire company. Hundreds of employees would have lost their jobs.
She sat up and, like a child, hugged her knees to her chest. Even with all her reasons for leaving, a lifetime in an old-fashioned Italian community still messed with her head.
Any little girl in that environment learned there was no place in the world for women who left their husbands. Fraud. Adultery. Any kind of abuse… these were not reasons for divorce. There was no reason for divorce. Through love and hate, Italian families stuck together. What she’d done was less forgivable than murder.
“Em, I can see why you felt the need to do what you did. Anthony was always hot-headed, and I thought marriage would settle him down. But the other Stuccos are understanding people. If you’re ready to come home, we might be able to salvage this.”
She scowled at the apricot wall ahead of her, surprised and not surprised. This argument was not a new one. Her dad still held the same archaic attitudes he’d been raised with, but a piece of her somehow always hoped he’d put her ahead of tradition.
“Salvage what exactly, Dad?”
“Salvage our family honor.”
She sat taller, rubbing the flat of her palm over her forehead. “Our honor? Did you see everything I sent you? Not just the fraud stuff, but the—”
Her dad cleared his throat. “I know what you sent me. This isn’t just about our honor, Em, but the Stuccos too. Without them, there would be no Bonacci Jewelry. You know it. I know it. We owe them. So while I’ve reported Anthony to the police because I have a legal obligation to our investors, I expect you to return from whatever spa retreat you’re sulking in. Once the legalities settle, we’ll sort things out between you and Anthony.”
She pulled her hand from her forehead and clenched it into a tight fist, her next words spoken through gritted teeth. “I’ve repaid your debt to the Stuccos a million times over, Dad. They got ten years of my life.” Her eyes began to sting, but she refused to cry. Being in Harlow. Seeing Blaine. Hearing from Aggie that he was engaged. Emilia’s family had taken so much more than just years. “I’m not coming back.”
