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"You know that his wife, Elisabetta's mother, is still alive?"

She gasps and turns to me. “You know?” Her eyes widen. She’s white as she— "I know, and Elisabetta knows."

"Ah, she shouldn't know. She—" She shakes her head. "It's not right. She can't— Her mother wouldn't want that."

"Why?" I say. "Why would you keep this a secret from her? Why would he?"

"She was my best friend, you know?"

"Who?" I stare at her.

"Mrs. Franco, Elisabetta's mom, we were childhood best friends. We both saw him at the same time, you know? I liked him. She didn't. She didn't even want him. It was just a game to her to see if she could beat me, and then he saw her, and he didn't even notice me. I guess they got on, and you know how the story goes from there. They got married. She’s always had issues, but not as crazy as they became. I think her mother was undiagnosed with something, but she never tried to hurt anyone, not like—" She pauses. "It's not my place to say anything."

"I need to speak to Franco."

"But he's in bed, and he won’t like that she knows. He spent his entire life trying to?—"

"To what? You do understand that she's been heartbroken for a mother her entire life. You do understand that her mother could never be a real mother to her?"

She shakes her head. "She's got issues. Not every day. Some days you think she's normal, and those are the days when he’s happy. Those are the days he’ll come home humming and singing because she told him she loved him or they played a game of cards, and then there are the days she hates herself, andshe hates him, and she thinks everyone's trying to kill her, and she grabs the knives." She stares at me with bleak eyes. "Mental health is something quite perplexing, you know?"

I nod not slowly. "I don't have firsthand experience with anyone with extreme mental health issues, but I do understand to a certain extent."

"You have to understand, Liam, that he didn't do this to hurt Elisabetta. He did this to protect her, to shield her. When she tried to stab Elisabetta as a baby, she had a moment of lucidity, and she begged him to take her away from her child because she didn't want to hurt her, and she didn't want her child to have any guilt. So she made him promise that he would never tell her that she was still alive. Sometimes I would say she had a right to know. She had a right to make that choice herself. But then I think sometimes you think you've lost something, but it's better if you’ve never had it at all." She stares at me. "You might not understand that now, but one day, you will."

"I need to speak to him."

"He's not a bad man, you know? He goes to see her every day, except when he goes to New York to be with Elisabetta. He was conflicted about that."

"Really? It seems like he barely spent much time with her, if he was really a caring and doting father."

"I'm not going to lie, I don't think he was a great father, but that's because he loves her so much, you know?"

"You mean his wife?"

"Yes." She gives me a sad smile. "And because I love him, I have remained dutiful and kept his secret. It's all a twisted affair, but you mustn't blame him. You have to understand. You see, she has to understand. He never wanted her to find out. He will be heartbroken, though not as heartbroken as she is."

"I need to speak to him now."

"Fine, come with me." She leaves the kitchen and escorts me down a corridor. We go up a flight of stairs and then two. We walk down another short corridor, and she knocks.

"Come in," I hear him say. She opens the door timidly and steps inside. I push past her. "We need to talk." He's lying in the bed, and he looks older than I remember. He looks me up and down, and I think he can tell by the expression on my face that all is not right.

"You love her," he says, sighing.

"How do you know?" I'm shocked at his comment.

"I could tell as soon as you arrived yesterday. My daughter was overacting about how shocked she was to see you, so I could tell there was actually something going on between you. The chemistry in the air, it was palpable," he says. "You did it, didn't you?"

I stare at him. "What?"

"You told her."

"How do you know?"

"Because you love her, and as a man in love myself, I know that a man in love will do anything for the woman he truly loves, so she knows." He coughs and sputters. "She hates me."

"I think she hates me more," I say. "But I wanted you to know that I'm not going to go through the engagement. She doesn't want it, and I think it's unfair of both of us to continue the charade. You can keep the money if?—"