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“Rocco is an idealist with his head in the clouds. A movie studio could go bankrupt in a year, and then where would you be if that happened?”
Is that what happened with Luca and Mrs. Belfiore? She didn’t even bat an eyelid after hearing about his passing. Was she really that cold? Or had she never invested her heart into Mr. Marini all those years ago?
And she wants me to rest.
How could I rest now?
Who’s Percy Sterling?
Apprehension and worry spun through my head as I searched on my laptop. His age was listed as thirty, but he appeared older with a bow-tied suit and oiled-back blonde hair. His smile in every picture was like an overexposed lightbulb. Too bright. Too forced. Yet his eyes were vacant, like there was no joy in their depths. Further down the page, a possible reason was given. He lost his wife in childbirth last year. I couldn’t imagine the pain he went through, and empathized. He still had photos of his late wife posed sewing and cooking from scratch on his Fair Foundation website. She even hung clothes on the line.Hmm… okay.Sure. But why use old-fashioned stuff when she doesn’t have to?Or better still, why was he “keen” to marry me?He must have seen the photos of me with Rocco. Heck, Cassidy said the kiss Rocco and I shared at the after-party in Cannes wasstill trending.A man who prided himself on a traditional wife wouldn’t want to be with someone in a backless gown kissing a man in a club. What was his motive in wanting to marry me?
Or was I taking this change of plans much too seriously? There were already signed contracts.Rocco wouldn’t just walk away from our arranged marriage.Not the man I’d come to know. Yet, I couldn’t remove all doubt from my mind. Or the sinking feeling aching in my stomach at the thought of Rocco leaving me behind. That was my problem—I’d grown attached to him in a way I never should have.Mrs. Belfiore’s right.I’m just as foolish as Mama.
I closed the page, but the search was still there, and a news article in the second row stopped my heart.
Judge Eric Colby issued a temporary order to stop the Fair Foundation lawsuit that would end free meals for the unhoused.
Sweat broke across my body, and nausea burned my throat.Is Judge Colby seriously doing good things for people in need?Impossible.Or he’s getting some kind of benefit from it.My jaw tightened as disbelief filled my brain, and the answer was at my fingertips. All I had to do was open the article.But I can’t.
I blocked my sperm donor from my mind, nor had I seen or searched for him all these years, hoping to forget him. The image I kept was the last one I saw on the night of the attack. He was strung out on drugs. Gangly. Filthy stringy hair, hollow eyes, and burned lips and fingers. He stunk of bleach powder and body odor. Even then, he strutted around with his chest thrust out like a prized rooster. But on that night he was over the top, bragging about a big payday coming. There was only one thing holding him back.Me.
Thud. My hands slammed the laptop shut harder than I intended, but I didn’t stop to check if I’d damaged it. I stood up,and paced, my hands clenched in fists. I didn’t want Colby back in my life, but life was bringing him back anyway. I could lose it and destroy everything I had—just like he would do, or prepare myself.
I took a deep breath, sat down by the desk and centered myself like I’d been taught in therapy. Then, I reopened the laptop. This time, I clicked on the article and looked at him.
Judge Colby had a makeover—a tailored suit on his fuller frame, his brown hair neatly trimmed. He stood posed before a two-story home with a new wife. I gasped.He’s remarried?She was only twenty-three, just a year older than me.Gross. However, she tried to appear older, styling her hair in a tight chignon and a matronly high-collared dress. My eyes darted from image to image. Judge Colby at the Mayor’s home. Judge Colby on a podcast.A new wife, job, and life?!Once again, he failed upward. The universe handed him another chance on a silver platter. It wasn’t fair. I moved to close the page, but something made me hesitate. In every photograph, Judge Colby was facing left. It took five pages of image searches to find a photo of him facing right. And there it was. He had a deep, crooked scar that the hair on his jaw didn’t cover. It looked angry, vicious. It told a different tale of what he was trying to pretend to be, and I knew it was from the chair I hit him with.
Happiness soared inside of me, and I actually let out a fiendish chuckle. After years of his cruelty, he finally got a cut in his heel. That scar made it so that he could never forget what he had done. Why hadn’t he gone for plastic surgery? Or was he already out of money?He hasn’t been out of his halfway rehab place for less than two years, as it says in the gossip mag, but it was clear he was trying to make over his life.However, it wouldn’t be easy with me linked to Rocco, a public figure. What would he do to stop the press from digging? Or us from answering?
Chime. My phone rang, and I crossed the room to pick it up from the side table. It was Rocco. I took a quick breath to calm my pulse that had quickened. Then answered, “Hello.”
“Hello, Adelina. How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice infused with concern.
I leaned against the wall, staring down at my toes pressing into the carpet. “Not bad. I think it’s just a cold. Nothing rest can’t cure.” I cleared my throat.
“True. Depression can make you feel sick.”
I pushed off from the wall and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. How are you doing?”
“It’s non-stop here. I’m meeting with the board, lawyers, work and making funeral arrangements.”
I frowned. “Hmm, that sounds like a lot.”It’s too much, really.
“It is. My family is leaving it all up to me and my team, like they’d done with Grandpa.” His voice lost steam and my heart constricted. From what I knew about him, he was probably taking on everything, and putting himself last. That was where I came in. He reached for me.Maybe he needs me.But that was what I wanted to believe.
“I’m sorry, Rocco,” I said and I meant it.
“It feels odd not having you next to me. You know I would have given you a private place to stay. Why didn’t you tell me Reginald was coming?” His voice was warm, but I could feel a tinge of disappointment that brought a pang to my chest.
“He told me not to, but I was going to anyway, before I fell asleep. Sorry. I…I didn’t want to upset you. Anyway, you’re busy—”
“Never too busy for you, Bella. Are you okay? I know you were unhappy with your grandparents.”
I hesitated.Should I tell him they may try to marry me off to Percy Sterling? No. Knowing them, they were probably just trying to pressure Rocco.
“No, no. Uhm…it’s the funeral. You know how my grandparents are strict about our marriage.”
He sighed heavily down the line. “Yeah, I do. I told your grandfather that we need to delay the wedding just until we settle things here with my grandfather’s estate. A month or so. It’ll give us all a chance to settle the funeral and reschedule in Italy. But I still want you to come back with me. I’ll fix this as soon as possible. Just a couple of days—”