Page 50 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

The three of us get seated in tense silence, only Mrs. Delaney doesn’t even really sit; she perches, like she’s ready to jump up again if she needs to.

The house sounds quieter than usual, and I can’t tell if that’s true or if it’s all in my head.

Part of me would love to dwell on this, just to stall for time, but I’m not sure I can do that. So I open my mouth and speak instead.

“There’s something I was hoping to talk to you about,” I say. My voice sounds normal enough, but my throat is tense and tight.

Mr. and Mrs. Delaney share a quick, knowing glance, and then Mrs. Delaney looks back at me. “Of course, sweetie,” she says with a nod. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

They’re so kind, so caring. Will they still feel the same way when I tell them the truth? I grit my teeth and go on.

“It’s about Maura. ”

There’s more of a silence now, but neither of them look surprised.

“All right,” Mrs. Delaney says. “Okay. That’s fine.”

So I nod. “You’ve treated me like your own son for years. You’ve cared for me and loved me and fed me. But I—” I break off, clearing my throat as it tightens until I can barely breathe. “I don’t deserve that. And so I need to tell you.”

Mr. Delaney’s shoulders slump at this, and Mrs. Delaney’s nervous expression shifts into something sadder, more expectant.

Why do they look like that? Like they already know what I’m going to say?

“Before Maura died,” I say, “I had broken things off with her.” It’s weak of me, a coward’s move, but I find I can no longer hold their gazes.

So I stare at the space directly between them, and I keep going, because if I don’t get these words out now, I never will.

“We weren’t going to get married anymore.

You’ve treated me like your true son-in-law, but?—”

How can simple words be so raw in my throat, so jagged on my tongue?

“And I’m sorry I haven’t told you,” I go on, my voice hoarse. “I should have, a long time ago. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know what to say.”

And I was scared, my deepest self whispers. I clear my throat and go on. “But the truth is, Maura and I were no longer going to get married. And when she died…”

I trail off as my gaze drops to my lap, where I find my hands clenched together so tightly they’re red and white.

This is the part I’ve been dreading the most, and spots swim in my vision to remind me to breathe.

So I take a deep breath and keep going, purging the poison that’s made me so sick.

“ I’ve never known what happened when she died,” I say.

“She seemed relieved more than anything when I broke it off, but I can’t say for certain that she—that maybe her accident wasn’t an accident.

” My hands in my lap grow blurry, and for one wild moment I wonder if this is what it’s like to be Juliet—to find yourself tearing up without your body’s permission.

“I’ve wondered if maybe”—I cough in a desperate attempt to make my voice sound more normal—“if maybe I had hurt her so deeply she felt like she couldn’t go on. ”

It’s a lot of power to ascribe to myself, the ability to remove from someone their will to live. But I think Juliet was right—our minds tell us lies sometimes, and it can be hard to know what’s true and what’s not.

The words I’ve spoken hang with a deathly finality in the silent room, noxious gas in the space between us—in a place that’s always been warm and inviting.

But while part of me wants to bolt from this house, this street, this town—the other part of me wants to look at the Delaneys and make sure they’re still able to breathe.

So I curb the impulse to run and lift my eyes to them instead. Something deep inside of me cracks at the sight of Mrs. Delaney’s face, tear-soaked and pink; Mr. Delaney’s expression is stoic, but his eyes are glassy, and he’s blinking rapidly.

One breathless second passes as we look at each other, but that’s all it takes for Mrs. Delaney to jump into action.

I startle, rearing back as she pops up from her seat on the couch and rounds the coffee table.

My body and mind both freeze as she shoves herself onto the love seat next to me, throws her arms around me, and sobs—I can feel my shirt getting damp by my neck, her soft arms squeezing as tightly as they can manage, and something strange shifts inside at the feeling.

I’m not sure I’ve been hugged like this since my own mother died, in an embrace so pure and so powerful that there’s no room for misinterpretation. My thoughts reel as I pat her on the back, dumbstruck, waiting for her to speak, because I’m truly lost for words.

Nothing—my brain is giving me nothing to say.

But the seams of my jeans are digging into my thighs, and Mrs. Delaney smells faintly of fresh bread, and her hair tickles my chin.

The room isn’t silent either, I realize; somewhere in the kitchen a clock is ticking, and somewhere in my chest a powerful wave of something is rising, and all of these things are bombarding me at once until I understand deep in my soul that I will remember this moment forever.

And it seems to last forever, too, although it’s maybe only thirty seconds until she lifts her head.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, her arms still tightly around my shoulders. Then she lets go and leans back, startling me as she takes my face in her hands. “Maura loved you,” she whispers brokenly. “But she knew as well as you did that the two of you shouldn’t get married.”

I blink at her. And my questions must be evident on my face, because Mrs. Delaney nods.

“If you hadn’t canceled the wedding, she would have, Luca, sweetie. She didn’t share much with us about—about feelings , but I do know that she didn’t feel like she could marry you. She knew in her heart that she wasn’t ready for marriage—to anyone.”

I’m not sure how I manage to speak, because every part of me is frozen in place. “She—was she going to break things off?” Was that why she looked relieved? Because I had done it, and so she wouldn’t have to?

“She would have,” Mrs. Delaney says with a sniffle.

She strokes my face with gentle, motherly hands and goes on, “We’ve never loved you because we thought you were going to be our son-in-law.

We love you because you’re a wonderful, caring person.

And I was so happy to feed you and give you hugs and make sure you were doing okay.

” A blanket of sadness settles over her now, her hands dropping into her lap.

“I don’t know why Maura swerved off that road, whether it was on accident or on purpose,” she admits, her gaze far away. “But it had nothing to do with you.”

And at these words, one tear trickles down my face—one, and then one more, and then another. Juliet would be so excited, and sad, and proud of me, too; she would feel all those things at once, because she’s an endless well of emotions.

“Let me ask you, sweetie,” Mrs. Delaney says as something brighter sparks in her eyes. She glances at Mr. Delaney and then back to me. “If you’re telling us these things, it must mean—” She breaks off, fidgets, and then goes on. “Is there someone special in your life? Someone new?”

“There could be,” I say honestly, and an absurd bubble of laughter tries to escape my chest. “Maybe.”

In the corner of my vision, Mr. Delaney straightens up, and Mrs. Delaney does the same, a genuine smile spreading over her lips. “Well, go on, then,” she says, beaming. “Tell us everything!”