Page 14

Chapter 14

Juliette

“It has to be you,” Colin whispered before I had a chance to say anything, throwing all my rehearsing for this moment out the proverbial window. “The way you protected me. Risked your life for me. How worried you were about me.”

Bloodshot eyes met bloodshot eyes. A father and son facing off, the truth stretching quietly between them.

Feeling Constantine’s gaze riveted on me now, I looked his way. His brows were tight, his lips a hard line, as if waiting for my permission to speak.

Colin didn’t miss my nonverbal signal, reading my quiet nod as confirmation.

“I knew it,” he said, punctuating each of his words.

“We planned to tell you today.” I placed my hand over my stomach, as if it might quell the mountain of emotions moving into my chest and constricting my throat.

Constantine quietly stood. He had to be feeling a world of hurt and pain, so many things I’d never understand since I hadn’t been robbed of sixteen years with Colin. I was desperate to hug both of them.

They gazed at one another, jaws strained, and eyes narrowed. This was supposed to be a happy reunion, but instead, it felt like we were in for an uphill battle between a stubborn boy and an equally stubborn man.

“How long have you two known?” Anger curled up into Colin’s words, emotion withering away at the last syllable.

“Since yesterday, before you went for breakfast.” I stretched my arm toward him, but he shook me off. It took all my restraint to hang back, not to swaddle him in my arms, blanketing him with the comfort I knew he needed but wouldn’t accept.

“So, that’s why you came here yesterday all upset, asking to see Mom. You thought she kept me from you.” He lowered the Ziploc bag to his side as if it held the weight of a lifetime of what-could’ve-beens if only the ink hadn’t been ruined. “Why didn’t you two tell me yesterday?”

This moment had been sixteen years in the making, and I’d wanted it to be special. “I couldn’t drop that on you and then take off for work.”

“Why—why won’t you say something?”

Colin’s broken voice shattered my already broken heart, and my maternal need to comfort him took over. I lunged for him, wrapping him in my arms, but his focus remained on Constantine.

“Say something,” he implored, his body trembling against me as he refused to return my hug. “Say the words. Pl-lease.” His voice stuttered with the same emotion I felt coursing through him. “Just say the words.”

I suppressed my sob, rolling my lips inward and tightening my mouth, refusing to steal focus away from the two of them by ugly crying. But, oh God, my heart. It hurt so bad for him, and if Constantine didn’t speak soon, I’d have no choice but to do it for him.

My body shuddered when I felt Constantine’s presence close in behind us. “ Sono tuo padre .”

Colin peeled free from the sanctuary of my arms, urging me to the side so he could face his dad. “English, please,” Colin said, grit in his voice and tears in his eyes.

Constantine steadily stared at him, still a block of steel and quietness. The silence seemed to stretch forever before he finally said what Colin needed to hear. “I’m your father.” The statement was framed in disbelief that matched his dark and intense gaze. He angled his head, brows slanting and eyes tightening their aim on Colin. “You’re my son,” he added in a softer voice. “And I’m so sorry I didn’t know that.”

Colin fisted the Ziploc, crumpling it in his hand as he shook it twice in the air. “I gave up on you ever coming back,” he cried, nostrils red and flaring. “I gave up on everything.” His lower lip quivered as he tried to get the words out. “And now you’re just here. Just like that,” he whispered, sniffling. “It’s too late. It’s just too late.” Tears streamed down his face, and he lifted his arm and used his sleeve to scrub them from his cheeks, momentarily covering his eyes to keep them at bay.

“No, Colin. It’s not too late.” I sprung for him, but he walked backward, lifting his hand and holding the bag between us as a barrier. “He’s here now. You found him. And you saved that chair for him because you didn’t give up. A part of you never did.” I licked the salty tears at my lips, dying on the inside at not being able to hold him.

“Colin.” Constantine said his name with such conviction that it had the hairs on my arms standing.

I slowly turned to look at him, but he didn’t follow up with more after that.

Colin tossed the bag onto the counter and shoved his hands into his front jean pockets, shoulders hunched forward as he worked to pull himself together without allowing my help.

“There was something familiar about you in that garage. I heard a voice in my head telling me to take your wallet, and I thought I was losing my mind. But if I hadn’t . . .” He squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head, sending fresh tears free at the movement. “You’re rich. Why’d you give a damn about tracking down your wallet? I don’t understand.”

He answered in a somber tone, “There was something inside my wallet I had to get back. Something irreplaceable. And while I didn’t hear a voice in the garage, I sure as hell felt something when I looked at you.”

His last words had Colin’s attention, and the emotion in his voice had a vise grip around my heart.

“I just . . .” Colin shook his head. “I need a minute.” He sniffled. “I’m gonna pack,” he said before taking off.

I started for him, but Constantine caught hold of me. He dropped his mouth over my ear. “Give him that minute,” he whispered before turning me around, hugging me the way I’d wanted to hug him.

My arms were pinned between our bodies, elbows tucked in and hands in prayer position, so all I could do was lean my head forward against his chest.

Lazy strokes of his hand moved up and down my spine as he cradled my head with his other, keeping me sheltered in the safety and comfort of his hold.

Seventeen years of bottled-up emotions came exploding out of me, and I let go of an even more resounding, harsher cry while also trying to silence the sound by burying my face against his chest.

“That didn’t go as I expected,” I murmured through my mess of unrelenting tears.

“I think it went how it was supposed to,” he said as he continued to soothe me, when it should’ve been me taking care of him.

After a few more minutes, I managed to pull myself together and stepped back, allowing my arms to return to my sides.

His shirt was visibly damp from my tears, but he murmured something to me in Italian before I could apologize. “ Andrà tutto bene. ” He drew my chin into his hand, guiding my eyes up.

“And that means?” I sucked in my wobbly lip to keep from dissolving into more tears.

“Everything’s going to be all right.”

I wanted to latch on to his words, cling to them for dear life, but before I could say anything, I realized we were no longer alone.

Constantine’s eyes were pointed behind me, and he lowered his hand as I turned to see our son there.

“Are you two together now? Like a thing?” His eyes, which I now noticed had a touch of purple forming around his right one, slipped back and forth between us with hope, not accusation.

“No, of course not,” I said as he dropped his duffel bag by his Converse.

He stared at us for another long moment, placing us under the microscope before setting his sights on Constantine. “Since you’re rich, does that mean I am, too?”

“Colin,” I snapped out in embarrassment.

“What?” He shrugged. “It’s a legit question.”

“Not appropriate,” I reminded him.

Based on a look I knew all too well on my son’s face, he had a hundred more questions burning in his mind, and his tears would take a backseat to his curiosity about his dad.

Constantine touched my back and offered a gentle but firm reminder. “We shouldn’t be here long.” I glanced at him as he asked, “Mind packing some photo albums?”

“Oh, um, everything is pretty much digital these days. I have all my photos on my phone.”

He nodded, and when he dropped his hand from my back, I stepped in front of my son and whispered, “Are you okay?” as if it were only the two of us there.

“Yeah,” was all he gave me, shifting his focus to his father.

I forced myself to walk away from him and one-thing-at-a-time’d my way to my bedroom to pack. I left the door open so I could eavesdrop, assuming Colin would take the chance to ask more questions.

“I looked you up after I took your wallet,” I overheard Colin say as I loaded my bag.

“So you said,” Constantine remarked in a dry voice.

“You have a big family.”

“I do.”

“You’re from Sicily?”

“I am. Moved here when I was ten.” Short-and-to-the-point answers from him.

“So, I’m half Italian?”

A quiet moment passed before he said, “My father would make the distinction you’re half Sicilian , but yeah, sure.”

Colin made a little harrumph noise. “And, uh, that chick with us earlier, she’s my aunt, right?”

“Don’t call your aunt a chick.” The reprimand came out so perfectly delivered in such a father-like tone that I couldn’t help but smile before it dawned on me that Colin met Constantine’s sister.

“She didn’t have an accent like you. Although, yours is only heavy when you’re pissed off.”

“Izzy was born here.”

“And, uh, the dude with us earlier—he’s her man, right? I think I saw something online about him when I looked you up. Governor’s son. Navy SEAL. Owns a bar.”

“You know a little too much.” Constantine’s deep breath could be heard in my room.

“So, that’s a yes.”

Oh, Colin.

“Hudson Ashford. One of my closest friends. Married my sister last month, yes,” he finally appeased our son with a response.

“Is that weird, him hooking up with your sister?”

“No stranger than my son using that type of language about his aunt,” he shot back in a serious tone, and my heart skipped about three freaking beats at the use of “my son.”

I knew Colin’s heart had to be working overtime hearing those words, too.

I was too focused on their moment to consider the circumstances that led to their odd meet and greet in the hallway.

Colin broke the quiet after a few moments. “And I have two uncles on your side?”

“You do.”

“Grandparents are still alive, right? Your dad runs the mega-billionaire Costa empire with you?”

Billionaire?

“They are. And he does. And I do.” Constantine and his mega-punctuated short answers were slowing down my packing. Give the kid a little more than that.

Colin wasn’t just getting a father, he was getting a whole new family. Don’t cry again. Save that for later. For bed. Was I really sleeping in his bed later? Well, not his-his. Shit, I’m losing the plot.

“Your other sister . . . that’s, um, I’m really sorry about that.”

No response.

Oh no. Was that the sister Constantine had alluded to when we spoke yesterday?

“You were in the Navy.”

“Yes.”

“Ever been on a submarine?”

“More times than I can count.”

“Ever think about my mom after that night, or was it just sex for you?”

Okayyyy, that’s enough. I rushed into the hall to save Constantine from our son’s version of twenty questions. “I just need my stuff from the bathroom, and we’re good to go.”

Colin glared at me for interrupting his Scottish (now half Sicilian) Inquisition. Whereas his father met my eyes with a silent thank-you for coming to his rescue.

A smile crossed my lips—my version of you’re welcome— then I hurried up and finished getting my stuff together before our son had a chance to throw another wild curveball at the man.