Chapter 29
There's Never a But in Love
Aria Amora
September. I was due in September with an autumn baby.
I hadn’t even missed my period yet. I just had this strong feeling suddenly that I wasn’t alone on the inside, and I asked the doctor to confirm with a blood test. He’d gotten the results in hours.
The last name Fausti made people hustle. In that situation, I wasn’t mad at it.
I wasn’t sure why, but a heart feeling told me the baby was going to be a girl. Even though the odds were for a boy, as Faustis usually had all boys, something told me we were going to have a daughter. A spicy little meatball.
I grinned as I looked at my stomach. It was still flat, but I was already imagining how much it was going to grow with our baby inside. Rocco set his hand over my stomach, grinning too, and then he leaned in and kissed me.
“My wife is going to be a mamma.” His smile was as broad as the sun burning away the fog.
“I’m so excited.” I smiled. “I can’t wait to see you with our baby. To see your sons with a new brother or sister.”
His face shut down at that, and he moved to the window, staring out of it.
It was because of Massimo and all that was going on between the two of them.
Massimo had been back to the property without telling Rocco.
I understood the Fausti family had a way of doing things, but I didn’t like how it put miles between Rocco and his sons at times.
Just like it had put miles between Luca and his sons.
A daughter of the blood, though? Protected at all costs. And spoiled. But even so, every woman of the blood I’d met was extraordinarily levelheaded.
Aunt Lola.
Mia.
Two.
That was the only women of the blood I’d ever met. The rest either came before, or I hadn’t heard of them. All men. It had to be unusual to have all those sons—then again, the Fausti family wasn’t normal by any means.
I folded a pair of boxers for Rocco and set them in his suitcase.
Luca insisted on taking a family vacation to Switzerland, where Rocco and his family often frequented in the winter.
Rocco had agreed. I knew it made him feel safe to have me away from the property.
The incident with him the night before weighed heavily on his mind.
He still couldn’t remember anything after the drive from Lucca to Piemonte.
I was worried about him and glad we were leaving for a while, at least until the doctor tested the bottle and we knew more.
Ermanno had told me he felt it was the witch, as he called her, and I couldn’t say I disagreed. That was another reason I wanted to know if I was pregnant or not before the usual time. The witch had been on my mind, and I wanted to know if I had a little life to protect.
I stilled with another pair of boxers in my hands. When the angry mob had been pelting me with rotten and fresh fruit, my leg had come up to protect my stomach. It was like my heart and body already knew.
Amazing how Mother Nature worked.
Rocco’s sons came to mind, and maybe because I knew how it felt to not be wanted by my mamma, my heart broke for them.
I also knew Rocco was raising his sons how he had been raised—if not, one of them might find himself on the wrong side of a sword, but…
maybe Rocco could find a way to make them feel…
more than the family name when it was just the three of them?
Even though Tiziano had not been Rocco’s son, he had raised him as his own knowing he wasn’t, and that situation didn’t end well.
Tiziano had been killed on the ship that was coming to attack us on the island.
Rocco was quiet about the hurt, but it made me think…
life is too short for bad blood, especially between parents and their children.
I kept my eyes down and my voice level when I said the next words. “We should invite him to dinner.”
Rocco was still staring out the window, watching as the fog drifted by in thick clouds. “Who is he,” he said, his voice in the distance. He had a lot on his mind, it seemed.
“Massimo. Amadeo. Ludovico. Maybe not all at once. We see Amadeo and Ludovico often enough. Maybe…maybe Massimo needs a little time for himself with you.”
“He has not come to see me.” His voice was curt.
“I know,” I whispered. “I…I didn’t go to see my parents either, Rocco.”
“Your parents do and did not deserve you.”
Okay. I needed to go in another direction. Sighing, I set another pair of boxers in the suitcase and walked over to him. I slid my hand over his shoulder, and he turned his face some, kissing my fingers.
“I will be your advisor, your secret keeper, your lover and your best friend. Isn’t this the way of it for a king’s queen, I mean.”
“Sì.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You are my wife.”
“Being your wife means all those things?”
“It means my life.”
“All right.” I sighed, and the next words out of my mouth were spoken in, what I hoped, was proper Italian. “Massimo is hurting. You hurt him by not…stopping Rosaria from hurting his love, or so he feels.”
“He has spoken to you.”
My face pulled in. I hadn’t told him about my interaction with Massimo the night of the harvest celebration, but my husband was the next king of Italy—he had eyes and ears everywhere, and when it came to me, an intuition that was unmatched.
“Not about that,” I whispered.
“Tell me, what did my son have to say to you the night the cinghiale was sent after you.”
I should’ve known the interaction, not how Massimo had knocked into me, since there was no one else around, would make it back to my husband.
“Nothing. He said nothing to me. So there really wasn’t much to tell.”
“You did not tell me.”
“I want him to trust me,” I said.
“At the cost of your husband not trusting you.”
Sighing, I turned around and went back to the bed.
I sat down, and our suitcases Rocco had set on top of the mattress slid down some.
Even before I was pregnant, he refused to allow me to pick up anything heavy.
He was really going to treat me like I was made of glass now that I was pregnant. All the signs were there.
I looked my husband in the eyes. “Do you trust me any less?”
“No,” came his automatic answer. “You are a healer, a woman of great love and faith, and family. You want to heal what is standing between my son and I.”
“I do. Your sons are a part of you. I know how it feels, Rocco, to feel like I don’t even belong with my parents.
So, as your wife, a title that means all the things we spoke about, I’m going to give you an official piece of advice.
Make peace with him. That way he can make peace with his life, attempt to salvage what he can—his relationship with the woman he loves, and if not her, his son.
“His brothers and the rest of his family too. Healing all seems to start with the fathers in this family. You’ll be a great leader, Rocco, but being an amazing father comes first. Your sons, your wife, our children…when all this is over, we’ll be who is left when the world moves on.”
He cleared his throat, and in a couple of long strides, came to stand before me. He stared down at me for a moment, and then took a knee in front of me, resting his head against my stomach. I slid my hands through his hair, feeling his warm, even breathing against my skin.
“You are the good in me,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me. “You will protect my good.”
“I’ll always be,” I whispered back. “And I always will.”
He was talking about his sons and the children we’d have together when he said you’ll protect my good.
His children would get the best parts of him, and our children would get the best parts of me too—even if we all struggled against the not-so-great parts our parents had handed down.
It was up to us as parents to nurture those good parts and attempt to better the not so good ones.
His phone rang. He didn’t move. It continued to ring.
When he didn’t answer, a knock came at our door.
His eyes went to it, and I whispered, “Do you think something’s wrong?
” My heart raced in a panic when I thought of Maggie Beautiful.
I’d been waiting on any word about her visit to the doctor.
Scarlett said she’d keep me in the loop.
Rocco rose to his full height and kissed me on the top of the head. While he went to answer the firm knock, I went back to packing. I disappeared inside of the bathroom for a moment, grabbing my curling iron.
The reflection in the mirror stopped me for a moment. The cut made me look more mature. It was short, shorter than my hair had ever been, and it waved around my head. The cut put more emphasis on my face, especially my eyes.
I wasn’t one to cave to pressure, but the new cut, new clothes, new skills…
that was the version of me my husband’s world would see.
I’d tried to be truthful about who I was, and I got booed because of it.
I made my peace with knowing that, the next time I showed up, because I would, I wouldn’t be so open.
I’d keep my eyes and nose up, shielding all I loved the most.
The rest of Italy, though? The small places we visited, the amazing food and people…those would be the sides where I’d keep my true self front and center.
I couldn’t replace Rosaria, and I wouldn’t even try. Why would I want to follow in her footsteps when my love was in an entirely different direction? Which was home with me.
Balance…I would balance.
Grabbing my curling iron and a few other bathroom items…no, I couldn’t hold it all. I’d just make a separate trip for my toiletry bag and the things I needed to pack in it. I entered our room to find Rocco staring at the bathroom door.
My first thought was…Oh my God. Maggie Beautiful. But he must have read the panicked look on my face and shook his head.
“My father called a meeting,” he said, as solemn as if someone had passed.
“Okay,” I whispered.