Chapter 40
MOLLY
We flew to New York earlier this morning.
But as we reach the apartment black where Enzo lives, we see a big group of journalists are gathered outside.
I feel surrounded, boxed in, with people clamoring and shouting as we get out of the car. Some men, Enzo’s bodyguards, I presume, get us to safety. As soon as we’re inside his apartment, the clamor dies down.
Enzo’s brothers rush to him.
My heart melts.
Enzo has people here—his siblings. Family who love him and care about him. I understand why family means so much to him. They ask him how he is. He says he’s fine, then introduces me.
“Where's Mama?” he asks.
“She's back at the apartment,” Rio replies, making himself comfortable on the large sofa. His other brother, the one who with longer, softer, tousled hair, leans against one of the bar stools.
“I bought the damn apartment for her,” Rio says. “Now she has no excuse not to stay.”
“You bought it for her?” Enzo looks stunned. “How bad was it in Soave?”
I knew that’s what he’d be thinking. That his mother was hounded out of her place and that’s why she’s had to move here.
“Not as bad as this, but I didn’t want her there,” Rio answers.
“How bad has it been here?” Enzo asks.
“It's been insane,” Matteo answers. “The press have been camped outside here and the offices ever since this broke.”
Enzo turns to me. “It's not because of you. You must realize that.”
He tries to reassure me, but there’s a clear line between the videos going viral, then me bringing even more attention in returning the mask.
Enzo addresses his brothers again. “Father is furious.”
Rio throws his hand up in the air, dismissively. “He’s pissed. He wasn't going to be too happy about this, because it’s all coming out again, the past, Aurora and Mama.”
Enzo groans.
“We should go,” Matteo suggests, getting up from the bar stool. “You guys should get some rest.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Come over for dinner.” Rio scratches his beard. “I’d invite you over now but Raquel’s not feeling too good.”
“She okay?” Enzo asks.
Rio gets up. “Work pressure. She needs some rest.”
“Rest up at home for another day or so,” Matteo suggests.
Enzo walks over to see them out of the door. “I can’t. I’m heading into the office because I need to see Father.”
“About what?” Both his brothers turn around and ask at the same time.
“To clear up a few things.”
“Want to talk about those things at work, before you go and see him?” Rio asks. I can see his protective side and his concern for Enzo.
“I need to do this alone,” Enzo insists. “
“Have it your way, dude.”
Matteo nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Enzo shuts the door after they leave, but I sense his restlessness, no matter how much he tries to hide it.
“This is a beautiful place,” I say, with more enthusiasm than I feel. He’s got something on his mind and he seems distracted.
I go up to him with a suggestion. “How about you relax, binge-watch more TV, and whatever you need to? I'll make us a nice dinner.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me to him and hugging me. “I love you so much.”
Did I hear what I just heard?
His words slipped out so easily. I want to look up at him, but I'm so scared that he'll realize he didn't mean to say that. So I hold onto those words as I rest my head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, feeling him drop a kiss on the top of my head.
He said he loves me.
Oh God.
This man is like no other.
After everything that's happened, he hasn't blamed me. He hasn't looked at me differently. He's held me while I've fallen apart and made me feel safe when everything else in my life feels uncertain.
And now he's told me he loves me.
Somehow the pain of everything that's gone wrong in my life—losing Oakleigh, Miss T and my school children—slips away, because Enzo makes me feel so loved and so cherished.
I tighten my arms around his waist and hold on to him, letting out a long, deep sigh. We stay like that for a long, long time, before he moves apart.
“I need to check some things on my laptop.”
“Okay.”
I knew he wasn't going to sit around watching TV, not unless I was snuggled up alongside him. He has things to do, so I leave him be.
I open the refrigerator. It’s fully stocked, of course. There's enough food in here to last a month. I stand and look at it for the longest time because I've never had a fully stocked fridge and now I know what it looks like.
I marvel as I walk around the state-of-the-art kitchen. Running my hands along the marble countertops. I stare at the shiny, squeaky cleanliness of the glass and tiles and countertops.
Everything looks expensive, and beautiful.
There are fresh flowers vases dotted about the apartment.
Who did this and when?
After a quick look at the rooms—I discover there are four—Enzo tells me which room is ours.
Ours, he said, like I belong here.
My heart feels so full it almost hurts. Everything has been turned upside down so fast that I barely know which way is up anymore, and yet here, with Enzo, happiness keeps sneaking in when I least expect it. I want to hold onto it.
To this.
To us.
I unpack my bag, and offer to unpack Enzo's when he doesn't say anything because he's frowning at something he's reading on his laptop, I go ahead and do it anyway.
I sort out the laundry. Check out the bathrooms. Run my hands along the glass.
Look up at the view. Look at all the fixtures and fittings.
This is like the Manhattan penthouse, but a little more lived in.
This is how these people live.
Except, Enzo is my person.
This is what life of wealth brings you. Nothing broken, nothing that needs fixing, nothing soiled. Everything clean, sleek and beautiful, as if it's out of a magazine.
Having given myself a quick tour of his apartment, I make a quick stir fry.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” I say.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“But you have to eat something. Just a little bit.”
He does, but over dinner he's turns pensive again. I don't push him. I don't ask. He said he needed to see his father about something and I sense that it’s weighing on him now.
He pushes away his half-eaten plate.
“Why don’t you go and visit your mom?” I suggest. He’s so close to her and, I suspect, carrying a boatload of guilt that she had to retreat to the US.
“I want to go see her, but I want you to come with me.”
He wants me to come along. I don’t even know what to say to that, so I reach across the table for his hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He goes quiet again, so I wait. “I hate that she’s being hounded because of me. It's always me. Always me.” He looks away, the words edged with a viciousness that startles me.
He gets up and walks away, shoving his hands into his pockets. I watch him.
“Always you?” I prompt.
“You don't know, Molly. You don't know what I’ve done.”
“Then tell me.”
He goes completely still.
For a moment, I think he won't. His jaw tightens and his gaze drops to the floor. “Secrets destroy people.”
I blink, trying to figure out what he means. “They can do,” I say, slowly.
A muscle in his jaw ticks.
“All my life I believed that secrets protect people, but they don't. They make things worse.”
I can guess what he’s getting to. What happened in this family’s past is the sort of news that would keep the media intrigued. I read about his father’s wife who died by suicide. I found an old clipping that reported about Isabella, Enzo’s mother, being a mistress.
I’m starting to see Paul Knight in another light. This man had another family all the way in Italy while his wife and children lived in the States.
“What’s weighing on your mind?” I ask, my eyes fixed on his face.
He stares at the floor. Frowning. Staying silent. Overthinking and analyzing, the way he always does.
“We do keep secrets,” I say softly, “but we keep them for a reason. Because we think we can't show that part of ourselves to others. And then when we do, we realize it wasn't so bad after all.”
He looks at me, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink.
“You listened to me when I told you about my past. Whatever this is, you can tell me too.”
He looks away and I’m scared that I’ve lost him again.
“Aurora died. She drove off a bridge.”
“I know.”
His head snaps back to me. “You knew?”
I nod. It wasn't easy to find, but I don't tell him that.
“She might still be here.” His brow creases like he's battling with something ugly.
I walk towards him. “You don't know that, Enzo. You don't know what she was going through, or what was in her mind that day.” I move closer. “But whatever happened, you weren’t responsible for the choice she made.”
He sits on the couch, and I crouch between his legs, placing my hands on his knees.
“You don't know all the truth, Molly. You don't know the worst of it.”
The way he says it, the pain piercing through his eyes, I can see the pain is ripping him into pieces.
“My father deceived two women on different sides of the globe. They didn't know about each other. And do you know who exposed the secret?”
I shake my head, not daring to speak.
“Me.” He hangs his head. “It was me.”
I finally understand the weight he’s been carrying. It explains so much.
“I adored my father and I found a photo. I knew not to touch any of his possessions, but I wanted to see. So I pulled it out.” He lets out a shaky breath. “It wasn't Mama in the photo, and it wasn't me or Rio or Matteo. I was confused, so I showed it to Mama. She was in the kitchen cooking.”
He stops, his jaw tightening. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s reliving that time all over again.
“And the minute I showed it to her I knew I’d done something wrong.” He opens his eyes. “I saw Mama's face. I'll never forget it. She looked like I’d broken her. She took the photo from me and told me that I couldn't tell anyone. I've carried that secret all these years. Nobody knows.”
He lets out a shaky breath.
This. This is what’s been chewing him up from inside. This is the guilt he’s carried all these years. My heart bleeds for him. I kneel, moving closer to him and put my arms around his neck.
“Oh, Enzo,” I whisper. My heart feels the pain of the young boy he was.
“I found the photo about Father's other family. Rio and Matteo don't know. I’ve never told a soul, but it's eaten away at me, Molly. It's eaten away at me. All these years I've tried to keep it buried.”
I look up at him. His eyes are glassy.
“They started arguing that same night. Father left the next day and Mama told us. I don’t know how Aurora found out. Maybe Mama threatened to tell her, maybe Father realized he couldn’t keep the secrets any longer. The thing is, Aurora would still be here had I not shown Mama the photo.”
I stroke his cheek, and wipe away the moisture from his eyes. “You can’t know that.”
“I do know it. I ruined her life because a little while later she drove her car over a bridge and died.
If I hadn't done what I did, none of this would have happened.
Our lives would have remained the same. Mama's world wouldn't have broken.
Father wouldn't have vanished from our lives, and Aurora would be alive.
Jett and Dex and Zach would have a mother.
But I ripped that from them. I did that, don't you see?”
“Oh, Enzo. Enzo, Enzo.” I sit on the couch alongside him. “No. You did not do this. You were a little boy who found a photograph. You didn't deceive anyone. You didn't betray anyone.”
I let that sit a while.
“Just like you tell me that what happened in Venice wasn't my fault, what you did and what happened after that photograph, wasn't yours. It never has been, Enzo. It never has been your fault. It was never your burden to carry.”
I snuggle against him, putting my arms around his shoulders. I press a kiss against the side of his face.
“And your mom telling you not to say anything? She was trying to protect you. She couldn't have known what carrying that secret would do to you.”
He turns to me, and his expression softens, just a little. It almost feels as if the tightness he’s been carrying, starts to melt.
But I can tell he’s still fighting with my words. Years of him believing one thing can't be undone by a few things I've said.
He’s carried a weight for so long, and I’m not sure he even knew that.
He pulls me closer. Our bodies are angled awkwardly, but he rests his head on my shoulder.
“It wasn’t my fault, was it?”
“No. Never in a million years.”