Chapter 37
ELIZABETH
I stand, hands on the railing, facing the deep blue water which glitters under the midday sun. The scent of sea and salt infuse the air.
This is the kind of view that should make me feel alive and happy. Instead, I feel lost, like I don’t know what I should be doing. A pain rips through my chest as I think of Matteo’s cracked compass tattoo. I’ve traced it with my fingertips so many times. Dropped tiny kisses all along it.
And now I can’t stop thinking about him.
Vlad's yacht—I was shocked to discover he had one—glides along the Adriatic. Today is an extension of the wedding reception and the mood is celebratory, as guests mill about. The newlyweds are surrounded by smiling friends. Everyone seems to know exactly where they’re headed.
I’m the only one who feels rudderless and adrift.
I look away, feeling utterly miserable.
Matteo leaving me like he did, cuts deep. I feel abandoned by him, and wrongly accused and judged. I feel like I didn’t really know him as well as I thought I did.
He's in Soave now. I don’t know how long he’ll be there, or when he plans to return to the US.
I don't expect him to come back to Dubrovnik, because I don't think he wants to see me, let alone travel back with me. I can’t erase the way he looked at me that last time, the way he treated me, like he couldn't get away fast enough.
He made the choice to walk away, and believe the worst of me, and I've been sitting in that anger and heartbreak ever since he left.
Thinking of him, I reach for my phone, because despite everything, I miss him. I hate that I miss him. I hate him, too, in almost equal measure.
That's enough to make me abandon the idea of calling.
It angers me that he accepted Alex's accusation so easily, without digging deeper or giving me the benefit of the doubt.
I slipped away quickly after dinner, without telling anyone.
Now the hotel suite feels empty without him. The bed is too big. I don’t enjoy the views from the window. I don’t enjoy breakfast. I don’t enjoy the shower.
Every memory in that room is etched in my brain as plainly as it is imprinted in all the surfaces our sweaty, sleek bodies touched.
I keep recalling the good times we shared together, and now being here is too much. The memories are painful, and I feel all alone.
He took all his belongings with him. The wardrobe is empty. The bathroom counter is clear. There’s no trace of him. It’s obvious that he's not coming back.
He's been hurt, but he hasn't considered that he might be wrong.
Or how much he's hurt me. He quietly assesses everything around him, and he's broody and silent, because his response is always measured. He doesn’t lash out. He doesn’t do things without thinking and a lot of his world view is shaped, I think, by the hurt he experienced as a child.
The world around him collapsed, and he suddenly saw that it was built on lies and cheating.
I have a feeling that’s how he sees me.
But he got this so wrong.
His suffering as a child has informed his world view as an adult, but how could he judge me so easily, and believe Alex so quickly?
I should have told him. I should have just come clean because now he sees me in the same way that he sees his father; someone not to be trusted. Someone who tells lies and keeps secrets.
I am not the person he thinks I am.
I try to mingle with the guests on board, sipping cocktails, eating canapes and plastering on a fake smile, but I feel increasingly restless. When people ask where Matteo is, I tell them that he had to leave urgently to see his mother.
It's enough, and it’s the truth, and no one questions me further.
I force myself to get through these last few days of Vlad's wedding celebrations, as best as I can.
“I’ve been watching you,” Vlad says, coming up beside me.
I turn slightly, schooling my expression into something neutral.
“Something’s happened, mala, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I will make it my mission to find out.”
I force a chuckle. “Nothing’s happened.”
“What is the saying you American's have? You must think I was born yesterday.”
“You were born fifteen years before me, old man.”
“Old man,” he mutters. “There is a lot of life left in me still.”
I loop my arm through his. “Yes, there is. A long, happy life, with Valentina and lots of Vladinos, or Vladettes.”
“I hope so,” he says, peering at me. He looks away quickly, but not before I catch the way his lips curl up at the edges.
“No!” I force his face towards me. “Are you serious, Vladimir. Is ... is ... Valentina …”
He puts a finger to his lips, and drops his voice. “It's early, and I didn't tell you anything.”
I gasp, my eyes misting over. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional, but this is the best news I've heard in days. I’ve never seen Vlad this happy before.
His expression softens. “I know. It’s amazing. The best thing ever.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. He looks out across the water, while I try to wipe away my tears.
“I was left in an orphanage when I was a baby.”
His words hit me so hard I stop breathing. He's never talked about his family.
Not once.
“I never knew my parents,” he continues quietly. “Never knew where I came from. The only thing I knew for certain was that nobody came back for me.”
A tear slips down my cheek. “Vlad ...”
He shrugs, but there's something raw in his eyes. “That's why you matter to me, mala. Your story is not so different from mine.”
The tears come faster still. I'm an emotional wreck as it is, but this breaks me. All these years, I thought I knew him. And yet I never knew this.
Vlad has always been the sort of man who commands a room without raising his voice.
He is calm, confident and unshakable. The person everyone else looks to when things fall apart.
He’s impossibly strong, and now I realize it’s because life hasn’t been kind to him.
He'd been rejected before he even had a chance to understand what rejection meant.
Abandoned before he'd spoken his first word.
Yet somehow he'd built a life for himself, anyway, and along the way he’d helped others, like me.
It’s why he looked out for me so much, because he was to me a father figure, an older, protective brother. The family he never had.
We are so similar, it hurts.
“Don't cry, mala.” He puts a protective arm around my shoulder, and I sniffle, wiping away my happy tears.
“I'm so happy for you both,” I whisper.
He kisses the top of my head. “You don't know, so don’t say anything. I promised Valentina I wouldn't tell anyone. But you’re not just anyone.”
“Oh, Vlad.” I lean closer to him still and hug him for a moment longer. “I understand. I won’t say a word.”
We pull apart.
“Will Matteo be returning?” he asks.
“I don't think so. He doesn't get to see his mom often.” My voice inflects oddly, and I can tell he knows something is up.
“There’s more to it than that,” Vlad says quietly.
“There isn't!” I cry, my laugh sounding way too hollow.
“I can tell when you’re lying, Elizabeth.” He sighs, watching me carefully. “But you’ve grown up, and ... I think Matteo is not so different from you.”
I frown.
“I think I could get to like him,” Vlad continues. “But I think I should let you fix this.”
“I’m twenty-five years old, Vlad. Of course I can fix it.”
“Then you admit that there is something to fix?” He raises a brow.
“You ... you ...” I shake my head as Valentina approaches.
“Why are you two having such a serious conversation? Are you not enjoying yourself?”
“I’m having an amazing time,” I say quickly.
I like Valentina, and I can see she’s good for Vlad. I try not to stare down at her stomach, even though my eyes are drawn there, like magnets.
“Please take your husband away,” I tell her. “He can’t stop thinking about business and caring about the problems of the world.”
Valentina laughs softly. “He’s always like this. Always worrying, always trying to fix things. He cannot switch off.”
I glance at Vlad.
“I’m going to be fine, Vlad,” I tell him, as Valentina stops to talk to a guest for a few moments.
“I will check up on you, in a month,” he threatens. Valentina grabs his hand, tugging him along and he willingly goes.
My gaze drifts back to the sea stretching out in front of me. My mind races, filled with confusion, questions and suspicion about what I will soon return to, back at the office.
Who knows about my past? Who would do this to me? And why?
I'm determined to deal with the situation head on, and to clear my name, whatever the cost.
One thing’s for sure. I can fix this.
And I will.
***
MATTEO
We’re sitting in the garden, Mama's favorite place—her garden.
She tends to it every day, and it shows. The small space behind her house in Soave is full of life with its climbing vines wrapping around the old stone walls, and a few stubborn roses still in bloom beneath them. Pots of herbs line the edges, their fresh grounding scent mixing with the damp earth.
A heater beside us keeps us warm in the October chill, while a large parasol overhead shields us from the lightly falling rain. The air is cool and fresh, typical for this time of year.
We sit opposite each other, cups of coffee growing cold.
“You should come to New York, Mama. You know you can travel the world. We can take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Yes,” she says softly. “Maybe I will come.”
“It's not even his money now. Rio, Enzo and I are doing well and contributing a lot towards the business.”
We never want her to feel like the old man has a hold over her.
She's an independent woman, and she can look after herself.
At least, that's what we let her believe.
The “investments” we told her to make, have magically accrued vast amounts over the years.
We've advised her well, but the three of us, Rio, Enzo and I, also top up her savings.
Because Mama deserves to not worry about money. She deserves to live a long, happy and healthy life.