CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
R occo may have left, but he was still in the room. Memories of the many ways he touched me so present in my mind, on my skin. Why did he ruin it? I could have lived the rest of my life without confirmation that Luca “helped” my father. That he was one of the reasons I grew up in an abusive household. It was the main reason for putting the documents out of my mind. I wanted to remember the man I had grown to love so dearly. But now that’s gone. And how could I possibly fall in love with a man when his family helped destroy mine?
I started thinking of Rocco as more than an arranged husband, more than my lover. Luca’s betrayal hurt me deeply and changed everything I trusted to be true. And I wasn’t sure what was real anymore, and that was why I couldn’t remain in his bed.
My heart felt heavy as I left our bedroom. I chose another room with a queen-sized bed at the opposite end of the landing. The residue of life with Judge Colby hadn’t left me, and I locked the door to feel safe. Yet, at the same time, I had nowhere to go and would ultimately have to find a way forward. Rocco called me practical, but it took a lot out of me to accept my limits. He was still sure about our marriage even after he told me the truth, determined to make it one with love. “I’m getting love from you…no matter how long it takes.”
Rocco was after my heart, and it scared me. Was it my fear that wanted to make me put the blame on him? Nothing that happened was Rocco’s fault. Luca used him, too.
I sobbed into my hands. My dear friend Luca. Who are you?
It often amazed me how people that knowingly hurt others slept at night. Judge Colby slept fine. Did you sleep well, Luca? Memories surfaced of many times we talked. Mr. Marini sent photos of places he traveled to, the most beautiful places in the world. He also told me of his insecurity in his youth and how he overcame it. He fascinated me and gained my trust. And after years, I finally shared with him that I slept with a knife under my pillow. He actually cried that day, and I felt seen and cared for. I told him more and more. Looking back on those conversations, I remembered times when his eyes shone and he dropped his head. Was that guilt he’d felt? However, he always said, “You’re so strong, mi dolce Adelina. Your resilience overcame it all. Believe you can do anything because you can.”
I thought Luca said it because he cared so much about me. But Rocco told me the truth. It was all out of guilt.
“ He told me he never cared to know the details, only that he was happy when Reginald sold his property or sent money to cover loans he bought that your father defaulted on .”
Luca built a relationship with me after helping my father. Let me stroll around his home, showering him with love and kindness…No. That’s not exactly true. The Luca I’d known for eight years was kind. The man who walked me around his home that night was remorseful and loving.
Those documents left in the book for me in Italy shattered me. Had Luca left them? I didn’t know, but I finally had the truth. He wounded me deeply. A sob clogged my throat, and I curled on the bed, hugging myself, and cried myself to sleep.
Knock. Knock.
The bedroom was dark now. I reached over and turned on a lamp. Who was it? I wasn’t ready to talk to Rocco. I called out. “Yes?”
“It’s Maggie.” A cheerful female voice called from behind the door.
I sat up and wiped my eyes. It would be impolite to not answer, though I didn’t feel sociable. I sighed heavily and went over and unlocked the door. “Come in.”
Maggie had a kind face and a bright smile. She came inside and softly closed the door. “How are you, Mrs. Marini?”
My heart twinged hearing my new title. I forced a smile. “Please call me Adelina. Uhm, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, I know,” she said in a sympathetic tone. “Rocco said I should ask you if you wanted sketch pads to work on your submission?”
Lily Crane’s illustration proposal had a due date, and even if I was sad, it didn’t mean I could be irresponsible. As Rocco said, you fight for what you want . I still admired Rocco’s willingness to never give up on his wants.
I took another look around the room. It had a two-seater table, a television, and a small couch near the window. “Yes, sure. But I’ll get them myself.”
“It’s no bother,” she grinned sheepishly and waved her hand. “I already have them outside the door.” She returned with a stack of pencils and Ian’s envelope and placed them on the desk next to a laptop. Warmth spread inside me, thinking Rocco sent her to help me, and I quickly scolded myself. I’m reading too much into it.
I flicked my gaze at her. “Is Rocco here?”
“Yes, he’s waiting downstairs for you to have dinner with him.”
My brows furrowed. Oh, is he? My stomach growled, empty . Could I eat here? Even in my head, doing that sounded immature. Mama and my grandparents constantly disappointed me, and I still spent time with them. Besides that, I had a chance to ask more questions.
I plastered on a smile. “Fine. I’ll be right down. Thank you.”
“Good. The chef prepared this dish, especially for you, and it would be a travesty for it to go to waste.”
I tried and failed to stop the rush of excitement from coursing through me. “Oh. What dish?”
“Tagliatelle Funghi Porcini e Tartufo,” she trilled in Italian.
Tagliatelle Funghi Porcini e Tartufo was a mushroom pasta dish that had been one of my favorites in Florence. Of course, Rocco knew it. He had the chef make it a few times, and I always finished two plates.
I got up, washed my face, and changed into a button-down shirt and trousers. It wasn’t my most attractive outfit, but I went to dinner downstairs. At the bottom, the air was rich with the aroma of the sauce, and my mouth watered.
I walked into the room, and Rocco was seated at the head of the table. My place had been set for me next to him. He rose and moved to hold out my seat gentlemanly before I could stop him. “Must we do that at home?”
“Politeness should never be only on occasion,” he quipped. His eyes were bloodshot, and my heart contracted.
“Did…did something else happen?” I asked, gentling my tone. Even if I was upset at him and Luca, I couldn’t be cruel to him when he was hurting.
“Mom sent me a video of Luca and me together, which she found on his phone,” he confessed, his head bowed. “But I know you don’t want to hear about it.”
“No, I don’t, but I understand,” I murmured. We were all still in shock and mourning. I loved him, too. Truly.
“I hate what he did. He was a fool and even admitted as much, but after meeting you, he changed.”
“Did he?” I mocked. The Luca I thought I knew was warm and friendly. He would’ve never let my father hurt me. That wasn’t him.
Rocco recoiled, and I knew I was being unfair to him.
“I…I want to understand what really made him change?” my voice caught.
Rocco paused to think, then said, “Once he realized how his revenge reached well beyond where he intended, he hated himself. He changed…He supported domestic violence shelters and donated college scholarships to single moms to help them afford to stay gone. He became a better man, and he said it was because of you…I pressed him about not helping sooner, but he said he hadn’t known about the violence.”
I didn’t quite believe Mr. Marini’s explanation. A man who devoted years to his revenge would’ve at least heard from someone about Mama, Jacob, and me. However, we mainly suffered in silence.
“Honestly, I didn’t know. Or I’d have killed your father. I would have protected you,” Rocco snarled and slammed his fist on the table. “Damn it, I may still do it. How could he not know?”
How? He had the same reservations. My mind offered up an explanation. I didn’t make close friends or tell anyone about the violence in our home.When Judge Colby hurt us, I called out sick from school and work. Mama covered up her bruises with makeup.If someone suspected, we moved.I moved fifteen times growing up with them. Yet, there were times when Mama had us escape to domestic violence shelters. That was how we lost Jacob. Social Services intervened. That was why we used fake names from then on, never staying long enough for them to take over our lives.
In the final year, everything got worse with my father. His addiction had him more than ever before. He used it in front of us. He sold Mama, but she somehow avoided being charged with prostitution. However, the police arrested him for forcible pandering for arranging sex to sell online, and even that charge somehow disappeared. “I…I only told my therapist about my father sexualizing me or trying to sell me a few years ago. How did Luca know about selling me?”
Rocco hesitated, his face narrowing. “Damn it; I could kill Eric Colby; I still may do it.”
I glanced at him, and he was serious. “You won’t. What did Luca do?”
“He said he sent an encrypted email as part of the sting to put Eric Colby away forever, but it went nowhere. Your father has powerful friends, even more powerful than my grandfather.”
My heart ached to hear Rocco’s remorse, but he shouldn’t have to carry it either. I was a kid, and no one told me. They were so sure I’d forget, but I never did.
“I’m fine. It’s been over a long time,” I rambled out quickly.
“It’s far from fine. Just because it’s over doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. I hate them all. I wish I’d been there to help you.” He reached for my hand, and I moved it out of his reach. He froze and dipped his head, retreating to that place I’d seen him go away to in public. I didn’t want to treat him like that. He didn’t do this to me. But he kept Luca’s secret. So had my family. They chose money and status.
I hunched my shoulders. “Why did you wait to tell me, Rocco?”
“Because even I couldn’t bear to lose the unguarded Adelina. The one that lights a room when she is surprised or happy and cuddles into me when unsure. The one that freely expressed love for your brother. I felt that. I want that…And God, your passion. I love that no matter how often I reach for you at night, you’re ready to give me everything I need. So many things, Bella.”
“Rocco….” I said his name, my voice scratchy. I pressed my hand on my chest to try to stop the hammering beats against my ribcage.
“That day I picked you up, I forgot everything I knew when you walked down those stairs. You were so radiant, breathtakingly beautiful, but infuriatingly unaware of it. When you reached for me in Italy in the car and asked me to take you to my bed, I can’t remember a day in my life when I have been happier and more terrified.”
Rocco being scared of anything was hard to believe. He’d been so dominant and confident when he took my virginity. So, I asked, “Why?”
“Because I knew this moment would come, and you’d hate me.” His face went slack, and his shoulders slumped. It was so clear he was hurt by it all, and I felt a strong desire to hold him and make him feel better.
“I…I don’t hate you, Rocco.” I cleared my throat. “I get why you kept it from me, and I wish I never knew about Luca’s betrayal. But you told me it was because you wanted us to always be honest with each other.”
The Rocco I’d come to know couldn’t live with deception. He would rather risk my hate than lie to me.
He pushed back his hair and nodded. “That’s right. A marriage should have all the scars and wounds out in the open to heal and flourish. I’d never risk you finding out later from someone else.” He pressed on his chest. “You’re my wife. I made vows, and that means something to me. I work to earn your trust today, not the future.”
Rocco wasn’t backing away or down, and I appreciated that. In fact, I believed him. He was probably the most principled man I’d ever known, and I respected that. But feeling overwhelmed, I felt honesty was what he deserved as well. “Thank you for saying that. I need time, though.”
“You’ll have it,” he assured. “Just give me a chance. That’s all I can hope for.”
Maggie came in with an assistant who served plates with our meal, and we both thanked them. I swirled a fork full of pasta and took the first heavenly bite. The dish’s magic portal rolled back time, returning us to Florence.
Memories surfaced of sitting down to dinner in the evenings and laughing with his family and friends. We’d rise from the meal and take a walk sometimes. But most times, we’d end up all over each other, his heated kisses and my legs around him trembling as he’d lose himself deep inside of me. Later, we’d make it in his bed, but I wouldn’t fall asleep right away. I’d stare at the moon that shone through the stone balcony and savor the heat of his body holding me while a breeze of fragrant fruit and flowers cooled the room and my skin. Those nights were in every bite, along with the comfort and contentment I’d never known. This meal was a romantic sonnet, a lost lover’s longing.
Will we ever have that again?