Chapter Thirty-Two
Massimo
Breakfast had just been served when the butler entered, escorting Miranda into the room. Immediately, everyone at the table stood as a sign of respect. The butler then pulled out the chair to the right of Sinclair, directly across from where I was seated, and Miranda took her place.
Though irritation surged within me at the arrangement, I kept my thoughts to myself.
Miranda moved slowly as she settled into her chair, her eyes locking with mine and holding my gaze for several tense moments.
The quiet tension between us was unmistakable.
She broke the silence with a pointed question: “What are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you home.”
Her reply was sharp, laced with bitterness. “Why? I’m sure your pregnant mistress needs you more than I do?”
Just as I was about to respond, Cesar kicked my foot under the table, signaling me to hold back. He stepped in, hoping to defuse the situation. “Miranda—” he began.
Miranda cut him off immediately, her tone commanding and unwavering.
She raised her hand, stopping him with a regal gesture.
“Let me stop you right there, Cesar,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
“This conversation has nothing to do with you. So please mind your own damn business. As for your two-timing brother, well, he has a lot to answer for, and I’m not going anywhere until he does. ”
Sinclair watched the exchange with a grin, reaching for his glass and reclining in his chair. It was clear that he was enjoying the spectacle as Luca looked anxiously at Cesar.
The situation was about to escalate, and I knew things could get ugly very quickly.
Miranda leaned forward, her hand reaching for the butter knife in front of her as she directed her attention to me. “Tell me, Massimo,” she said, her voice steady but loaded with accusation. “Did you know she was pregnant before you married me? Or were you hoping I never found out?”
Cesar, alarmed, jumped to his feet. “Don’t answer that!” he shouted. “Miranda. This is a private conversation best done behind closed doors and not in front of company.”
Miranda refused to be silenced, her tone growing even more defiant. “Oh, I think the time for civility has passed, don’t you, Cesar?” she sneered, unwilling to back down. “The whole world knows what happened. You can’t put that genie back in the bottle. Now sit down and shut up!”
Shock spread across my face as I slowly turned to Cesar, who looked ready to strangle my wife. No one had ever dared to speak to him in such a way and lived to tell the tale. Yet, to my utter disbelief, my brother quietly retook his seat.
Miranda’s voice cut through the tension, unyielding. “I asked you a question, husband.”
Determined to face the matter head-on, I met her gaze and replied, “I had a life before I met you. A vivid one. I won’t apologize for that, just as I’m sure you understand, since you weren’t without fault yourself.”
“Is that your polite way of saying I wasn’t a virgin?”
I shrugged, refusing to be drawn into her trap. “You called my past into question.”
“So what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right?”
“No,” I said quickly. “All I’m saying is that I can’t be blamed for what I didn’t know.”
“Sure looked like you knew to me.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Apparently,” she scoffed, exhaling deeply. “Is it yours?”
I shrugged once more. “Possibly. I won’t be sure until a test is done.”
Overwhelmed, Miranda closed her eyes and shook her head, her composure crumbling.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“I can’t live like this anymore. I’m a simple country girl, Massimo.
I had a life, school, and a plan for my future.
Now it’s all messed up. All the lies and deception are too much. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
The weight of Miranda’s words hung over the table, silencing everyone.
I could hear only the faint clinking of silverware; the usual sounds of breakfast forgotten.
My heart hammered with guilt and regret, yet a part of me instinctively braced against vulnerability—I was terrified of what I might lose.
Around the table, Sinclair’s smile faded, and Cesar looked away, visibly shaken.
Even Luca’s eyes darted between us, unsettled by the raw honesty spilling into our morning meal.
For a moment, we all struggled to comprehend just how deeply Miranda’s pain ran, our world stilled by the force of her confession.
Instinctively, I rose from my seat and kneeled before her, desperately trying to offer comfort. Turning her chair toward me, I gently took her hands and whispered, “You can still have that plan, Miranda. Nothing’s changed.”
But Miranda pulled her hands away, her frustration boiling over. “EVERYTHING’S CHANGED! You keep me holed up in that house. You won’t let me call my family, my friends. School is gone. I’ve lost my place in the program. Someone tried to kill us, and now you have a baby on the way!”
Sinclair glanced at Cesar, and something unspoken passed between them—a silent confirmation of their shared purpose.
I realized then that their interventions weren’t just about protecting me from Miranda’s wrath; they were calculated moves, meant to safeguard the family’s reputation and shield me from the fallout of past mistakes.
Sinclair’s involvement wasn’t merely amusement at the drama, but a strategic choice: by controlling the narrative, he kept order at the table and maintained his influence.
Cesar’s attempts to mediate stemmed from genuine concern, but also from the weight of responsibility he felt for holding our fracturing family together.
Sinclair, observing the emotional chaos, interrupted calmly, “If I may interject here, the child isn’t Massimo’s, my dear.”
Stunned, I stared at Sinclair as I slowly stood, knowing damn well he was lying. “What?” I questioned, wondering what fucking game he was playing. “How in the hell do you know that?”
“Because she was already pregnant when you slept with her.”
Confused and disbelieving, I looked back at Sinclair, whose unwavering stare dared me to dispute his claim. When he held his ground, I glanced at Cesar, who gave a subtle nod of confirmation.
They were lying to protect me. Why? I knew Kate was a virgin when I slept with her.
I saw the evidence myself. I hadn’t used protection.
The timeline made sense; there was a strong chance I was the father.
Yet despite this, they wanted me to accept a lie.
I didn’t know how lying to protect me benefited anything, but if it got my wife to trust me again, I would play along.
Sinclair’s voice cut through the tension, calm yet grave.
“There are factions at play here, my dear, that I regret to inform you, you’ve stumbled into unwillingly.
While your husband is not beyond reproach, his past endeavors will at times come forward and cause problems. But rest assured this matter is resolved.
” His words, though meant to reassure, hinted at dangers lurking beneath the surface and the complexity of the situation we now faced.
Cesar’s tone was gentle, but his concern was clear.
“Sinclair’s right, sister,” he added. “We would have told you had you not disappeared on us. Your disappearance caused our family a lot of tension last night. I know this life isn’t what you are accustomed to, but for the time being, all I ask is for a little leniency where Massimo is concerned.
Like you, this is all new to him.” His words were a plea for patience and understanding, acknowledging the upheaval everyone was experiencing.
I kneeled before Miranda once more, reaching for her hands and pressing gentle kisses to her knuckles, a silent plea for understanding.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered earnestly. “Please forgive me. I promise—I’ll try to do better next time.
” My words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, hoping to bridge the chasm that recent events had carved between us.
Cesar let out a groan, the strain in his voice clear. “Wrong word choice, brother,” he admonished, shaking his head at my attempt to make amends. His reaction stung, yet it also reminded me of just how delicate the situation was, and how every word seemed to matter more than ever before.
Sinclair’s laughter was soft, almost indulgent. “He’s young. He will learn,” he remarked, his tone carrying a hint of reassurance. There was patience in his words, a recognition that growth often came through these awkward, painful moments.
“Not fast enough,” Cesar grumbled, his irritation barely concealed. The frustration in his voice echoed the tension that still lingered in the room, a sign that wounds were far from healed.
Miranda, finding a moment of levity amid the tension, allowed a sly smile to cross her lips.
“Don’t worry, Cesar. I have several brothers who would happily show him the error of his ways,” she teased.
Her words, though playful, carried an undercurrent of warning—and perhaps, a glimmer of hope for reconciliation.