Page 152 of Grumpy Boss of the Year

"I'm sorry," I say. "I will say that I did eventually choose you and that's why I told you last night. I love you."

"You don't even know what love is," she says, shaking her head.

"Elisabetta," her father chides her, "if you love him like you say you do, listen to him. Have an open conversation with him. You'll let him explain."

"What is there to explain, Dad? You had your reasons based upon whatever you and Mom decided, but his loyalty should have been to me. Instead, he chose you and money over me, the woman he says he loves, and—" She gasps.

"It's okay," I say. "He knows."

"He knows?" She wrinkles her nose. "So, what, you are being honest about everything now?"

"I already knew." Her father chuckles. “Your acting is not that good, darling, much like your mother's opera singing."

"Dad," she says, shaking her head and giggling slightly. I let out a laugh, and she throws me a stare. "You are not allowed to laugh right now," she says.

"I'm sorry." I press my lips together.

She says, "I just need time to think and be alone, and I want to see Mom, Dad. I want to meet her. I want to get to know her, good days and bad. I'm an adult, okay? I can deal with it. I want to be there for her. I want her in my life."

"Okay, I'll go see her today, and I'll tell her, and we'll set something up."

"Okay," she says.

"I'm going to go back to bed because I'm exhausted."

"Can I speak to you?" I ask her softly. "Please?"

"About what? There's nothing left to say, Liam. It's over. I'm sure my dad will do the deal with you without you having to marry me, and frankly, I don't want to marry you. Actually, I never want to see you again in my life.”

“What if I can’t imagine my life continuing without you in it?” I clear my throat, and she just shakes her head wordlessly. I stand up and head out of the room.

"Thank you, Franco," I say. Elisabetta follows behind me. I stop and grab her hand and flinch as she pulls away. "I love you," I say softly, but she doesn't respond. Instead, one lone tear rolls out of her eye and down her cheek, and she walks away from me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Elisabetta

The cool breeze plays with my hair as I make my way down the path. It’s a nice day out, and I’m grateful that the gardens are private. As I turn the corner, near a tall statue of one of the Roman gods, I see a table. There’s a nurse standing there with a book in her hand and a lady sitting in a flowery yellow and white dress. As I make my way closer, I recognize my mother. Not from some deep-seated intuition, but because looking at her face is like looking in a mirror. Albeit a mirror where I now have wrinkles.

My pace increases as I get closer to my mother. She’s sipping tea, but she must sense me approaching because she turns to me with a wide smile.

“Buongiorno.” The nurse nods and moves a few feet away to another table. I nod at her and continue toward my mother. I stop about two feet away and just stare at her.

My heart is racing. The entire moment is surreal. Out of a fantasy movie. I can’t believe she is here in front of me. She’s alive.

“Elisabetta, what a beauty you are,” she says in a wisp of a voice before patting the seat next to her. “Please sit.”

I glide to the seat and sit. I want to hug her or kiss her on the cheek, but I feel shy. She is still, after all, a stranger to me.

“Hi,” I say finally, feeling like a first grader on my first day of school, wanting to make friends but feeling shy. I stare into her familiar brown eyes, so much like my own. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

“Your father didn’t think I should refuse.” Her voice is heavily accented, which surprises me, as I’d never expected that. “I was pleased to meet you again, of course.” She’s overly polite, and I feel a sense of disappointment. I’d expected an immediate connection with her. Expected her to jump up and hold me close. Hoped she’d hold me to her and cry and tell me she regretted everything. But this meeting feels stifled, stiff, cold almost. It is true that we are virtually strangers, but she is my mother. The cool air whips past my face, and a shiver runs down my spine as I watch her playing with a butter knife on the table.

She tried to harm you.My father’s words reverberate in my head, and I wonder if she’s thinking of doing that now. I am relieved when she once again sips her tea and moves her hand away from the knife.

“I should have said I am pleased, not was.” She stills suddenly, and her breath catches. “You must hate me.”

I want to immediately tell her that I don’t, yet I don’t want to lie. I don’t know how I feel anymore. Every emotion in me is confused and conflicted. My entire life feels like it has been built upon a house of manipulation and untruths.

---