Page 100 of The Proposal

“And last year didn’t. I lost Papa, and I almost lost you. Hit me with it; I can take it.”

I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs with air. “The whole fiasco was a setup from the beginning. The disappearing shipments … the Mortellis’ involvement. Basically, Edoardo wanted to wipe us all out so he could take over. His end goal was to rob Papa of everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish because he was jealous. Jealous of his status … and of Mamma.”

“Mamma?”

“I’ll get to that,” I say, which has him frowning and sitting forward in his seat. “Edoardo highjacked the shipments and told Papa he had intel to say the Mortellis were behind it. It was all a lie. He’s the reason Papa is no longer with us.”

That has my brother springing to his feet. “What the fuck. Edoardo did this?”

“Yes.”

That has him raising his arm and hurling his crystal glass across the room with such force that it shatters against the far wall. The sound cuts through the air, and I’m thankful the music outside is loud enough to drown out the noise from the girls and Giovanni. They don’t need to witness this.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him when he clutches either side of his head.

“Why are you sorry? You were his victim as well.”

“I know, but I’ve had weeks to wrap my head around this, and I’m still struggling, so I know what you’re going through right now.”

“I can’t believe it,” he says as he starts to pace. “What happened was bad enough, but to think it came from the inside …”

“There’s more.” That has him pausing and turning to face me. I falter momentarily, unsure if I should tell him the last part, but he deserves to know. “His betrayal towards Papa … to us, and our family, started many years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Edoardo introduced Mamma to Papa, not expecting they’d fall for each other. He wanted her for himself. I’m gathering that ate away at him for years since they were so happy. Papa got his heirs, and Edoardo ended up marrying a woman who was barren.”

“I thought I was getting the CliffsNotes. I’m not entirely sure where this is leading.”

I take another deep breath. “He was the one who ran Mamma off the road.”

The first thing I see is the colour drain from his face as his breath catches in his throat. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at me like the ground has slipped from beneath him.

“Edoardo was responsible for her death?” His voice is barely a whisper, and I can practically see his mind ticking over as the ramifications of what I just told him settle in. “It … it can’t be true.”

“It is. He admitted it to my face.”

“And you believed him?”

“Knowing what I now know about him … yes.”

I watch the anger and confusion flare as his fists tighten into balls at his side. The weight of my revelation crushes him, just like it did me when I first learnt the truth. Poor Mamma didn’t deserve that. She was innocent in all of this.

I’m slow-dancing with my wife on the back deck, trying not to think about what my brother is going through.

After I told him about Mamma, he stormed away, only for me to hear his bedroom door slam a few seconds later. I wanted to go to him, but I knew he needed a moment alone to digest it all, just as I did.

When I went back outside alone, Chloe asked where he was. “He might need you,” was all I said, but the grim look on my face was enough to have her disappearing inside with Giovanni in tow.

It’s late, so hopefully, she had enough sense to put her son to bed first before going in search of her husband.

I’m lost in the quiet lull of my wife when my brother reemerges. He doesn’t say a word as our eyes lock. He has a glass in one hand, and a bottle of scotch gripped tightly in the other. What I see is a man shattered. His eyes are raw and haunted by the truth.

He’s drowning in the knowledge, just like I was when I first found out. I watch as he pours himself a drink, downing it in one go. When he pours another, I focus back on my wife, giving him the space he obviously needs. We are staying for a few days, so I’ll get my chance to hash this out with him when the time is right.

We Mancini men carry our pride like a silent bond, strong and unspoken. But sometimes, even that pride needs space to breathe, to digest the things that shake us to our core. Time alone to piece together the fragments of what’s been torn apart before we can talk about it. It’s just how we’re wired.

I pull my wife a little closer, burying my face in the crook of her neck as our bodies sway to some random Christmas carol playing through the speaker. I have this overwhelming compulsion to tell Arabella that I’m falling in love with her, but I can’t bring myself to formulate the words.

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