Page 65 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe

And hedeservesto know the truth.

He spots me as soon as I walk into the coffee shop and smiles broadly.

“Hey, kiddo.” He says, standing up and pulling my chair out for me. “So, what retarded surprise do you have up your sleeve for my father. He doesn’t deserve it you know - whatever nice thing you are planning to do for him.” Celso rolls his eyes and smirks as he sits down again, lifting his hand in the air to call the waiter over.

My eyes take him in. Staring a little too long. I examine his features: he has dark hair—not black—but dark like my mother’s. He has his father’s blue eyes and angular jaw. But the shape of his eyes - and his lips - definitely his lips - I can see my mother in there. I can see myself in his features too.

“Jeez, kiddo. Take a photo. It’ll last longer.” He says, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest.

I laugh nervously. Shifting around, wondering if I’m making the right choice.

“What’s going on?” He demands, his instincts kicking in. “This isn’t about my father is it - what is it about?” He knots his brows as he glares at me. I watch his defenses rising.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for a second, then open them and focus on him.

“Itisabout your father, but more than that - it’s about yourmother.”

“What the fuck?” he mutters quietly. “Ok - what about my mother? She’s dead.” He shrugs, trying to be emotionless but I can see the spark of pain in his eyes at the mention of her.

“Because your father killed her?” I ask, getting right to the point, more boldly than I thought I would be able to.

Celso sneers in anger. “What did he tell you?” He growls darkly, leaning forward with his fist clenched on top of the coffee table.

The waitress arrives right at that moment, and I quickly order a coffee while Celso continues to glare heated flames towards me.

Once the waitress is gone, I start again.

“Celso your father didn’t tell me anything about your mom. There is another reason for me knowing.” I’m struggling to find the words.

Celso reaches across the table and grabs my wrist, squeezing so hard it feels like he might snap the bones. “You better start talking before I rip you apart.” He warns me coldly. I believe he might do it. But it also amuses me.

I roll my eyes. Typical that my brother would have the same quick temper I have.

With a quick jerk, I yank my arm away from him and roll my eyes again, making sure he sees it.

“Calm down, dammit. I’m trying to tell you - it’s just not easy ok.” I huff in annoyance.

“Make it easy.” He snarls.

“You are my brother.” I say. “Myhalf-brother.” I correct myself quickly.

He stares at me in silence, not one muscle on his face moves.

“What?” He says after I’m convinced, he’s blanked out.

“You are my half-brother, Celso. My mother - Amelia - is your mother?—”

“Amelia?” his voice cracks as he says her name. “Amelia is your mother. My mother - I don’t understand - Misha what is going on?” He asks in panic. There is no anger in his expression anymore. I just see a little boy, crumbling, heartbroken, desperate for what I’m saying to be real.

I reach across the table and take his hand, squeezing gently.

“Celso, your mom is still alive.Ourmom. She survived what happened to her.”

I wait while he processes.

When he looks up at me his eyes are glittering with tears. “So, hedidtry to kill her?” He asks.

I nod, biting my lip. “He tried, he left her for dead and ifmyfather hadn’t found her, she would be dead. But she isn’t. She’s alive, and she’s happy and healthy and she’s really incredible - you have to meet her soon.”

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