Page 82 of Loss and Damages
All I can do when I picture Jemma under some brute is tell her the truth. “It would kill me.”
“As it did me. I lived without Antonio for seven years. When his wife passed away, it was as if God gave us a second chance. Your father wanted nothing to do with me and let me do as I pleased. I’ve been seeing him for all these years. Please, Dominic. Your father listens to you. Ask him to let me go.”
“He won’t give you a penny.”
“I don’t need his blood money. You and he will do what you like to the citizens of St. Charlotte. Buy every piece of land, let the poor starve. Let them go homeless while you live in your castle and sit on your golden throne. What do I care? Antonio has done well and we can live simply for the rest of our lives.”
I rake my gaze over my mother’s expensive body. Her definition of “simply” and Jemma’s would be vastly different. I don’t know who this Antonio is, but he has the funds to provide for my mother in the way she has become accustomed.
“Antonio is Leo’s father. That’s why you loved him more than you love me.”
“Yes. And I will not apologize for it. You may hate me, and I may go to hell for what I did, but I am no worse than my father who wouldn’t let me marry for love. I am no worse thanyourfather who said his vows in the Church and promised he would love and protect me for the rest of my life then abused me the second we were alone.”
“Even if Jemma and I never spoke again, if I made her pregnant, she wouldnevertreat my child the way you’ve treated me.”
My mother scoffs. “Do you think she likes the man you are? Do you think she can love you when she knows what you’re capable of? That your baby’s eyes wouldn’t remind her day after day that you broke her heart? Leo hated you. What is stopping Jemma from feeling the same?”
“Leo didn’t hate me.” He didn’t. We may not have had a close relationship, but he didn’t hate me. Just like I didn’t hate him.We were different, in more ways than one, I’m learning. Perhaps if Raphael had been his father too, Leo would have followed in his footsteps like I have.
That wouldn’t have been a credit to him. Just as it’s not a credit to me, being called heartless. The billionaire bastard.
Instead, Leo grew up kind, sensitive. All a person needs is one glance at a painting to see the feelings and emotions he created with.
He was a better match for Jemma.
Unless I change.
My father will force me to choose between his admiration and her love.
“If I can convince him to give you a divorce, I never want to see you again. You will never lay eyes on my child, you will never hold him or her, you will never visit me or Jemma. I will cut you from our lives as completely as you cut me out of yours.”
“If I can live out the rest of my days with Antonio, I will have all I need.”
“Then I will plead on your behalf.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” I study her. Her skin glimmers, her mouth, painted a dark slash of red, is tight with unhappiness. Her eyes are pinched. She’s lived in misery for years, married to a man she despised. The wedding photos were a lie. The story of their wedding night, the night I was supposedly conceived, a lie. I grew up with nothing but lies, and Leo never knew his own father. “You never loved me, but I still hope you find what little happiness you can. After I speak to him, I’ll contact you. Pack your things and be ready to go. There’s no reason for him to keep you here.”
I step into the elevator, but as the doors close, my mother isn’t watching me. She’s staring at the lakescape her son painted.
It’s all she has left of him besides his memory that she turned into a dark and shameful secret.
My father is standing in my office when I enter, anger and rage searing my nerves. The protesters outside are vicious, waving picket signs high in the air. They’re no longer protesting the sale of the 1100 block, now they’re protesting what we’re going to do with it.
The St. Charlotte newspaper ran a front-page article regarding the property I’ve been purchasing in Oakdale Square and it adds fuel to the fire. The reporter quoted Mayor Wilkins saying we’re working together in a partnership he called the New Neighborhood Initiative. He didn’t speak to me about it, and I’ll add it to the list of things I can blackmail him with. He wants to fix his reputation after backing the sale of the 1100 block, but I don’t think he can repair the damage siding with me has caused him.
Not in time for next year’s election.
My shoulders sag. I’m not going to be blackmailing anyone. Those kinds of thoughts are rutted into my brain, deep tracks I need to fight my way out of or I’ll never have the kind of life I want. The kind of life my mother wants with the man she loves.
“Where the fuck have you been?” my father asks, his hands clasped behind his back, never turning from the window as he surveys all we own.
I wanted to be like this man. He was my idol. All I wanted was his approval and love.
I’ll never have it. Not the way I want it. Without strings, without favors. Without having to do one last thing.
I’ve spent thirty-nine years chasing after him, hoping he’d toss me scraps like a starving puppy, and I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore.
