Page 162 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
And then there was Diego’s reaction to it all. He’d tried to be so stoic, but there’d been a war of emotions under the surface as he’d flipped through those pages. She hadn’t been able to recognize them all, but she knew pain when she saw it. No matter how hard someone tried to hide it.
Then he’d turned that pain around and launched it at her. She should be used to it by now, but in the softness of the moment, it had caught her off guard. And every time they had an argument like that, she came away with a new understanding of himandherself.
It was theherselfthat lodged like a weight in her chest. It was theherselfthat was making things complicated. She had known it wouldn’t be easy, but part of her had assumed she would sweep in and solve all his problems. Absolve all his guilt. It might take time and work, but it was possible and it would be done.
It had never occurred to her that by reaching out to him, insisting he return to the world he’d left behind, she might twist some things inside herself. She might realize that she had her own unresolved issues she’d been hiding from.
They were both leaning heavily on these crutches that weren’t helping them live any. She had tried to rid him of his, but she could not seem to do it. Hewashers, so what did she do now?
Perhaps the real way to accomplish her father’s goal was to push Diego away. To quit today. Leave him to his cabin and forget the Follieros ever existed.
He’d either figure his issues out or he wouldn’t. He would find his goodness or he wouldn’t. The end.
Or was that just abandoning him to his worst devices, as his parents had essentially done? Wasn’t running the easy way out? Hadn’t she accused him of doing just that?
She stalked into her room, closing the bedroom door behind her. She breathed heavily, but the tears didn’t fall as she stood in the middle of her pretty, cozy room that she loved so much.
Crying would have been a nice release, but tears seemed stuck in her throat. She couldn’tbreathe, but she couldn’t cry. She couldn’t move past the twisting, twirling thing inside her that whispered she needed to deal withherself.
“He’s a grown man,” she muttered aloud to the empty room. “At some point he has to make his own decisions, Amelia. And that isnotyour responsibility.”
But whatwasher responsibility?
Her father hadn’t taskedherwith getting through to Diego. It was simply a wish he’d written down in his journal years ago. Not knowing he would die. Not knowing Amelia would read the entries, trying to feel comforted by his words since he was no longer here.
She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate for some moisture to spill over, but it wouldn’t. She slammed her fist against her dresser, a rare display of absolute frustration that was not soothed at all when the pain that jolted through her arm didn’t dislodge the tears either.
All pain was quickly forgotten when her door burst open and Diego stepped over the threshold of her room. For a moment she just stood frozen, staring at him. She could think of nothing to say. Nothing to do.
Why had he followed her?
“We are going to Dolcina,” he announced. Ordered?
For a moment, she only stared, not trying to find words or tears or her breath. She just took in this large, wild man standing in her bedroom, demanding…
Storming into her room and demanding she go take in nativities? “Have you absolutely lost your mind?”
“No. We will go see your nativities.” He took a step toward her. “We will plan this ball.” Another step with each demand. “We will do all your little plots and plans, and at the end of this you will see: You were wrong.”
Wrong. She couldn’t believe he’d followed her all the way up here to stomp and carry on about her beingwrong. After…this afternoon. Looking at his parents as they’d been. Discussing how they’d failed him, even if they hadn’t meant to.
That he could stand there and demand she bewrongwas…as heartbreaking as it was infuriating. “Is that all that album meant to you? All those memories and realizations, and all you care about is that I was wrong about how you might feel about it?” Maybe her father had been wrong all along. About Diego. About the Follieros. Abouteverything. Maybe…
But no.No.She understood Diego. All too well. Or had, until this moment.
Right now she didn’t understand him at all because he wasn’t running, but he wasn’t feeling either. She’d thought he’d lashed out to get her to leave, and so she had. To get a handle on herself before she lashed right back.
But he’d followed? Demanding that she be wrong when she wasright, damn it. Damnhim.
She advanced on him now, stalking right up to him, her hands balled into fists as though she might strike him. Not that it would do any good. Not that any of this was for any good.
She didn’t know what it was for, just that something needed to explode. Something needed to…something.
He was the one who’d followed her to her room, so she would not temper her response to him. If he didn’t like it, he could go. Back to that damn mountain of his.
“You act as though guilt is all there is,” she shot at him. “The only valid response to everything you’ve lost. You act as if the guilt is the only thing in you—like nothing exists before it. Do you feelanythingelse?” She clutched his shirt. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. She tried to shake him, but he was too solid, too strong. “Do you feel anything at all?” she demanded. Because maybe that was the real problem. She was assigning him feelings that weren’t there.
That would never be there.
