Page 45 of Choosing Hope
“I assumed as much.”
My gaze clashes with his.
“You should never have been made to feel that way, Soph. Spencer and I both love you. I’m sorry you didn’t feel able to discuss this with us. There was never anything dirty in what we did. Just because society says you should marry a man, with whom you should be monogamous, and be shackled to for the rest of your life, raising two point four children, while living in a house with a white picket fence doesn’t mean that’syourideal.”
Carlo’s always been like this; he’s totally open and accepting of other people’s lifestyle choices. Silence falls between us for a few minutes, and I move away to pick up a tissue.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask.
There’s no response, forcing me to glance over my shoulder at him. When I see what he’s doing, my chest freezes.
Carlo’s glaring at the information about the club on my laptop, the blood draining from his face.
“Where did you get this, Bella?” he demands, his voice as tight as a drum.
His response confirms what I suspected. The club isn’t a surprise to him, and he was aware I wasn’t supposed to know about it.
I don’t respond. Unsure how to. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Sophie. What have you done?” Carlo’s stern voice begs.
“He’s having an affair,” I blurt out.
Carlo shrugs dismissively; it’s not unusual for Spencer.
“No, not like before. This onemeanssomething.”
The weight of his stare drains the energy from me.
“He’s been seeing the same woman for months.”
I catch the twitch in his jaw—a quiet giveaway. He already knows.
“Who is it, Carlo?”
He closes his eyes slowly and tilts his face up to the ceiling.
“I’ve told him to talk to you. He’s promised he will.”
I approach the table, gripping the solid timber, and lowering myself into the chair next to him, my heart hammering so hard it’s stealing the air from my lungs.
“Carlo,” I rasp, the word almost a plea. “I know your loyalty is to Spencer—I’m not asking you to betray that—but...”
I bite down on the swell of emotion threatening to break free, fighting to stay coherent.
“Every September, when the two of you go to the island for the anniversary of Chess’s death, he comes home riddled with shame.” His shoulders slump. “Once we overcome the weird guilt he experiences, it’s as if he’s lighter. Less restless. He becomes the old Spencer again for a few weeks.”
His eyes meet mine, and I swear I see a brief flash of hope.
“He needs us both, Carlo.”
With his jaw clenched, he sighs, glancing down at the back of his hand laid flat on the table.
“Sophie, this conversation is unfair.”
He lifts his chin, peering at me with angry disappointment etched all over his face. Unable to witness his reaction, I glance away to hide my distress.
“You’ve clearly been digging into Spencer’s life,” he says, each word tinged with disapproval.
