Page 29 of Good Girl Gone Bad

He stuffed his cock into his pants and zipped up. “We’ll talk later.”

She smoothed her hands over her dress, hoping it hadn’t crumpled too much. “Later is now. Do you know I had to lie to your cousin about being an amateur sculptor?”

“What?”

“Yup. It’s a long story, but my point is, why didn’t you tell me about your mom? She committed suicide. That’s a big deal.”

He shoved a hand inside his pocket, then immediately removed it and rubbed the back of his neck. She didn’t need to be a body language expert to know how difficult talking about his mother seemed for him.

She took one step in his direction, unsure of what to say but unwilling to drop the subject. If she’d ever have a chance to know him a bit better, this was it. “Tell me, Marco.”

“My mother was mentally ill. Her schizophrenia came out after she had me. Until then, it had been latent, but some doctors say it takes something more difficult to bring out the first episode. Well, when I was born, I came early, and back then medicine wasn’t as advanced as it is today. A few weeks early meant a lot more concerns. Anyway, she began to act strangely. They thought it could be baby blues at first. But my being born triggered it, and I don’t think my father has ever gotten over that.”

A surge of anger hit her, and she curled her fingers into a ball, wishing she could punch his father. She’d never imagined herself striking anyone, but now she seriously considered it. “That’s ridiculous. You were a baby.”

“As I grew older, she got worse. At first, they tried to downplay it, and hired the best doctors they could afford—always making sure she was on some treatment so she’d still be presentable at parties and social functions. She couldn’t take the pressure.” He said the last sentence with sadness.

“I’m so sorry. It must’ve been hard to see all that. Didn’t your father help her?”

“They tried a couple of clinics. Sometimes she was gone for weeks at a time. The treatment back then wasn’t as holistic and patient-centric as it is nowadays,” he said.

She remembered an article she read about how much mental hospitals and wellness clinics had evolved through the decades. Her heart broke for his mother, assuming she never got the understanding she needed. “Didn’t it help when she returned from the clinics?”

He sighed, looking into the darkness. “For a while, but then she’d revert back. Some nights Nico and I couldn’t sleep with all the shouting between our parents.”

She touched his shoulder but felt his muscles cord beneath her palm. He continued to look away. “That’s awful,” she said, knowing that, while she’d grown up without a lot of money, she’d never questioned her parents love for each other, or her.

She didn’t go around him to face him directly, but didn’t step back, either, sending him a comforting glance and still holding his taut shoulder.

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s why I didn’t tell you about my mother,” he said, shrugging her hand away and facing her directly, making her stare at him whether she wanted to or not. “I didn’t want to see this look in your eyes, like you wish you could take it all away.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for that child. The six-year-old,” she said, and wondered how much of the six-year-old still inhabited the body and soul of the man standing in front of her.

“Fair enough. Well, I highly doubt this subject will come up again this week, but now you know.”

She fought the need to give him a hug, knowing deep down he’d see it as a sign of sorrow. The tips of her fingers tingled to touch him, so she settled for brushing them on his hand. “Thanks for telling me. Was that why your ex-fiancée left you?”

“No,” he said, jerking away and closing the subject. “Ready to freshen up then go?”

She wasn’t. She wanted to ask more, to deep-dive into his soul, but she had to be content with the information he’d given her. His past, present, and future mattered to her, which rattled her so much that she knew she wasn’t ready to hear his full disclosure yet, for fear it would mean the end of their agreement far sooner than she wanted.

…

“Nonna,” Marco said, walking up to his grandmother.

He’d talked to her earlier, because he had wanted to break the news of his engagement firsthand. Now she sat at a table with a few lifelong friends, all the ladies wearing nice cocktail dresses. “This is Patricia,” he said, still finding it difficult not to call her Lily. Patricia didn’t suit her—it was too stuffy, too proper.

His lovely grandmother, still a big fan of chunky pearl necklaces and dark dramatic gowns, smiled at Lily. “So nice to meet you,” she said with a strong Italian accent. “I prayed for the day my grandson would meet his match.”

“So it’s all your fault,” Lily said, shaking her hand.

The two women shared a laugh, and lightness washed over his being. Despite the mishap earlier, he had to admit he’d made the right choice. Lily might not notice, but as she spoke to Nonna, people around them watched her.

Arietta kept an eye on her, from two tables away. He shook his head. His cousin would no doubt tell his brother the news upon his arrival later. He’d toyed with the idea of telling Nico himself; his jaw would drop to the floor.

“You’re stunning, my dear,” his nonna said. “And you managed to straighten out my grandson, so I’ll forgive that you aren’t Italian.”

Lily chuckled, taking it stride. “Thank you. You know, my not speaking Italian is an advantage. If I knew what he says in Italian when he’s angry, maybe we wouldn’t be here today. Together.”

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