Page 37 of A Son Hidden from the Sicilian

Rocca. His sweet sister who’d become so broken. So lost. The perfect image of his mother. They’d both paid the price for all thatlove.

He stepped away from Brianna, a cold ice trickling through him. It made his fingers feel thick and incapable of doing something as simple as opening the door.

I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it.

And then she hadn’t. Because love broke things. It broke people. Crushed them into bits until they couldn’t bear it. Until they made all the wrong choices. Wrung themselves out. It hurt until there was nothing left. Until they were gone.

He could tell himself it wasn’t true, but his love for Brianna existed within him no matter how hard he denied it. No matter how many plans he could make to wed someone else. These horrible feelings would always be inside him. So she was right. Distance was the best option.

I can’t bear it.

Distance was the only option to save Brianna.

“All right,” he managed to say. “Give me a few days to ensure you and Gio will be safe and then we’ll make the arrangements for you to return to America.”

“Thank you.” Her inhale was so shaky he stepped away. He gave her the distance she needed. In the interim between now and when she could safely return to New Jersey, he would give her all the distance she asked.

He would not break her. He would not let his love break her, or hers break her. Perhaps she had the right of it with this...distance. He could accept this. He would.

He would make it right. Keep everyone safe. He would not fail again. He couldn’t. For his son. For himself.

For Brianna.

What Brianna really wanted was to go back to Lorenzo’s estate. Pack everyone up and head to the airport. Safety and all else be damned. She had to get away from him.

Or her feelings for him. Her weakness when it came to him. She didn’t know what she was really running away from except maybe her own failures.

She did not understand her utter lack of control when it came to this man. It was one thing to love him when he didn’t—or wouldn’t—love her back. It was another thing to just...have sex with him. In the middle of aparty? Knowing he wanted to marry someone else. Who did that? What kind of woman, what kind of mother did it make her?

Maybe it should have been some comfort that he seemed to have the same problem resisting when it came to her, but all she could think about was the way he’d left her before.

If she stayed, if she kept putting herself in a position to fall deeper and deeper in love with him, forever bending when it came to him—even when he came toherevent with adate—she would break, and she couldn’t.

She had a son who depended on her. Who loved her. She had to put him first. And herself.

She didn’t have to worry about money anymore. Lorenzo would take care of Gio financially, probably to the point of spoiling. But she still needed a career. To support herself. To feel fulfilled.

So she forced herself to return to the party. She did not pay attention to what Lorenzo did. She was afraid she would start bawling in the middle of the art show, and that was enough to keep her will power intact.

Lucky her.

She spoke to a few more people who’d bought pieces. She smiled, hopefully. When she finally thought she’d stayed long enough, she went and found her manager to say her goodbyes.

“This has been such a success, Brianna,” her manager said warmly, pumping her hands in a shake. “I hear you might be staying in Palermo longer. We could have another show next week. I could see about getting you some studio space and—”

“No. No, Juliette. As much as that sounds wonderful, I really need to get home. Spend some time there. In my home studio.”

Juliette nodded, though her smile had dimmed. “Very well. We’ll get the final numbers to you tomorrow, and the payments will be over the next few weeks.”

Brianna thanked her, then collected her things and left. It was still alittleearly, but not unforgivably so. She happened to see Lorenzo out of the corner of her eye as she exited the main room, but she refused to turn her head and look to see what his expression was, who was on his arm.

Hopefully, he stayed. Hopefully, he and his date made whatever gossip story suited Lorenzo’s plan and vision.

I will be married by the end of next year to an appropriate wife.

She would not torture herself by wondering whyshecouldn’t be the perfect wife. It wouldn’t matter to her in a few days. She’d be home in New Jersey, getting over him just as she had two years ago.

But you didn’t get over him.

---