Page 31 of The Lies We Tell

“Can we not do this tonight, Luca?” Sienna asked.

“I’m just answering my brother’s question,” Luca informed her, turning back to Matteo. “This isn’t about the years you were gone as much as it’s about every decision you’ve made for the last eight months. On your own. Like you know best and none of us deserve a say in how this family runs.”

“It’s my responsibility.”

“Maybe,” Luca agreed. “But you can’t keep saying we’re in this together while continually shutting us out. If you—”

Luca cut himself off sharply, his eyes trained on a spot over Matteo’s head. Sitting up, Matteo turned toward the door to see Tessa standing in the center of the soaring arch, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking from Luca to Matteo and back, shifting on her feet. “There isn’t usually anyone in here at this time of night. I’ll go,” she added when no one broke the heavy silence.

“Stop,” Matteo said before she could sprint away. He hadn’t seen her since she left his room the night before. Inviting her to stay would save him the extra step of seeking her out to see how she was doing since they had sex. That was all. “We were just finishing up.”

Luca scoffed and shoved to his feet, extending a hand to Sienna. “I’ll call you tomorrow when we land. Alexei should be checking in with you around eleven.” He swept Tessa with a searing glare. “Try not to be too busy.”

“Luca,” Sienna scolded, elbowing him in the side.

“I’m only reminding my dear brother where his focus should be.”

“Watch yourself,” Matteo said, his voice a warning.

Giving a mocking bow, Luca’s grin was razor-sharp. “I will if you will.”

He gave Tessa a wide berth and a final disapproving look before stepping into the hall, and Sienna followed with an apologetic one. Tessa stared at Matteo, a deep crease between her brows.

“I didn’t mean to start an argument.”

“This one wasn’t about you.” He waved a hand in the air at the skeptical tilt of her head. “It wasn’t only about you. There are plenty of reasons for Luca to be pissed at me. You just happen to make the list. Sit, Tessa. Please,” he added, softening his tone.

“I didn’t think you worked outside of your office,” she said, crossing the room and sinking onto the far end of the couch he was sitting on.

She had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her sweater hung off one shoulder, exposing the lace strap of her bra. All day she’d been running through his mind. The taste, the sound, the smell of her.

It was distracting enough to irritate Maeve, who suggested he go home after the fifth time he asked her to repeat something. Not that he’d gotten much more work done here. He’d abandoned his study to work in the family room partly because it had a fireplace when his study did not and partly because he hoped to catch a glimpse of her.

Pathetic yet effective.

“I needed a change of scenery. And a fire.” He indicated the flames dancing behind the grate.

Smiling softly, she took a sip of wine. “The fire is why I like this room too. A cozy spot to read and have a glass of Cabernet before bed.” She moved to set her glass on the table beside her and stopped, shooting him a worried frown. “I hope it’s okay I borrowed this from the library.”

He glanced at the book she held up, a historical romance by the look of it, and smiled. “You’re welcome to whatever you find in the upstairs library. It was my mother’s favorite room in the house. Most of the books were hers.”

“She must have really liked to read. The shelves are stuffed full.”

A pang hit him deep in the center of his chest. A memory of his mother sitting in the overstuffed wingback in the library, a blanket draped over her legs as she read. The cancer had taken all her hair by that point, and she opted to cover up her bald head with colorful scarves instead of wigs.

He would slip away from meetings his father never included him in to check on her. Watching her read with her head bent over the book, lips moving as her eyes tracked the page. Eventually she would call to him to stop staring and get back to work.

Before he headed back downstairs, he would always cross the room, press a kiss to her forehead, and tuck the blanket tighter around her legs.

Guarisci, Mama, he would whisper. But the cancer was too far gone by then. Her death had torn them all apart. And every time he thought he was finished collecting the pieces, he seemed to drop them again.

“You miss her,” she breathed.

“About as much as you miss yours, I imagine. My assistant is working on locating her.”

“Is she?”

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