Page 66 of The Lies We Tell

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Matteo’s arm tightened on her shoulders. “Did he say something to you?”

“Not since we ran into each other at breakfast.”

“And?” Matteo’s tone was rough and dark.

“More of the same. He doesn’t like me, doesn’t trust me.”

His fingers flexed on her arm. “And that’s it?”

“Of course.”

The one thing she would not do was intentionally drive wedges between Matteo and his brothers. He had enough of an uphill battle trying to earn their trust. Her presence was bad enough. No need to make it worse.

“He’ll get over it eventually,” he promised her. “Once your father is gone and he realizes his accusations were wrong.”

Guilt twisted painfully in her stomach, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She should tell him. Right now. It was the perfect moment to bare her soul, to beg for his forgiveness, to try and make things right.

“Matteo, I—”

His phone rang, and he shifted to dig it out of his pocket. “Sorry, piccola,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got to take this.”

She sat up when he released her shoulders, and he spared her a single smile on his way to the door. Tessa collapsed onto the love seat, draping her legs over the arm and covering her eyes with her forearm. Stupid. She was stupid.

Another five seconds, and she’d have given away the whole fucking thing. And then what would she do about her mother? She snorted and shook her head, swallowing back tears.

Maybe that was what really made her stupid. Believing her mother was still alive. Luca was probably right. It was a sob story. One she wanted so badly to believe.

A tear slipped free from the corner of her eye, painting a trail to her temple and disappearing into her hair. She couldn’t stop the rest. As much as she willed herself to stop crying, it was impossible, and that was as annoying as all the rest of it.

Sitting up, she picked up the pillow that had fallen from the couch and launched it across the room with an angry shriek. So fucking satisfying. She picked up a second pillow and did it again. And again and again until all the pillows in the room were in a heap in the far corner.

“Everything okay in here?”

Tessa whirled to face the door, swiping at the tears on her face as Sienna stepped in, brow furrowed. She looked past Tessa to the pile of pillows and tilted her head.

“What did those pillows ever do to you?”

Tessa laughed, but it got stuck in the back of her throat and sounded as much like a sob as anything else. “I figured it was better pillows than vases,” she said, eyeing the pretty hand-painted vases on either side table.

“Probably for the best. Luca says these were his mother’s favorite. That this was her favorite room.” Sienna indicated the books lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

At the mention of Luca and his dead mother, Tessa dissolved into tears again.

“Shit. Sorry,” Sienna said. “I’m sorry. Here.” She moved to the long couch opposite the balcony doors and patted the seat cushion next to her. “Come sit.”

“I just want to know. I want to know one way or another if she’s alive or dead.” Tessa blew out a shuddering breath. “I thought I’d given up on this deep, aching hope a long time ago.”

“If I had even the faintest inkling my mother might still be alive, there’s no power on this earth that could convince me she was dead until I had proof.”

“She smelled like roses.” Tessa’s gaze was fixed on the beams of light crisscrossing the floor, but she felt Sienna watching her. “I had forgotten that at some point, that she always smelled like roses. But we walked past a flower shop in Paris, and the smell and the memory of my mother’s perfume hit me so strong.”

“My mother smelled like apples. She didn’t even like to eat apples,” Sienna said with a wistful smile. “But she always smelled like them.”

“Forgetting was better,” Tessa whispered. “Forgetting didn’t hurt this much.”

“It comes in waves for me still. Some days it’s at the very forefront of my mind because I think I hear her voice in a crowd or I see someone who looks like her. Other days I don’t think about her at all. On those days, I feel incredibly guilty. I never want to forget her, but sometimes the pain of remembering is unbearable.”

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