Chapter 6
Marco’s eyebrows rose.
“Forty-one.”
“Where were you born?”
“New Jersey.”
“Your mother’s name?”
Marco stared at him.
“I’m not answering personal questions in the middle of a sidewalk.”
Daniel went pale.
“What?” I asked.
He pointed at Marco’s face.
“Your eyes.”
Marco’s annoyance faded.
“What about them?”
“I knew someone with those eyes.”
Adrian slowly turned.
“The photograph?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No. Not the photograph.”
He seemed shaken now.
“Marco Bellini had a daughter.”
Marco became still.
“My mother’s name was Anna.”
Daniel whispered, “Anna Bellini.”
Everything stopped.
Marco looked at Adrian.
Then at Daniel.
“My mother’s maiden name was Bell.”
Daniel shook his head.
“It was changed.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I attended her christening.”
Marco took one step backward.
For the first time since I had known him, the calm security professional seemed completely lost.
“My grandfather’s name was Samuel Bell.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice softened.
“Your grandfather was Marco Bellini.”
Rain gathered on Marco’s coat.
He said nothing.
Adrian looked between them.
“You’re certain?”
“I would need records to prove it.”
Daniel’s gaze remained fixed on Marco.
“But yes.”
Marco laughed once.
It sounded unsteady.
“My mother told me her parents died when she was young.”
“Her mother did.”
“And her father?”
Daniel hesitated.
“No one knew.”
The mystery suddenly stopped being only mine and Adrian’s.
Marco looked toward the car.
“I need a minute.”
Adrian reached for his shoulder.
Marco stepped away, then seemed to regret it immediately.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
Marco looked at him.
Something shifted between them.
For years, Marco had been the steady person standing behind Adrian.
Now Adrian stepped beside him.
“If this is true,” Adrian said, “we’ll figure it out.”
Marco gave a small nod.
Together.
The word wasn’t spoken.
It didn’t need to be.
---
That night, Adrian and I ate dinner together.
No employees.
No lawyers.
No discussion of transfer orders for the first twenty minutes.
I told him about returning to the arts center.
“You drew?” he asked.
“A little.”
“What?”
I hesitated.
“A window.”
He waited.
“And?”
“Rain.”
His eyes narrowed playfully.
“And?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
I picked up my water.
“You ask many questions for someone who spent three years avoiding conversation.”
“I’m compensating.”
I laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
Adrian looked at me for a moment as though he wanted to remember it.
“What man?” he repeated.
“You.”
He stopped.
“I drew you.”
“Doing what?”
I considered lying.
Then decided we had suffered enough from that.
“Kneeling on the kitchen floor.”
His expression softened.
“With the first aid kit?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a strange portrait.”
“It wasn’t exactly a portrait.”
“What was it?”
I searched for the right words.
“The moment I realized I might not know you.”
He looked down.
“Was that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Fair.”
Dinner continued.
It felt awkward.
Then easy.
Then awkward again.
Real.
Afterward, we stood on the balcony beneath the covered terrace.
The city stretched below us.
“I owe you an explanation,” Adrian said.
“You’ve given me several.”
“Not the most important one.”
I waited.
He placed both hands on the railing.
“When I proposed, I knew about our mothers.”
“I know.”
“But that wasn’t why.”
I said nothing.
“I had seen you after the hospital too.”
My eyebrows lifted.
“You said we met once.”
“We did.”
“That sounds like more than once.”
“I saw you. You didn’t see me.”
“When?”
“At your father’s office.”
My chest tightened.
“During the collapse?”
“Before.”
He looked almost embarrassed.
“You used to bring him lunch.”
I remembered.
Dad forgot to eat when he worked.
“Sometimes.”
“You argued with a parking officer outside the building.”
I stared at him.
“Oh no.”
Adrian smiled.
“You were very convincing.”
“I was nineteen.”
“You were furious.”
“He gave Dad a ticket while Dad was unloading boxes.”
“You told him civilization would collapse if compassion required a permit.”
My hand flew to my face.
“I cannot believe you heard that.”
“I was in a car across the street.”
“You remember it?”
“I remember everything about that day.”
The smile faded.
“I remember thinking you were the first person I had seen in a long time who was completely unimpressed by power.”
“You were sitting inside a car.”
“It was a very expensive car.”
I laughed again.
Then he became serious.
“When I later learned who you were, I convinced myself marriage could solve several problems at once.”
“That sounds very romantic.”
“I was terrible at romance.”
“Were?”
He gave me a look.
“Am.”
“Better.”
He accepted the correction.
“I could protect your family financially. I could keep you close enough to ensure no one connected to Daniel’s investigation approached you. And…”
He stopped.
“And?”
“I wanted the chance to know you.”
The honesty in his voice made me turn toward him.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because after the wedding, I realized you believed you had been forced into it.”
I looked down.
“I thought if I tried to become your husband in any real sense, I would only take more from you.”
“So you became a stranger.”
“Yes.”
“That hurt too.”
“I know that now.”
I studied his face.
He wasn’t asking to be forgiven.
That made forgiveness feel more possible.
“I can’t pretend the last three years didn’t happen.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“And I don’t know what we are.”
“Neither do I.”
I smiled faintly.
“You’re getting much better at reassuring me.”
“I’ve had an unusual week.”
“So have I.”
We stood silently.
Then Adrian held out his hand.
Not grabbing mine.
Not assuming.
Offering.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A proposal.”
My heart gave an uncomfortable jump.
“We’re already married.”
“Not that kind.”
He looked nervous.
Adrian Valentino.
Nervous.
“I’m proposing that we start over.”
I stared at his hand.
“No arrangements.”
He nodded.
“No obligations.”
“Yes.”
“No deciding what’s best for me.”
A small pause.
“I may struggle with that one.”
“Adrian.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“And if I want my own work?”
“I’ll support it.”
“My own money?”
“Yes.”
“My own decisions?”
“Yes.”
“My own room?”
His expression changed, but he answered immediately.
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
“You looked disappointed.”
“I’m practicing honesty.”
“That might get you into trouble.”
“I’m learning.”
I placed my hand in his.
“All right.”
His fingers closed around mine.
“Starting now?”
“Starting now.”
Something eased in his face.
For the first time, I wondered what Adrian looked like when he was happy without anyone watching.
Maybe one day I would know.
---
At eleven-thirty, Marco called.
Adrian put the phone on speaker.
“I found something,” Marco said.
We were sitting together in the library, my sketchbook open between us.
“What?” Adrian asked.
“My birth certificate.”
“And?”
“My mother’s maiden name is listed as Bell.”
Daniel had been wrong.
Or so I thought.
Then Marco continued.
“But I found another document.”
Paper rustled.
“An immigration record from when she was five.”
Adrian sat straighter.
“What name?”
“Anna Bellini.”
I closed the sketchbook.
“So Daniel was right,” I whispered.
“Maybe.”
Marco sounded unsettled.
“There’s more.”
Adrian exchanged a glance with me.
“What?”
“My grandfather is listed as Marco Bellini.”
The room went silent.
“And his occupation?”
Marco took a breath.
“Financial administrator.”
Adrian stood.
“That fits.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“A photograph.”
I felt a chill.
“Of whom?” I asked.
“My mother and grandfather.”
“Does it look like the man from the bank photo?”
“I haven’t seen your photo clearly.”
I immediately took a picture and sent it.
Several seconds passed.
Then Marco whispered, “That’s him.”
Adrian sat again.
So the man beside our mothers had been Marco’s grandfather.
Three families.
Not two.
Connected before any of us understood why.
“Marco,” Adrian said, “come over in the morning.”
“I’m already downstairs.”
May you like
Adrian frowned.
“You came here?”
