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I glance up and see Maximo striding toward me, brows furrowed. “What are you doing out here?”
Panic rises in my chest, and I crumple the bag in my fist, hiding its contents from view. “Oh, I had some nausea meds delivered,” I say, aiming for a casual tone and failing miserably. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
Maximo’s gaze sharpens. “You look like hell. Is everything okay?”
“Gee, thanks, brother. That’s exactly what a woman likes to hear when she’s not feeling great.”
“I didn’t mean.” He sighs. “I’m just concerned.”
I inhale deeply. “I’m fine. Just a little nausea. Something I ate. I should, um…I should head back in, take a nap or something.”
Before I can move, Maximo steps forward and wraps me in his arms. “I know,” he says softly, and I tense for a moment. “I know that you remember.”
Marco.
I swallow hard as he places his chin on my head, clutching me tight to his chest. “And I’m sorry we kept it from you.”
Emotion clogs my throat, and I cling to him, allowing my brother’s familiar presence to envelop me. “It’s okay,” I say. “I get it.”
He leans back, his eyes searching my face. “You’re not pissed at me?”
“How can I be pissed at you when I know you were only trying to protect me?”
“I know, but still.”
“How did you…deal with it? You know, the truth about Marco being behind everything?”
Maximo lets go of me and steps back. “I was pissed that I didn’t get to kill him first,” he replies with raw honesty. “I knew our brother wasn’t right in the head, but I never once suspected that he was behind it all.”
“How could you have known? We all thought he was dead.”
“I just—” he places his hands on his hips, staring down at the asphalt “—I knew something was wrong with him. I knew he was sick when I caught him with you that day.” Revulsion snakes around his words. “You were so small, and what he tried to do to you. Jesus.”
“Maximo, don’t.” I step closer and place a hand on his elbow, the leather of his jacket smooth against my palm. “There’s no use torturing yourself over it. It’s in the past and not worth thinking about.” I smile warmly. “I’m not.”
“How do you do it? You’ve been to hell and back. How are you so…strong?”
“Being strong is the only way I know how to be.” I shrug. “I grew up with five boys who didn’t allow me a moment of weakness.” I smile warmly, rubbing my hand up and down his arm. “I have you to thank for my survival skills.” With a wink, I step back, and my brother gives me a half-smile.
“I love you, Mirabella. You know that, right?”
“I love you, too.” The breeze picks up, and I swipe strands of hair behind my ear. “I’m going to go medicate and take a nap. I’ll see you tonight at dinner?”
“Yup. You’ll let me know if you need anything?”
“I will.” On my way past him, I lift on my toes and place a peck on his cheek before continuing up the long driveway. A part of me wanted to tell him, let him know what kind of hell is storming through my insides. But telling someone means I’ll have to say the words out loud, and right now, I’m not sure that’s something I can do.
As I walk back to the mansion, my mind is still reeling with everything that has happened. The closer I get to the house, the heavier the bag becomes in my hands. I know that it’s not just the contents but the burden of having to keep this secret that is weighing me down. I have trouble keeping my feet moving, but there is a dread that keeps me from stopping, so I try to focus on the breeze caressing my face and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, but my thoughts won’t leave me alone.
I make it to my bedroom and slump onto the edge of the bed, staring at the paper bag on my nightstand. It seems like hours of me just sitting there before finally mustering the courage to open it.
With shaking hands, I spill the contents out on the bed, panic rolling over me in a sickening wave when the pregnancy test falls on the silk sheets. A piece of paper falls out of the bag, and I grab it expecting it to be the receipt. Only, it’s not. It’s a handwritten note, and it sends a sheet of ice slicing through my bones.
“Is it mine?”
Nunzio.
“Jesus,” I gasp, the paper slipping through my fingers as if it can burn my flesh. I’m breathing, but the air doesn’t reach my lungs as I stare at the note in horror. It’s like he’s right here breathing against my neck, his presence squeezing my throat shut, suffocating me.
