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Silence stretches between us. Then, finally, Alessandra speaks. “I thought I was coming with you.”

My walls shoot up. Yes, Alessandra and I have gotten to know each other much better in the last few days. But the thought of her being there when I finally take possession of my mother’s paintings, of having her be so intimately involved, is a line I’m not ready to cross.

“I think it would be better if you go back to the villa and rest.”

The severing of the connection between us is a cold, vicious cut. I know as soon as I’ve spoken that any progress she and I have made has been eradicated in one fell swoop.

“Alessandra—”

“No.” She steps back, a mere foot, but it might as well be a canyon for all the distance it puts between us. “You’re right. This is a matter for family. I’ll see you back at the villa.”

She turns in a swirl of violet fabric and moves through the crowd with her head held high. I follow at a steady pace, my eyes trained on her back as I follow her through the terrace doors, down a hallway and into a room. A library, I note, as I close the doors behind me and lock them. We don’t need an audience for this discussion.

Alessandra is standing by a window, one hand clenched onto a red brocade curtain as if it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away. She’s staring out the window at the sea, shoulders tense, neck rigid.

“Go away.”

“No.”

She shakes her head. “Of course you didn’t want me to come with you to get the paintings, so you tell me to go back to the villa. Then, when I do leave, you suddenly change your mind and just like that—” she snaps her fingers “—everyone must follow Michail Sullivan’s orders.”

I slip my hands into my pockets, count to ten. “The paintings are a private matter.”

Her laugh is sharp and tinged with bitterness. “Yes. So private the mother of your child with whom you just had sex with two hours ago can’t be there.”

“So I’m to allow you all the independence you crave, yet you’re allowed to invade my privacy whenever you choose?”

She whirls around. “I will respect your privacy. But I thought I was a part of this.” She holds up her left hand. The emerald in her engagement ring winks in the dim light. “Wasn’t that one of the primary reasons for us getting married?”

“Yes, and I appreciate that you helped make this acquisition possible.”

Her cheeks pale. “Appreciate it,” she repeats dully. “God, I’m such an idiot. I unburden myself to you, tell you some of the hardest parts of my life, and then five minutes later, you shut me out.”

I waver. Think about what it would be like to have her by my side when I see the paintings for the first time. A steady, calming presence.

I know exactly how she’d act. But the unknown factor, the reason why I can’t say yes, is me. I can’t have her there when I’m not sure of how I’m going to respond.

“You won’t ever let me in, will you?”

The soft words cut through me like a dagger, the pain in her voice a far more powerful punishment than I ever imagined.

“Alessandra, it’s not that I won’t, I—”

“Can’t.” A mask drops over her face. The same mask she wore when I walked into her office for the first time. “There’s a difference.”

My spine stiffens as I advance forward. “I’ve told you why.”

“Bits and pieces. I’ve been repeatedly placing my trust in you, sharing my most vulnerable moments with you, my body…” Her voice breaks and she spins away, facing the window once more. “This must be how our mothers felt.”

I freeze. Blinding fury surges up, but I squelch it, summon the cold control that will see me through this.

“Our mothers?”

Slowly, she turns to face me. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I think you did.” I step closer. “Like father, like son?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s not—”