Page 158 of Pretender

Mamma, Babbo

Edoardo Aiden started school today. You should see him in his little uniform. We walk together, and I know this will always be my favourite part of the day. He’s such a bright young boy. The questions he asks, you should hear him. He’s already much smarter than I am, and he’s five!

You’d be proud of his deep care for the people around him. We’ve made some friends who have a son his age, and they’re already quite close.

I know I disappointed you, but if you’d see how wonderful my son is, maybe it could become clear to you that I wasn’t a lost cause.

I wish you could meet him.

You can be part of his life, if you want to be. You would be welcome.

…

I can’t read more through the tears forming in my eyes. This is the fourth letter, and the sentiment is the same in each of them. Dad did love me the way he said. I’m all he writes about. He wants them to know me. To learn about our life in London. These letters read exactly like I remember him.

In my mind I finally let the images of him break through. The wide smile I’ve tried to forget. Not allowed myself to remember.

I drag in a shaky breath and swipe at my eyes.

Mamma, Babbo

You hurt me. I thought we were getting somewhere in the last exchange. It’s been years of this back and forth, but I will not yield. I have found a good lawyer finally and he has all the letters. Everything.

I had hoped you would one day come around to the idea that Amara and I are truly in love. But as you are so stubborn, I will marry her with the Aurellan name. I will renounce the Aurato inheritance.

How can you, again and again, try to force Signorina Melinci upon me? I came home hoping for a reunion, and you spring this lady upon me again as if my choices don’t matter to you.

…

Hm. So there was never a reconciliation. Dad thought there would be. He was going to marry Mum.

There’s only one letter left, but the handwriting on this one is different. It’s only when I start reading I understand why.

Gentile Famiglia Aurato,

I am writing to you because, after your son’s passing, your grandson and I are left with nothing because of your inheritance rules. But I will not beg for it. I’m simply giving you the opportunity to do what your son wanted you to do. He didn’t tell me everything, he never had to. I know he struggled through battles with you. He spent a lot of our hard-earned money on a lawyer. One thing he told me is that you kept trying to get him to marry Signorina Melinci, and that you sprung her upon him last time he went back home to reconcile with you. And he said that was the last time he’d visit you in Florence, because you didn’t respect our relationship. This saddens me. I understand you never respected me. I accepted this. But I thought you’d respect your son and his choices.

Giorgio chose me. Every day until he died he chose me and Aiden, and you missed out on ten years of his life and eight of Aiden’s because of your stubbornness.

This is your last chance to take part in your grandson’s life. Accept him as your heir now, as your son wanted.

…

Jesus Christ. They received my mum’s pleas and they didn’t listen. That’s why my grandmother said ‘if you still want to see us’. But what was Edoardo talking about, that they’d kept an eye out? I can’t piece it together.

“What are you going to do?” Linnea asks after I give my translation of the last letter for her.

I shake my head. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

“You should hear them out. You’re here now.”

“I’m confused. Are they some kind of psychopaths? How could they just leave us like that?”

“Let’s find out, shall we? At least you’ll know, and you can make an informed decision. If you decide to walk away, I’ll understand, but at least do it with all the information.” Linnea looks at me. “They’re quite old. You might not get another chance to talk this through.”

“Hm.” I lean back on the sofa at the hotel, the view of Florence stretching out in front of us through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

We’re back in the Aurato living room. This time my grandparents are already on the couch, but they both rise on shaky legs when we enter.