Page 58 of Secrets of the Brother
“Are you sure it’s hate?”
My eyes narrowed. “If you spew some romantic bullshit about the thin line between love and hate, I’ll throw you off this terrace.”
He turned back to face the valley. “I’ll consider myself warned. It must be hard having her back. I know you missed her.”
Missed her? No.
Ached for her? Yes.
Spent every waking minute feeling as though there was a sucking hole in my chest from the very moment I made the decision to do the supposed right thing and marry her sister instead of her? Absolutely.
Felt the agonizing weight of an endless stretch of days, months, years ahead of me without her by my side? Yes, again.
Realized the paralyzing truth that my life would be a torturous purgatory of constantly wondering if she was safe, if she was happy, if she was loved, or worse yet, if she was in love? For my sins…yes.
Lied awake on countless evenings staring at old photos and videos on my phone so the memory of her laugh, of her smile, of the cute charcoal smudges that were always on her hands and cheeks from her drawings never faded from the front of my mind? Fuck yeah.
I tapped my cigar on the edge of the iron railing, watching as the ash crumbled into dust to be carried away on the chilly late October evening wind. “Yeah, I missed her.”
“You asked how I did it with Milana. I wasted years staying away from her because I thought she hated me. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life, because I was fucking wrong.”
I put my cigar aside and leaned forward, my entire focus on Cesare.
He shook his head. “It wasn’t hate. It was hurt. I had hurt her. Betrayed her.”
My own betrayal of Bianca sat like a stone in my stomach.
He continued. “The thing is, brother, you can’t hurt someone who is indifferent to you.”
He turned to face me, leaning one elbow on the railing. “The moment you realize you’re not battling their hate, you’re battling their pain, a pain you caused, fuck… that’s the moment you fight like hell to make it right, to heal the hurt.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “What if making it right means letting them go?”
“Fuck that. You don’t mean that.”
I pushed back from the railing and paced away deeper into the darkness before turning back. “You were too young when our mother first died. You didn’t have to bear the brunt of the scandal and all the horrible rumors. Everybody trashing the Cavalieri name. I’ve spent my entire life trying to recapture that honor and do what’s right.”
“Honor? Our ancestral tree is riddled with thieves, bastards, and murderers. How do you think we got our billions? From crushed fucking grapes? Honor is for fairy tales, not the real world. You don’t keep power and influence by always worrying about being honorable. A true Cavalieri takes what he wants and holds on to it.”
“That’s not true. I wish I could be more like you and Papà. I wish I could take what I want, and the rest of the world be damned, but someone has to care about the Cavalieri name. Someone has to care about our legacy.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Vai all'inferno.”
“I’m not trying to be a dick.”
“Try harder.”
“You’re the only member of the family who seems concerned about the family’s reputation. No one asked you to martyr your life for the sake of the fucking family crest. The Cavalieri name has survived for hundreds of years and will keep surviving regardless of who you fuck and marry or don’t marry.”
Dammit. Aunt Gabriella practically told me the same thing the other night.
“It’s really annoying when you’re right.”
Cesare drained his glass and poured another. “I have to take advantage of it with you. I rarely win an argument against Milana…Well, unless I play dirty.”
“Even if I did say fuck it, and selfishly didn’t care about the family’s reputation or what people would say or what the right or wrong thing to do would be… it still doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for her.”
