Nonno scowled. ‘If you loved Artie like I loved your grandmother, nothing would stop you from doing everything in your power to get her back. A man in love is a force to be reckoned with.’
The silence was telling.
Luca loosened the collar of his shirt and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. ‘Enough about my dramas. Is there anything I can get you?’
Nonno shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘No. I just need to sleep.’
Luca stood from the bedside and laid a gentle hand on his grandfather’s weathered arm. ‘I’ll be in again tomorrow.’
He was on his way out of the hospital when his phone rang with his mother’s ring tone and his chest seized with the all too familiar dread. But instead of letting his phone go to message service as he often did, this time he answered it. ‘Mama.’
‘Luca, how is Nonno? I tried calling him but he must have his phone off. His carer rang to tell me he had a fall a week or two ago. She also told me you’re married. Is that true? Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding?’
Guilt gnawed at his conscience. ‘Nonno’s doing okay. As to my marriage—it’s a long story and I hate to tell you it hasn’t got a happy ending.’
‘Oh, Luca.’ His mother’s sigh only intensified the pain riddling his chest. ‘What’s happened to us that you didn’t want me to be there on your special day?’
Luca cleared his suddenly blocked throat and stepped out of the way of visitors coming through the hospital entrance. He pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes closed briefly. ‘It’s not you. It’s me. It’s always been me that’s the problem.’
‘You’re too hard on yourself,’ his mother said. ‘You’re so like your father it’s uncanny.’ She sighed again and went on, ‘It’s why I found it increasingly difficult to be around you as you grew into a man. I couldn’t look at you without seeing him. It reminded me of my role in what happened.’
Luca frowned, his hand going back to his side. ‘Your role? What are you talking about? I was the one who entered the surf that day. You weren’t even at the beach.’
‘No.’ Her voice was ragged. ‘I wasn’t there. I went shopping instead of spending the day with my family as your father wanted. Do you know how much I regret that now? It’s tortured me for years. What if I had gone along? I could’ve called for help instead of you trying to do it on your own. I can’t bear to think of you running along that deserted beach, half drowned yourself, trying to find someone to help.’ She began to sob. ‘Whenever I’ve looked at you since, I’ve seen that traumatised, terrified young boy and felt how I let you and your papa and Angelo down.’
Luca blinked away stinging moisture from his eyes. He swallowed deeply against the boulder-sized lump in his throat. ‘Mama, please don’t cry. Please don’t blame yourself. I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I’m sorry I’ve let you suffer like this without being there for you. It was selfish of me.’
‘You haven’t got a selfish bone in your body,’ his mother said. ‘Your father was the same. Too generous for words, always hard-working, trying to make the world a better place. But tell me, what’s going on with your marriage? It breaks my heart to think of you missing out on finding the love of your life. I’m so grateful I had those precious years with your father. They have sustained me through the long years since. I live off the memories.’
Luca gave a serrated sigh and pushed his hair back off his forehead. ‘I’d rather not talk about it now, but next time I’m in New York do you want to catch up over dinner?’
‘I would love that.’ His mother’s voice was thick with emotion. ‘Give Nonno my best wishes.’
‘Sì,’ Luca said. ‘I will.’
* * *
Luca tried not to think about Artie in the next couple of weeks and he mostly succeeded. Mostly. He blocked his memories of her smile, her touch and her kiss with a punishing regime of work that left him feeling ragged at the end of each day. One would think he would stumble into bed and fall instantly asleep out of sheer exhaustion, but no, that was when the real torture got going. The sense of emptiness could be staved off during the day but at night it taunted him with a vengeance. He tossed, he turned, he paced, he swore, he thumped the pillows and doggedly ignored the vacant side of the bed where Artie had once lain. He did his best to ignore the fragrance of her perfume that stubbornly lingered in the air at his villa as if to taunt him. He did his best to ignore the pain that sat low and heavy in his chest, dragging on his organs like a tow rope.
She left you.
But then more words joined in the mocking chorus.
You let her go.
He allowed them some traction occasionally, using them as a rationalisation exercise. Of course he’d let her go. It was the right thing to do. She wanted more than he could give, so it was only fair that he set her free.
But you’re not free.
What was it with his conscience lately? Reminding him of things he didn’t want reminding about. No, he didn’t feel free and—even more worrying—he didn’t want to feel free. He wanted to feel connected, bonded to Artie, because when he was with her, he felt like a fully functioning human being. He felt things he hadn’t felt before. Things he didn’t think he was capable of feeling. Things that were terrifying because they made him vulnerable in a way he had avoided feeling for
