“He was offering you something you wanted, desperately.”
“Yes. But it wasn’t enough.”
He nodded once. “And what was the third thing?”
She didn’t immediately follow.
“That you wanted, as a teenager, more than anything in the world?”
She twisted her lips to the side, shaking her head softly. “It’s silly.”
He was quiet, silently inviting her to continue.
“I just wished my mum would come back.” Her eyes swept shut as she thought of Jude, her throat swelling with tears. “She was so beautiful, Gabe. She was kind and happy and she’s the only person who’s ever really loved me.” God, it hurt to admit that, and yet there was a form of catharsis in baring her soul to him. “You have no idea how badly I longed for her, on so many occasions. I’ve made my peace with her absence now, even though I still miss her, and the idea of her. But I try to honour her every single day, by making decisions I know she’d be proud of. By being the woman I know she hoped I’d become.”
Gabe’s expression was impossible to decipher, but it didn’t matter. Isabella felt as though a weight had been lifted off her chest just by making that admission.
“And so you came to Italy looking for an insight into your birth mother.”
She tilted her head to the side. “More than that, I was hoping I’d feel like I…belong. Like something snapping into place.”
“That sense of displacement is difficult to walk alongside.”
She lifted a brow. “Speaking from experience?”
His expression was guarded, and something clanged in the back of her mind. He’d mentioned ‘Yaya’ often, but never his parents. “Somewhat.”
It gave very little away. Frustration zinged through her chest. She wanted to push him, but at the same time, already knew Gabe had opened so much of himself to her. Was there merit in going gently, gently?
“My grandparents had three children. I think I told you about my aunt?”
“Who married someone they didn’t approve,” she nodded, sipping her coffee, glad he was continuing to talk, even though she had the impression whatever he was about to say was putting pressure on a very painful wound. And for no reason except that she suspected he needed it, she laced her fingers through his as she looked up into his face.
“My experience of Gianfelice and Yaya was that they were very strict. Loving, too, but we were allowed to get away with nothing.” He winced. “I, as the youngest, was perhaps the hardest to bring into line.”
She squeezed his hand.
“But with my father and uncle, it was a different story. Gianfelice was heavily involved in his business when they were young, and Yaya supported him. But more than that, their children were very spoiled, aware of their wealth and allowed to luxuriate in the knowledge they would never have to work a day in their lives. They went to the very best schools and colleges, but instead of making the most of those opportunities, they fell in with people from similar backgrounds. Money was no object in their social set. They flew around the world from one lavish party to the next, frequently high or drunk on one bender after another. After my aunt left home, Yaya was quite broken. She stopped focussing on my father and uncle at a time when they were losing themselves completely to the hedonism of a certain lifestyle.”
“That’s understandable. Being estranged from her daughter must have been very hard.”
He made a growling sound of agreement. “Add into the mix the fact my aunt was only sixteen years old,” he placed his coffee cup down on the bench behind her, but made no effort to disentangle their fingers. “Yaya was heartbroken.”
“I can imagine.” She frowned. “So what happened?”
“With what?”
“I presume your dad sorted himself out once he got married, had kids?”
“Why?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“They didn’t. They continued their lifestyle. If anything, once they became parents, it got worse, as though they were trying to outrun responsibility at every opportunity.”
“Your mother?”
“The same as my father.”
Sadness squeezed something deep inside of Isabella.
“We were taken away from them. I was only a baby – I don’t remember anything of life before Gianfelice and Yaya brought us to Villa Fortune, but my brothers and cousins have told me enough.”
Isabella’s eyes were wide like saucers.
“My cousin Luca was found walking two miles from their mansion on Ibiza one morning. He was barefoot, naked, and though he was only young, he just kept saying, ‘ho fame, ho fame’ over and over.”
She frowned. “Ho fame? I’m hungry?”
“Right. Apparently while our parents were excellent at making sure they had enough cocaine in the house to see their friends through a couple of nights, they were not so good at remembering to feed us regularly.”
“Oh, Gabe.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “That’s terrible.”
He winced. “Like I said, I don’t remember any of this. It’s only what I’ve been told.”
“I suppose that’s lucky.”
“Yes.” His voice was a deep growl.
“And now? Are your parents still –,”
“Alive? Yes.”
Her smile was lopsided. “I was going to say ‘living like that’.”
“Oh. Yes. So far as I know.”
They were quiet a moment, but it was a quietness that was full of contemplation. Eventually, Gabe broke it and Isabella was immeasurably glad, glad that his disclosure was willingly given, not drawn from him almost against his will. “Gianfelice and Yaya learned from what they deemed to be their mistakes. Where they had indulged their own children’s every whim, and allowed them to be
