normal was anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, because there was nothing else he could say. And then he turned and strode away.
Lia Corretti sucked in a disappointed breath as she watched the tall, dark American striding down the hall away from her. Something fell from his hand and bounced on the plush carpet. Lia hurried forward, calling to him.
He did not turn back. She stooped to pick up the small object on the floor. It was some kind of military medal suspended from a red, white and blue ribbon. She clutched it in her hand and looked down the long corridor at his retreating back. He walked so precisely, so stiffly, with the bearing of a soldier.
Of course he did.
She looked at the medal again. He’d dropped it on purpose. She did not doubt that. She’d seen his fingers open, seen the shiny object tumble to the floor, but he hadn’t stopped to retrieve it.
Why?
Her wrist still smarted where he’d twisted it behind her back. She didn’t think he’d been aware of what he’d been doing. He’d seemed … distant, as if he were somewhere else. It’s what had made her go to him, what had made her touch him and ask if he was all right. He’d been plastered against that wall, his eyes squeezed tight shut, and she’d thought he’d been ill.
Lia closed her fingers around the medal. It was warm from his skin, and her heart skipped. She could still see the raw look on his face when he’d realized what he was doing to her.
She knew that look. It was one of self-loathing, one of relief and one of confusion all rolled into one. She knew it because she’d lived with those feelings her entire life.
In that moment, she’d felt a kinship with him. It was so strange. After a lifetime of isolation, one moment of looking into a stranger’s eyes had made her feel less alone than she’d ever felt before.
She turned to go back into the ballroom, though she’d rather be anywhere else, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the full-length mirrors lining the corridor. Revulsion shuddered through her.
No wonder he’d wanted to get away.
She was a whale. A giant pink whale bursting at the seams. She’d been so excited when she’d been asked to be a bridesmaid. She’d finally thought she might be accepted by the sleek, beautiful Corretti family, but instead she’d been forced into a blazing pink dress at least two sizes too small for her bust. Carmela Corretti had laughed when she’d walked out of the fitting room, but she’d promised to have the dress fixed.
She hadn’t, of course.
Lia’s grandmother was the only one who’d seemed to sympathize. When Lia put the dress on today, despair and humiliation rolling through her in giant waves, her grandmother had hugged her tight and told her she was beautiful.
Tears pricked Lia’s eyes. Teresa Corretti was the only one in the family who had ever been kind to her. Her grandfather hadn’t been unkind, precisely, but he’d always frightened her. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. He’d loomed so large in her life that she’d started to think him immortal. He’d been intense, driven, the kind of man no one crossed. But now he was dead, and the family wasn’t any closer than they’d ever been. Not only that, but Lia wasn’t certain that her cousin Alessandro wasn’t to be more feared as the new head of the family.
Lia screwed up her courage and reentered the ballroom. A glance at her watch told her she’d put in enough time to call it an evening. She was going to find her grandmother and tell her she was leaving. No one would care that she was gone anyway.
The music pumped and thumped as it had before, and the crowd surged. But then another sound lifted over the din. It took Lia a minute to realize it was Carmela, shrieking drunkenly.
Lia despised her late uncle’s wife, but thankfully she hardly ever had to be around the woman. She didn’t care what Carmela’s problem was tonight. She just wanted to go back to her room and get out of this awful dress. She’d curl up with a book or something inane on television and try to forget the humiliations of the day.
But, before she could find her grandmother, the music suddenly died and the crowd parted as if Moses himself were standing there.
Everyone turned to look at Lia. She shrank instinctively under the scrutiny, her heart pounding. Was this yet another ploy of Carmela’s to embarrass her? Did she really have to endure another scene? What had she ever done to the woman?
But it wasn’t Carmela who caught her attention. It was Rosa. Carmela’s daughter stood there, her face pale, her eyes fixed on her mother’s face.
“That’s right,” Carmela said gleefully, her voice rising over the sudden silence of the gathered crowd, “Benito Corretti is your father, not Carlo! That one is your sister,” she spat, pointing a red-tipped finger at Lia as if she were a particularly loathsome bug. “Be thankful you did not turn out like her. She’s useless—fat and mousy and weak!”
Rosa looked stricken. Lia’s heart stuttered in her chest. She had a sister? She wasn’t close with her three half-brothers. She wasn’t close with anyone. But a sister?
She’d never had anyone, not really. She’d often longed for a sister, someone she might get to know in a way she couldn’t get to know brothers. Her three half-brothers had one another. Plus they were men. A sister, however—that felt different somehow.
A surge of hope flooded her then. Perhaps she wasn’t really alone in this family, after all. She had a sister.
A sister who was every bit as lost at this moment as Lia had been her entire life. She could see it on Rosa’s face, and she wanted to help. It was the one thing she had to offer that she knew was valuable. But suddenly, Rosa was storming away from Carmela, coming across the room straight for Lia. She reached out instinctively to comfort her when she came near. But Rosa didn’t stop. The look she gave Lia could have frozen lava. Lia’s heart cracked as Rosa shoved her hands away with a growled, “Don’t!”
A throb of pain ricocheted through her chest where her heart had been. Rejection was nothing new to her, but the freshness of it in the face of her hope was almost too much. She stood there for long moments after Rosa had gone, aware of the eyes upon her.
Aware of the pity.
Soon, before she could think of a single pithy remark, the crowd turned away, their attention waning. Self-loathing flooded her. No wonder Rosa hadn’t wanted her comfort. She was so pitiful. So naive.
How many times had she let her heart open? How many times had she had the door slammed in her face? When was she going to learn to guard herself better?
Shame and anger coiled together inside her belly. Why couldn’t she be decisive? Brave? Why did she care how they treated her?
Why couldn’t she just tell them all to go to hell the way her mother would have done?
Grace Hart had been beautiful, perfect, a gorgeous movie star who’d been swept off her feet by Benito Corretti. She’d had no problem handling the Correttis, until she’d accidentally driven her car off a cliff and left Benito a lonely widower with a baby. Soon after that, Benito had sent Lia to live with Salvatore and Teresa.
She knew why he’d done it. Because she wasn’t beautiful and perfect like her mother. Because she
