Page 53 of On Her Terms

“What’s this?” I ask as I open it and pull out the papers. Uncle Gio sits up a little straighter in his chair and leans over the desk.

“That is your father’s will. I was with him when he wrote it up many years ago and signed it in front of me. Believe me, I’d know if he’d changed it. There is no marriage stipulation in it, Luca. I suspect if you take a look at the will Marco showed you, and compare the signatures, you might find some discrepancies.”

I flip through the pages, then slowly sink back into my chair, the pieces of the puzzle all falling into place. My eyes meet Uncle Gio’s and we both sit there, shocked, staring at one another. I knew something was off, but I didn’t think Marco would ever go so far as to forge the will. How could he do this? In my grief over my dad and brother, and then trying to get away from it all, I missed what was happening right in front of me.

“Luca, is this why you’ve stayed away so long—you thought you had to marry?” my mother asks. I nod, and tears form in her eyes. “We’ve lost so much time, my child.”

I swallow hard. “I just couldn’t understand why Dad would want that for me. Why he wouldn’t want me to marry for love.”

She sits on the edge of the desk and cups my cheeks. “He would want you to marry for love, and if he were here now he’d tell you to go fight for the woman who has you a mess.”

I stand, and my chair slides backward. “I have to go.”

“Yes, you do. Now go bring that woman back. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for a daughter?” she asks, grinning.

I give my mom a hug. “You’re going to love her.”

“I already do.”

I glance into my mother’s dark eyes, and as I reminisce about my childhood, my heart fills with all the love I have for her. She is going to spoil Brianna something terrible, and no one deserves it more. “She never really had a mother growing up.”

My mother touches my cheek. “Then hurry, because we have a lot to make up for.”

I turn to my uncle, and our eyes meet. “Uncle Gio—” I begin.

He holds his hand up, looking pale and a million years older. “I’ll deal with my son. He’ll be disbarred for this and his hands will never come close to running the conglomerates your father built over the years,” he assures me as he shoves the real will back into the envelope. “Now go.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m going, but there is one thing I need before I do.”

“You’re right. There is,” my mother says with a twinkle in her eyes.

I’m not sure what she’s alluding to, but the only thing I know is I have to fight for Brianna, convince her how good we can be together. I want to offer her everything she’s always wanted. I just pray she’s willing to accept it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Brianna

UMBRELLA IN HAND, I hurry down the sidewalk and check my watch. Dammit, I’m late for dinner. I hate being late, but once again court kept me tied up for hours. Granddad is probably holding dinner for me, which means Tate and Summer are likely starving, too.

I haven’t really been avoiding Granddad after St. Moritz; I’ve just been busy. Tonight he was adamant that I come for dinner, and while I like the idea of it, I don’t want to see the worry on his face. Nor do I want him pushing me to call Luca. After the truth came out, he said he understood why I did what I did, even going so far as to take responsibility for it, saying it was his fault for pestering me so much. Despite that, he still won’t let up about Luca.

Footsteps pound the pavement on 64th Street as I hurry into Granddad’s mansion and shake out my umbrella before closing it. Voices sound from the large dining room, and for a fast second I’m certain I’m hearing things. God, I still can’t get Luca’s voice out of my head, the scent of his body off my skin—no matter how many times I’ve scrubbed my flesh raw.

“That you, Bri?” Granddad asks.

“Sorry I’m late,” I call out. “I’ll just wash up and be right in.” I hurry to the bathroom and glance at myself in the mirror. Today was a stressful day—as most of them are—and I look like I’m amped up on Red Bull. I try to smooth my hand over my mussed hair, but it just springs back up again. I wipe under my eyes to remove the mascara that ran down my face in the rain. An almost hysterical laugh catches in my throat. My reflection is identical to the day I got out of the taxi in the Alps. I thought I had no one to impress that night, and look how that turned out.

I wash my hands quickly and leave my hair in a tumbling mess. This time I really don’t have anyone to impress. Granddad, Tate and Summer have all seen me at my worst, and they still love me. Then again Luca saw me at my worst that day we re-met, and he still made sweet love to me.

It was sex, Brianna, nothing more.

My shoes tap on the floor as I make my way into the dining room, and my stomach grumbles at the smells coming from the kitchen. Delicious smells that take me back to the time Luca cooked for me. Is someone making carbonara?

Stop thinking about him already.

I round the corner, and my feet come to a resounding halt when I see the extra person seated around the table. No. Frigging. Way.

I swallow, falter, sag against the door frame, my knees going weak beneath me as I glance at my family, as well as the man I hate—love—to find them all staring back. Have I just walked into an intervention or something?