‘A month after I started school. She thought it was a cold, but it wouldn’t go away. Then there was stomach pain.’
He closed hi
s eyes for a moment, and when he looked at her once more it was as though he was piercing her with his pain. Tilly felt his trauma as if it was her own.
‘She was too sick to work. She lost her job. Money became tighter...she became increasingly ill.’
‘Oh, Rio,’ Tilly murmured, shaking her head as she contemplated his life. ‘What about her parents? Your father?’
‘Her parents didn’t speak to her from the moment they discovered she was pregnant.’
‘Not even when you were born?’ Tilly demanded, aghast and outraged in equal measure.
His expression was sardonic. ‘Not when I was born. Not when she got sick. Not even when she died—though they are both alive to this day.’
‘And do you speak to them?’
He shot her a look of impatience. ‘Would you?’
Her heart flipped painfully.
She searched for something to say—something that might alleviate his suffering—but he continued, ‘I do not believe in second chances, Cressida. We have one opportunity in life to make the right choice. They did not. Nor did my father. Forgiving them would be a sign of stupidity—a weakness I will never allow myself to possess.’
The words were spoken with such passion that she couldn’t help but comprehend the depths of his commitment. But the philosophy itself...? It spread panic over her—and not just because she feared her deceit was something else he would not forgive.
‘But what if they regret what they did? What if—?’
‘No.’
He slashed his free hand through the air and her nerves quivered.
‘No,’ he softened it, bringing that same hand to rest on hers, sandwiching it between his palms. ‘If you can imagine the way she lived her life—the shame she felt at our poverty, the worry she felt when I complained that I was hungry...’
His eyes met Tilly’s and the strength of burning emotion made her want to say or do something—anything to erase his pain.
‘I was always hungry.’ He gave a short, sharp laugh.
‘You were a growing boy.’
‘And she was a dying woman,’ he said softly. ‘She stayed alive until I was almost finished at high school, and I believe that was through determination alone.’
He pulled his hands away, reaching for his fork and spearing a sphere of bocconcini.
She didn’t see him eat it. She was imagining this proud, strong man as he’d been back then. ‘What about your father?’
He forked a piece of calamari. ‘What about him?’
‘You said he’s not in the picture,’ she prompted. ‘But surely when she got sick...?’
‘No.’
Her brows knitted together. ‘Did he know?’
He flicked her a look of subdued amusement. ‘Si, cara.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t in a position to help,’ she suggested, finding it impossible to reconcile the idea of a man turning his back on the dying mother of his child.
Rio’s eyes narrowed and he was a businessman again. One capable of eviscerating his foes without breaking a sweat. ‘Why are you so determined to see the best in people?’