Chapter 42

Ana, 1941

It was hard to believe that only an hour ago she’d been the happiest woman in the world. The same streets that had witnessed her bliss now seemed darker, colder. If only she would have packed faster. If only Abigail had arrived twenty minutes later to Ana’s apartment, she wouldn’t have found her there. She wouldn’t have heard from Ana and Javier except for an occasional letter once or twice a year.

Ana slowed her pace as soon as she saw the two-story house where she’d been complete for the first time, the place she’d viewed as her paradise, her salvation. But she had no valise with her, and she didn’t have Javier’s small hand in hers either. Instead, she had an explanation stuck in the midst of her throat, an apology, a sadness crawling all the way to her heart.

She rang the doorbell, already mourning the excitement she couldn’t feel anymore when standing behind this door. He opened the door, almost immediately, and she focused on his beautiful green eyes. The only pair of eyes in the entire world that shone brightly when she stared into them.

“Amore,” Enzo said. “You’re here.”

He pulled her in, and shut the door. She glanced at the two suitcases by the stairs. He drew her toward him and kissed her. She gave in to that kiss, their last. His hands held her face and his mouth was warm, so much warmer than Rafael’s had ever been.

He finally pulled away. “You’re right on time. Are we picking up Javier from your mother’s house?”

She shook her head, fighting her tears.

“What’s wrong, bella? Where’s your valise?”

She looked down at her purse. “Can we sit for a moment? We need to talk.”

“Talk? What happened? Didn’t that maledetto leave this morning?”

“He left,” she said. It was all she could say.

Holding her hand, he led her to a burgundy leather couch that had belonged to Nicolas and Enzo’s parents, just like this house. They sat side by side, his long leg touching her knee. He held her hands in his and kissed both of her palms.

“Enzo, mi amor.” Her voice broke. “I can’t go with you. My sister Abigail needs me.”

He frowned, and his lovely eyes narrowed. She touched his rough chin.

“Abigail is pregnant,” she said. “She’s desperate. She’s asked me to take her to Tabacundo with me.”

“Why doesn’t she marry the accountant? Aren’t they engaged?”

“Because the baby isn’t his.”

Enzo’s jaw hardened. “But we already had our plans.”

“I have to help her.”

“Why doesn’t she talk to the man who got her pregnant?”

“Because he just got ordained as a priest.”

Enzo dropped her hands. “This is ridiculous. Why must we sacrifice for your sister’s indiscretion?”

“If I don’t help her, who will?” Ana dried her tears with her fingers.

Enzo removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her.

“This was a bad idea anyway.” She pressed the handkerchief against her wet cheeks. “Can you imagine what our lives would be like constantly running away from Rafael, from my family? We would live like criminals, always hiding, always pretending we were something we were not. It wouldn’t be fair to Javier to grow up away from his father, living in such impudence. What would he think of his mother?”

“The same thing I think of her. That she’s the sweetest and most beautiful woman in the world.” He grabbed her face with both hands. “Come on, Ana. You can’t do this. We love each other.” He kissed her, but this time, she didn’t respond.

He pulled away from her.

“I just can’t go through with it,” she said.

He remained quiet, staring at a framed map of Italy hanging on the opposite wall, his fists clenched by his sides. She’d only seen him this mad whenever Amanda’s name came up. Ana knew well the two of them couldn’t stand each other, and it pained her deeply.

She reached out for his arm. “Enzo, please say something. Please forgive me.”

Enzo shifted his weight away from her.

“You’re still so young, mi amor, you’ll forget me,” she said. “You’ll see, before you know it, you’ll find someone else, and you’ll marry her.”

“No. I will never marry. I will never fall in love again.” He stood up, almost violently. “Fine, go after that idiot. Pretend you never met me. I’ll do the same.”

She stood up, gathering her numb body, swallowing the rest of her tears. She returned his handkerchief.

“Keep it. You’re going to need it,” he said, unwilling to look at her face. “Just like you did on your wedding day.”

Ana squeezed the handkerchief. So he’d been the one who walked into the lavatory while she was crying.

“It was just my luck,” he said. “To have met you the day you married that bastardo.”

He walked away, toward the stairs, without looking back.

She released the handkerchief from her fist and stared at the golden E embroidered on it. This was all she had left from the man she loved, the only proof that he’d been real, for she had burned all his letters so Rafael would never find them. She brought the fabric to her nose, inhaling his scent, and rushed to the entrance, trying to beat her tears out the door.