I sit on the chair, stooped over with my face buried in one hand. What my older brother, Nolan, just told me hits me so hard that it somehow knocks my soul out of my body.

“Liza?” he says.

Tears fall in a steady stream as I smash my lips together more tightly and whimper like a hurt puppy.

“I’ll give you a moment, Mouse,” he says, realizing that it’s impossible for me to speak when I feel this way.

My brother just said that my ex-husband, John, has been arrested for murdering our father. Nolan claims that the evidence against John is mostly circumstantial but strong.

The most hurtful thought going through my mind right now is the fact that I’m not shocked. Everyone accepted that John was bad news even before we said, “I do.” After my father died, I conceded to the fact that John was a selfish prick. While my father was still alive John stole and falsified documents in order to get his grubby hands on my inheritance and more.

Nolan had uncovered John’s dirty dealings and threatened to go to the police with the evidence if he didn’t offer me an uncontested divorce in which he got nothing, not even unsupervised visits with our son, Aiden. But after the lawyers left John and I in the room to have a final conversation, I learned who he really was.

“So why did you do it? Why did you lie and steal?” I asked.

He gave me an evil scowl as if he was mocking my existence. “I never loved you, do you know that?”

My face dropped. I remember wondering how I was supposed to answer that question. Do I answer truthfully, or do I continue deluding myself?

“You never loved me?” I said.

John continued to glare at me as if he wanted to rip off my head. No, he couldn’t love me because all I saw in his eyes was hate.

“I did it because it was what I was owed for being married to you.”

After a long moment, I cleared my throat and said, “What about our baby?”

John sniffed bitterly and stood. “The kid was your idea, not mine.”

His words made me feel as if I'd shattered into a million pieces. My lips parted. I watched him turn and leave, not even closing the door behind him. I wanted to bawl like baby or scream while pounding the table until my knuckles bled. Not because this cruel individual had broken my heart or hurt my feelings. No… it was because the truth had gushed to the surface like a soda pop shaken in a bottle. And when that illumination struck me, I shut my eyes tightly and shoved it back into its hiding place.

But now, with this new information that I’ve received from brother, the walls around the deep, dark space where I’ve hidden my true feelings have been demolished.

“I don’t know what to do now.” I sigh briskly. “What do you think I should do?”

“Liza, what do you want to do?” Nolan asks.

For a moment, I consider leaving Italy and returning to Minneapolis. I have a job here, and I’m in the midst of preparing for a big interview with Michael Donatello in three days. He’s the executor of Castello di Donatello, one of the most exquisite and famous castles in the region. This is a make-or-break interview for me.

I’m the host of a luxury living show for TV Adesso in Bari. My ratings are flat though, because the producers at TV Ora, our competitors, run a show exactly like mine. And someone over there keeps swiping every interview I book. I’ve managed to keep Castello di Donatello off their radar, and I so very much need this interview to materialize. My job is to take viewers into the halls and grounds of the great estates of Italy. I haven’t booked an estate this luxurious in six months, and if my ratings continue to slip, then my show just might be canceled. I don’t want that.

“When is he going to be arraigned?” I ask in an unsure tone.

“Listen, you don’t have to come home. You’re not married to the guy anymore.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Plus, I’m keeping a close eye on the proceedings. I’ll let you know if you’re needed for anything.”

I lose my breath for a moment as dread rushes through me. “Are you saying that I might have to testify?”

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

I detect irritation in his voice. Choosing not to push the envelope, I close my eyes and shake my head. “Okay. Well, thank you.”

“No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I love you.”

“Okay. Nolan, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what I’ve done.”

He goes silent.

“Nolan?” I say, checking to see if he’s still there.

“Liza, don’t you ever apologize for what that fucker chooses to do, hear me?” He sounds angry.

I gulp. “Well… okay.”

I say it to appease him, but I don’t believe it. No. I brought that monster into our family. My father’s death is my fault.

Nolan and I say our good-byes, our voices sad. I pick up the glass of merlot I was drinking before he called. I have dinner plans tonight with my boyfriend, Salvatore Bovetti. Suddenly, I lose my taste for the wine.

A picture comes to mind. I conjure up an image of John shooting drugs into my dad’s arm while Dad lay helplessly in his hospital bed. I shake my head as anger and pain well up inside me. Before I know it, my arm pitches the glass of wine against the wall. Glass shatters, and red liquid splashes on the white walls and a painting of the Italian coastal town of Riomaggiore that I bought from a village artist in his tiny village shop while on a romantic excursion through the Cinque Terra with Salvatore.

“Cosé successo?” Floriana, my nanny, says.

I turn to face her standing in the doorway. Floriana is young and pretty, with jet-black hair and mysterious brown eyes. She’s studying to become a preschool teacher because she really likes little children.

“Have you been crying?” she asks, this time in English.

I swipe the tears off my face. “No… yes… a little.”

She takes two steps closer, then stops. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head as though the concept of being okay is incomprehensible. “I don’t know yet.”

Aiden makes a sound in the other room, and she jumps as she glances in the direction of his voice. “I have to go, but leave the mess. I will clean it later.”

She watches me, waiting for my response. For some reason, this all feels so wrong. I should be cleaning my own mess. When my child makes a noise, I should be the one hopping to it. I just learned my ex-husband murdered my father. I should be in bed with the covers pulled up over my head.

Instead, I nod stiffly. “Thank you.”

I trudge to my room and put on the silky, strappy white dress I picked out earlier. Next, I freshen my makeup. For a fleeting second, I’m incensed at myself for agreeing to drive all the way to town to meet Salvatore for dinner. He didn’t want to drive to my house to pick me up because he was already in town, near the restaurant, for business. He’s an investment banker, and quite successful at it, which makes me remember something.

I run back into my closet to retrieve the velvet jewelry box off the shelf and bring it back to the mirror. I open it, and just like the first time I laid eyes on the lovely gift, I gasp. It’s a diamond tennis bracelet with matching earrings. Salvatore said that the fact that both pieces cost more than a hundred grand should prove to me that he loves me. It sounded good when he said it, but now… I’m not so sure. I’m starting to doubt whether or not I know what true love looks like.

However, I promised Salvatore I would wear the set more often, which is why we made dinner plans tonight. He was giving me the opportunity to step out in excess. So I clamp the bracelet around my left wrist and insert the diamond-encrusted earrings into my earholes. I pick up the cell phone on my vanity dresser.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I’m already late, but I’m going to be unforgivably late if I don’t leave right now.