When love and duty are one
then grace is within your soul.
—Shannon L. Alder
Dear Ariana,
Nearly thirty years ago, I spent less than twenty-four hours in Devils Ridge, Texas. I had a contract that needed negotiating. I’d finished it as fast as I could, hoping to get out because everything about Angelo De Luca was toxic.
On the way to the airport, my tire blew. People passed me, ignoring my car on the side of the road, my waves and hollers. But this woman, barely pregnant and scared for her life, didn’t ignore me.
Maybe it was fate or maybe it was a leap of faith, but she stopped for me, knowing who I was, and helped me anyway. I knew who she was. I knew her situation. She was the forced mistress of a man I wouldn’t wish on any woman. She needed help. I could see it in her eyes, the tense lines of her shoulders, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she helped me. A man I knew she suspected could be just like the one she ran from.
So, I offered to help.
It was her eyes.
Kind eyes, much like yours.
I took her to the airport, let her use my plane, and took her to her sister’s. Something about her kindness was unshakeable. I can’t explain it. I still think it was fate. We’d listened to a song about Fate, and her name was the goddess of Fate’s. Imagine every event in life that had to have lined up perfectly for us to meet exactly when we both needed to.
Fate.
I hired a private eye to keep an eye on her. When I got the call seven months later that she was in labor, I hopped on the plane. I barely made it in time before she was carted into her room for her delivery. She told me something felt off. That that day would be her last on this Earth, but she also told me she that was happy it would be her baby girl’s first day on Earth.
All she wanted in this world was for her daughter to be happy, too. She made me promise to protect her, and I agreed. For that woman who stopped on the side of the road for me. For that woman who took a leap of faith. For that chance that it wasn’t faith but fate.
I took that chance on your mother, and now you’ve fallen in love with my nephew.
I told you about Jupiter and Ganymede, but I didn’t tell you everything. The story of Jupiter and Ganymede isn’t a nice one. Jupiter doesn’t ask politely when he takes Ganymede and forces him into his life. Their burn is slow, and as time passes, Jupiter gives more and more to Ganymede.
Time is their savior.
Time will be yours and Bastian’s, too.
I’m sorry. I made decisions about your life that weren’t mine to make. I assumed things about you because I thought I understood you, but in reality, neither of us knew you. You hadn’t found yourself because I’d never let you.
This letter is my apology.
To you.
To your mom.
I knew I was dying, and I wanted you near. I had no kids, and I found redemption for my failures with you through Asher. I was selfish in these past few months to force you near me. I knew I had so little time left, and I wanted to see Fate one last time.
But I’ve spent the past months silently watching you blossom with my nephew, and I saw what I saw thirty years ago again.
That glimpse of fate.
You and Bastian belong together. It is Fate not once but twice. You are Jupiter, he is Ganymede, and I was an obstacle when I should have been a solution. Time will be your savior. Not me. Take the time to find yourself, and I hope, when you realize the beauty in your soul, you’ll find Bastian, too.
Yours,
Vincent Romano
P.S. If you love my nephew, get the contents of the folder to him. Help him find his happy ending and let him be yours.