Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Geno noted that Nicoletta was once again sitting close to Taviano. She didn’t appear as if she had moved at all, yet she had shifted in her chair just enough that she managed to draw his attention. She handed Taviano her plate and he ladled the spaghetti sauce over the pasta.
“Just so you know, Amara,” Lucca put in, snagging the basket of fresh bread. “Eloisa never kept her word to her children. She was a stellar rider, but the worst parent on the face of the earth because she didn’t give a damn. Not about them as her children. Certainly not about them as riders. That reflected on her.”
Geno quickly assessed Taviano’s body language. He was uncomfortable, but he was in control, not like earlier at breakfast. Still, he loved his cousin. “Taviano, if this is difficult and too personal for you to tell all of us, we could go somewhere private . . .” he offered.
Amaranthe immediately put down her fork and nodded her compliance. “I have no problems giving you privacy, Taviano.”
“It’s easier telling you, Amaranthe,” Taviano said. “You didn’t know Eloisa and I can just talk it through with you naturally. If I don’t talk about this, I’m just like everyone else. Sweeping it under the carpet so to speak. Letting them make me feel ashamed. That it was my fault. Francesca and Nicoletta are right. Stefano is taking this on himself. He just found out because I hid it from him for years. I shouldn’t have. I kept what happened in my past a secret because Eloisa and Phillip were determined to make me feel shame.”
This is making me very uneasy, Salvatore said to Geno. I trained with that same family in Italy. They were a good family. I’m younger than Taviano and went there after he did, but I had the same instructors, didn’t I? They were strict, but not nearly as strict as the Archambaults.
Yes, Geno replied. His mind wasn’t going to strict or cruel. Taviano had all the signs of a PTSD episode earlier that morning. Having been trained by the strictest of the Archambaults wouldn’t have caused him to have been thrown into post-traumatic stress disorder.
“I enjoyed my time in Italy with the family there, but when it was time for them to send me home, Eloisa had made arrangements for me to go for further instructions with Jaspar and Beau Boutler, the remaining two riders from a family in Queensland. The family in Italy protested. I overheard them telling Eloisa no one sent trainees to the Boutler family, but she wouldn’t listen to them.”
Slowly, and very carefully, Geno placed his fork and knife on his plate, bile suddenly rising. He had some expectations of what Taviano might be about to share. All along he had seen this coming, but with the knowledge suddenly blossoming in his brain, his mind wanted to reject the images crowding in. He couldn’t imagine how Stefano felt if Geno was feeling guilty and angry. He had no idea how he stayed in his chair when he needed to leap up and pace to remove the adrenaline flooding every cell in his body.
Amaranthe laid one hand on his thigh very gently. You have to breathe, to be calm so he can continue. Do it for him, Geno. The walls are beginning to expand, and the room temperature is rising.
She was right. He knew she was. She was the voice of reason—his breath of fresh air. Deliberately he concentrated on her. He couldn’t look at his two younger brothers. If this had happened to either one of them, he would have gone insane. No one would have been safe. He would have turned into the ultimate predator and to hell with the consequences.
How could he possibly blame Stefano for wanting to protect Taviano? He would move heaven and earth to protect Salvatore and Lucca. Little beads of sweat formed on his body, and he had to force himself to breathe and remain calm, to keep his expression blank just in case Taviano looked up at him. So far, his cousin kept his attention fixed solely on Amaranthe.
She was soothing. Peaceful. He felt that in her. Francesca gave off that same inner calm. Both women seemed to be able to share that calming trait with those in the room, surrounding them with such tranquility it helped to level out the emotions despite the things Taviano was revealing. Geno realized what an asset Francesca had been to Stefano and what Amaranthe would be for a man like him. What was he giving her of equal value in return? What did any man give his woman that was of equal value?
Geno. Just his name. Breathless. Loving. The way she whispered it to him. As if he was her everything, the way she was to him.