Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

her mother said, fixing her with a vicious look. “You who don’t care. You who turned your back on me and walked away.”

      “Because I couldn’t stand it anymore. Because you were taking me apart piece by piece, Mother.”

      Her mother’s gaze darkened. She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I don’t feel well.”

      Angie moved fast, sliding an arm around her and helping her to the bathroom. When her mother had upended the contents of her stomach multiple times, Angie cleaned her up and put her to bed.

      “I’m sorry.” Her mother started to cry, her transformation from angry to sad happening with its usual rapid-fire swiftness. “I’m so sorry.”

      Heat burned the back of Angelina’s eyes, the pieces of her heart she’d finally healed shattering all over again. “I know.” She clasped her mother’s hand in hers, hot tears escaping her stinging eyes and sliding down her face. “I am, too.”

      For everything. For all of it.

      Turning off the light, she let herself out of the room. Tears blinding her vision, knees shaking, she slid down the other side of the door until she sat on the floor, hands pressed to her face.

      She couldn’t do this again.

       Chapter Five

      “ANGELINA?” LORENZO PULLED to a halt when he saw his wife sitting in the hallway, legs drawn up, head in her hands. Her quiet sobs tore loose a piece of his heart.

      He squatted down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

      No response. He tipped her face up to his. “Angelina,” he said more urgently, “what happened?”

      Her beautiful blue eyes were red-stained, unfocused. Heart jamming in his throat, he cupped her jaw. “Dio, Angie. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

      She shook her head as if to clear it. Lifted a hand to push her hair out of her face. “I—” Another tear streaked down her cheek.

      He cursed. Slid his arms beneath her knees and back and scooped her off the floor. Carrying her down the hallway to their suite, he shouldered the door open and set her on the sofa in the sitting room. Her beautiful red dress was wet, stained with something. Champagne, he assumed, from the story he’d heard.

      He sat down beside her. “What the hell happened out there?”

      She frowned. Rubbed a palm over her brow. “I’m so sorry about Magdalena’s dress. Did Abigail smooth it over?”

      “Magdalena’s dress will survive. What the hell happened with your mother, Angie?”

      Her gaze slid away from his. “She had a bit too much to drink.”

      His brow rose. “She was drunk. Blotto. She could hardly stand up. I’d say it was more than a bit too much.”

      She bit her lip. “So she was drunk. It happens. I apologize for the scene she caused.”

      “I don’t care about the scene.” A flash of heat consumed him. “I just found my wife crumpled in a ball in the hallway crying her eyes out… Dio mio, Angelina, what is going on?”

      Her chin dipped. “It’s nothing. I’m just…emotional. It’s been a tough night.”

      He pulled in a breath. Counted to five. “You can either tell me why you’ve been such a disaster tonight, what is going on with your family, or I will go outside and ask Abigail. In the spirit of making our relationship work, I’d prefer, however, if the truth came from my wife.”

      She stared at him for a long time. He held her gaze, ready to follow through on his threat.

      “My mother is a functioning alcoholic,” she said finally. “She’s been that way since I was fifteen. We’ve managed to keep it from being public knowledge, have taken her to rehab twice, each time thinking it would be the last. This recent dry spell lasted two years. She started to slide backward when the money troubles began.”

      A red tide swept through him. “You were carrying this around with you our entire marriage and you didn’t tell me?”

      “My mother swore us to secrecy. It was the only way she’d agree to go for treatment. It was decided it would remain locked within the walls of the Carmichael family vault. If we didn’t speak of it, didn’t acknowledge it, it ceased to exist.”

      He frowned. “Who decided this?”

      “My father.”

      “I’m assuming your sister’s husband doesn’t know, then, either?”

      A flush swept her cheeks.

      “Dannazione, Angelina.” His hands clenched into fists by his sides. “Why didn’t you feel you could trust me with this?”

      She waved a hand at him. “You have the perfect family, Lorenzo. I was worried you would look down on us. You have such a disdain for a lack of discipline.”

      Heat seared his skin. “I would have helped you, not looked down on you. That’s what a husband and wife do for each other.”

      “And we had that aspect of our relationship perfected, didn’t we?” Her eyes flashed. “I never felt good enough for you, Lorenzo. Appreciated by you. Ever. Not after those first few months when you started tuning me out. Treating me like an afterthought. At least when you wanted me, I felt I had some value. When you lost interest in even that, it decimated me. Why would I tell you about my mother? Air my family’s dirty laundry? All that would have done was make you regret your decision to marry me even more.”

      “I did not regret my decision to marry you. Ever.” He stared at her, stunned. “Is that what you think?”

      No response.

      Confusion warred with fury, the red tide in him winning. “You are so off base, Angelina. So off base. I might have been distant, we agree that I was, but do you really think I would have thought any less of you because of this? That I wouldn’t have supported you?”

      Her mouth pursed. “I don’t know.”

      His breath hissed from his lungs. His marriage was suddenly illuminated in a way it had never been before. What the cost of his emotional withdrawal had been on his wife. What he should have seen. He didn’t like what he saw.

      He took hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet. Turning her around, he reached for the zipper of her dress. She jerked away from him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

      “Putting you to bed.”

      “I can’t go to bed. The party’s still going.”

      He moved his gaze over her face. “You’re a mess. You can’t go back down there. Things are winding down, anyway. I’ll go finish up.”

      He turned her around and slid down the zipper. She pulled away, arms crossed over her chest. “I can do the rest.”

      He headed for the door. “Did Abby talk to Courtney Price?” she called after him. “She can’t print this in her column tomorrow.”

      He turned around. “She pulled her aside. I saw them talking.”

      Her face relaxed. “Abby will fix it. She always does.”

      Abby will fix it. She always does. The words rang in his head as Lorenzo went back to the party. Is that what Angelina and her sister had spent the past decade doing? Fixing their mother’s lapses before they made it to the tabloids? Preserving a family secret that was tearing his wife apart, a secret he hadn’t known about because he’d been too caught up in himself, in his own stuff, to see the warning signals?