“The Vatican has diplomatic business here in Washington. I was able to combine business and pleasure this trip.” He pulled away from her, holding her at arm’s length. “You look marginally better. Still not as happy as I would like to see you.”

Julianne forced a bright smile onto her face. It was the least she could do for her oldest friend. He was doing her a huge favor, after all.

Carly entered the spacious screen porch of the house Sebastian had rented. “Owen is sound asleep.” She placed the monitor on the rattan table and took a seat. “I want to go on the record as saying that I think it’s a terrible idea to sell your mother’s paintings, Julianne. They are all you have left of her. If you don’t want me to invest, than at least let me loan the money to you.”

“Actually, the paintings have already been sold.” Nicky wrung his hands as he looked between both women.

“They have?” Julianne had trouble controlling her emotions. She needed the money their sale would generate, but she thought she’d have a little more time to adjust to the loss of her mother’s heirlooms. Carly was right, the paintings were the last link to her mother, and Julianne suddenly felt a little sick to her stomach at the thought of never admiring them again, and of Owen never seeing them. “Will they go to a private collector?” she managed to choke out.

“Yes, but he’s allowed for them to be displayed indefinitely at a small gallery in Milan.”

Hope burned in her chest once more. “So Owen might be able to see them when he grows up?”

Nicky looked sheepish. “Actually, he’ll be able to do more than that. The paintings now belong to Owen.”

“What?” Julianne leaned forward in her chair. “Owen doesn’t have any money, Nicky. Who bought those paintings?” She glanced sharply at Carly, figuring it would be just like her friend to find a covert way to lend her the money, but Carly’s face showed as much bewilderment as Julianne felt. She shrugged her shoulders at Julianne’s questioning glare.

“They were bought by the person who gifted you the paintings in the first place.” Nicky reached out to take her hands between his. “Your father.”

Shock reverberated through Julianne’s body as Carly released a surprised gasp.

“I don’t understand.” And really, she didn’t. Her father had barely been able to look at her much less speak to her since the accident that took her mother from them so many years ago. He’d washed his hands of any reminders of her mother—both her artwork and Julianne—immediately after the funeral and moved on with his life. The scars left from his rejection still stung. Will’s rebuff had stirred up all the insecurities her father’s banishment had caused, and Nicky’s words weren’t helping. Julianne was suddenly light-headed and unable to manage coherent speech.

Nicky gently squeezed her hands as Carly left her chair to kneel at Julianne’s feet.

“Breathe,” Carly prodded. Julianne’s chest squeezed and tears pooled in her eyes as her body ached for the feel of Will’s big hand comforting her, admonishing her to breathe. How could this be happening?

“Why? My father doesn’t care about my mother’s paintings,” she managed to sputter out. “Or me.”

“That’s not true,” Nicky said.

Anger pulsed through Julianne, rapid and hot. She yanked her hands out of Nicky’s as if her skin was burned by his betrayal. “Don’t you dare take his side!”

“I’m not taking his side.” Nicky reached for her hands again, but Carly had gathered them up in her own, throwing a menacing glare at the priest. He pressed on anyway. “You know I disagree with how your father treated you. But grief is a weighty emotion. It does things to people. Changes them. Believe me, in my profession you see what type of damage grief can do, how it can destroy a person. Or, worse, a relationship.”

Julianne choked back a sob. Her father had rejected her. Now Will had, too. Was she destined to be rejected by everyone she loved?

“I’m not defending his behavior, Julianne. Just explaining it. He was wrong to push you away. But I refuse to believe he did it out of hatred. At least not hatred toward you.”

“Of course he did,” Julianne cried. “He blames me for the accident and he hates me for it!”

Carly wrapped an arm around Julianne’s shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “Shh, it’s all right.”

“The accident wasn’t your fault, Julianne. If anything, your father blames himself for it, for demanding that your mother return home before she wanted to and for using you to make sure she did.”

Julianne’s head was swimming. Her memories of that night and the days preceding it had always been a jumble. The doctors and counselors told her it was better that way; it was the brain’s way of protecting her. The little snippets she did recall never made sense. But Nicky had been with them. It was time he filled in the blanks.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

Nicky sighed. “There really isn’t much to tell. Nothing sordid or dramatic. Your mother wanted to stay at the villa a few days longer than she’d planned so she could finish a painting. My parents weren’t returning to Rome for another week, so I didn’t mind. Plus, there were some teenagers in the villa next door who’d I’d been hanging out with. You were a little annoyed that I wasn’t paying attention to you and your father used that to his advantage. He never could stand to be apart from Daria for too long. I think he bribed you with a kitten if you’d beg your mother to go back to Rome.”

Julianne almost smiled at the memory. Once, her father had been a doting parent, but he’d slipped away just as quickly as her mother had slid into the Mediterranean Sea.

“Daria finally gave in. Neither of your parents could refuse you anything.” Nicky pierced her with his gaze but Julianne refused to feel guilty for being loved by her parents at one point in her life.

“The weather wasn’t cooperating, though, and I tried to persuade your mom to pull over and wait out the storm, but by that time, she was just as eager to see your father. When she wasn’t wrapped up creating her art, she was just as lovesick as he was.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a slow grin.

Julianne wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted that kind of relationship. And she wanted it with Will.

“The rest of that night was fate, Julianne. It was nobody’s fault. Not yours. Not your mother’s. Not your father’s.” Nicky’s tone was unyielding. “You can’t continue to blame yourself. Your father doesn’t blame you.”

“I still don’t know how you can be so certain. Or why you involved my father in the first place.”

“Because as Carly said, the paintings are all you have left of your mother. They should remain in the family. For you and for Owen.” Nicky’s voice softened. “It’s not that your father doesn’t want them—or you. He just didn’t know how to get past his grief. Perhaps this is his way of making amends.”

A tear slipped from Julianne’s eyes. She didn’t dare hope that her father would ever be a part of her life again. That ship had sailed long ago. But she would do anything for her son’s sake. Hadn’t that had been her mantra since discovering she was pregnant? She could take her father’s guilt money and rebuild her company. Then she would figure out how to get Will back because that was one ship she wasn’t going to let sail away.

“My mother would be delighted that her grandson owned her paintings,” she said through her tears.

“That settles it,” Carly said as she wiped her eyes. “You’re taking your father’s money whether you like it or not. The paintings stay in the family for Owen.”

“What happened to the reserved, well-mannered girl who used to be your best friend?” Nicky asked Julianne, a teasing glint in his eye.

“She married the devil of the NFL and now he’s gotten her with child. You might want to stick around in case we need an exorcism.”

* * *

Will sat in his car, his hands firmly gripping the wheel. He was sawing ragged breaths in and out in hopes of getting some control over his bruised heart. The senator said Julianne hadn’t snitched on Will. That she loved him. He’d raced over to the house she was staying in to have the talk they should have had weeks ago. Before the sex messed things up. To work on cultivating that seed of trust before everything was ruined for good. To salvage a marriage that she’d only agreed to for the sake of their son.

When no one had answered the door, he’d walked around the back of the house. Staring into the screened porch, he’d seen her with her friends, locked in an embrace. There are only two people she trusts, the senator had said.

These past months, Julianne had been forced down a path not of her own choosing. Starting with the night in Sea Island when he’d taken her to his bed. The consequences of that night were just as much his fault as they were hers. He could no longer blame her for trying to shield him from those consequences by keeping Owen a secret.

Julianne didn’t need a bastard from the Seaside Vista Trailer Park to complete her. She had her talent and her friends—who she’d turn to in a jam. Friends she obviously trusted more than him, not that he could blame her. If Will loved her, and he did, he couldn’t stand in her way any longer. She wouldn’t keep Owen from him. And Will wouldn’t trap her in a marriage she never wanted. Sure, she’d said she loved him, but he knew she’d say and do anything to protect her son.

He forced his hand to turn the key in the ignition and drove away.

Twenty-nine

“Julianne! Julianne!” Annabeth clamored through the house shouting.