Not anymore.
She turned again and faced the unpleasant woman full on. “What do you have against me, Vera?”
Vera didn’t try to disguise her snarl this time. Emma knew why she was infuriated. Calling her “Vera” had been a subtle way of putting them on equal footing. The New Horizon nurses had been instructed to address her as Mrs. Shaw. Vera came to a halt in her circling prowl.
“I know your type. I recognized you right away. Sweet, pretty little martyr. Sure enough, you immediately caught Vanni’s attention. Men can be so predictable when it comes to lust. Michael was drawn to the type, just like Vanni is. That’s why Michael asked my sister to marry him. He needed a saint to watch out for the boys. Oh, he wanted Laurel, but he wanted a lot of women. Michael had many types. Don’t kid yourself that this thing with Vanni will last. The appeal of the saint is very short-lived when it comes to the appetites of a Montand.”
Emma arched her brows in a show of patient contempt, but the skin of her forearms had roughened even more. Vera was seriously unbalanced. “You seem confused. Maybe you should rest. First off, I’m no saint. Secondly, Vanni and his father are two very different men. And lastly, Michael didn’t ask Laurel to marry him in order to watch out for the boys. He asked Cristina to do that.”
“That’s what you think,” Vera spat, her eyes alight with malice. The prickling on Emma’s forearms transferred to her spine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asked with forced calmness.
“Michael pulled a switch, that’s what I mean,” Vera said, looking madly pleased by her enigmatic statement. Emma remained silent, not wanting to stir the pot. Still, Vera bizarrely seemed unable to resist releasing the venom of her secret.
“No one knew, save Cristina, Michael, Laurel, the doctor . . . and me, of course. I knew because Laurel confessed it to me before she died. She wanted me to take over, looking out for Vanni and Adrian in her place. Mothering Michael’s sons. I was the only one who could do it. Certainly that slut Cristina wasn’t up for the job.”
Emma had gone very still now. The tingling in her body had amplified, feeling like ice-cold water dripping down her spine. “What are you talking about, Vera?” The woman really was delusional, despite what Michelle had said. Emma knew firsthand from Vanni that he endured Vera because of her relationship with Laurel, but he hardly considered her as a substitute mother. His attitude to Vera Shaw was at best respectful, at worst forbearing and vaguely impatient.
“I’m talking about the truth,” Vera said, shrugging. “It was Cristina who was Vanni and Adrian’s real mother.”
“What?” Emma asked, disbelief making her voice sound hollow.
“Michael got Cristina pregnant when they met in Italy. But of course, Cristina was too selfish to ever settle down. She was furious at Michael for getting her pregnant, worried about what motherhood would do to her figure and her social status. Cristina Carboni, glamorous socialite who used to run fast and furious with that movie star sister of hers and their elite crowd of golden people; Cristina Carboni, who settled for no man: forced into motherhood, her wings clipped for good, tied to just one man? Never,” Vera said scathingly. “She flat-out refused Michael when he proposed after she became pregnant with Adrian and Vanni.”
“You’re crazy,” Emma whispered.
“No,” Vera said triumphantly. “I’m telling you the truth,” she stated, punching the air with the hand that clutched the pieces of paper for emphasis. “When Cristina refused to marry Michael, he was able
to convince her to give him the children. It wasn’t hard. She didn’t want them. He tucked her away in a resort in the Adirondacks while she was pregnant. When Cristina continued to refuse to marry him, he grew desperate. He caught sight of my sister while he was in New York. It was pure chance . . . pure luck on my sister’s part. She was the administrative assistant to one of Michael’s business associates, and Michael imagined himself smitten. It could have been me. It should have been me.” Vera straightened her spine and lifted her chin in a bizarre gesture of imagined self-importance. “I was always the stronger sister, much more suited to be Michael Montand’s wife and mother of his children. But no . . . Michael wanted a pale little saint. And so he married my sister, who was biddable enough . . . weak enough to agree to have him, even once she learned about the children. Of course Michael forgot about her once they were married. He took up with Cristina again. He took up with any number of women. But none of them meant anything to him.”
“And you?” Emma asked coldly. She was having difficulty absorbing all this. The only thing that seemed clear and evident was Vera Shaw’s mad hatred. “Did you take up with him? Did you mean anything to him? Or is all of this some fiction you’ve created in your head because you know deep down you never meant anything to Michael Montand, and that you only hold Vanni’s affections because of loyalty to his mother?”
“Laurel wasn’t his mother,” Vera shrieked. “Haven’t you been listening? And Michael’s and my relationship was above sex. He seduced women with ease. His conquests meant nothing to him, just like you mean nothing to Vanni. Sleeping with all those women—with that bitch Cristina—didn’t earn women the respect Michael gave me.”
Emma shook her head, staring at the woman in mounting wariness. She felt nauseated. All she wanted at that moment was to be away from Vera Shaw. She was a twisted, hateful woman who clearly saw Emma as some kind of threat to her ordered but delusional world. She’d somehow morphed Vanni into some bizarre mixture of Michael Montand and the son she’d never had with him—the man she’d desired above all else.
“I’m not really sure why you’re telling me this . . . this story, but I think I should be going. You don’t seem—” Right in the head, Emma stopped herself from saying at the last minute. “Well,” she finished with a glare. She started toward the door.
“I have proof!”
Emma was caught off guard when Vera shoved the piece of paper in front of her chest. She hauled up short and found herself staring at what appeared to be an official document.
It was Vanni’s birth certificate. Vera snapped away the top document, revealing the one beneath it. She shoved both pieces of paper closer to Emma’s face. “And here is Adrian’s birth certificate as well. You see? Who does it say Vanni’s mother is? Who does it say is Adrian’s? Cristina Elizabeth Carboni!” she spat, spraying some saliva into Emma’s face. “I found these after she died, hidden away at the bottom of one of her shoeboxes when I went through her closet to see what she’d left you! That whore would put something so sacred in such a place. That’s how much Adrian and Vanni meant to her. Only after she started to age a little, only when she began to suspect she couldn’t remain the prima donna of the European social circuit forever did she finally listen to Michael. After Laurel died, he begged her again to marry him. He was blind with lust when it came to Cristina. She finally agreed, probably seeing nothing better in her future, and came. You should have seen it!” Vera laughed. “You’ve never seen a woman less suited to be a mother. Vanni hated her from the first, and Cristina couldn’t stand the sight of him. What do you think it would do to Vanni to find out Cristina was his mother?” Vera shouted.
Emma staggered back as if she’d been shoved, the force of Vera’s vitriolic excitement was so great.
“He hates her with a white-hot passion. Cristina killed Adrian—her own son, Vanni’s twin. He’s never loved anyone like he did his brother. Vanni has never—will never—forgive Cristina for that, and yet it’s her cold, selfish blood that runs in his veins! What do you think it would do to him?” she demanded again.
“It would kill him,” Emma gasped, too shocked and set off balance to say anything but the truth.
Vera’s smile was an ugly thing. “Perhaps he deserves to know the truth.”
“No,” Emma said forcefully, anger fortifying her. She stepped toward Vera, meeting her stare in preparation to fight. “You say you care about him. You know very well finding out Cristina was his real mother would . . . unhinge him. Do you really want that for him?”
“No,” Vera said, her chin going up. “Do you?”
Emma inhaled slowly, reading the truth in the woman’s glittering eyes. “Just tell me what you’re planning,” she bit out angrily.