“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nods and looks out the window as he continues, “Mother was obsessed with social standing and making her own mother happy.” He chuckles in a deep tone. “Which wasn’t an easy feat. But, over the following several years, upon returning from our private boarding school, things about the property became less worn and more appealing to the eye. Everyone seemed happier, more staff was added to the household, and it seemed as if every time we came home, there was an event, or party. As a boy, I recall most of my time spent there was being told what to do, what to wear, how to act, and the only time affection was shown was amongst a crowd. Otherwise, it was off to a lesson or a sporting club.” He looks at me then down, with sadness in his eyes. “I was not close with my family ever. My brothers were, how do I say—”
“Disgusting human beings and mentally abusive monsters,” Carlos pipes in.
His lips curve up a bit. “They were what they were bred to be.” He looks back at me. “Our grandmother, she didn’t like me. I wasn’t a show pony for her like Dante and Hugo. They knew she held the purse strings, and they fed off her, and me to her, whenever she looked spiteful. The reward, the hope that when our mother finally drank herself into her grave, they’d gain control. At times, there were apologies and promises to ensure my lifestyle did not change, which showed humanity not often felt there.”
He clears his throat and sits back, continuing, “I don’t blame them; they knew no different. And Hugo is finally taking interest in parenting.”
“Giving them that excuse is growing old, my friend. You certainly didn’t fall prey to that. And don’t you give that despicable man any credit. He knows he’s now under your favor and that you love your nieces. He’s showing interest because he knows that you want better for the girls.”
“People can change, and it is my sincere hope he does.”
“He called you a queer every chance he got. He made you believe you were gay. Luckily for you, I disproved that fact.”
What? I think. And also, Why is this being brought up at this time, at a time I’m learning he is …? Well, I now understand my father’s inability to say the word suicide.
Matteo looks at me. “What Carlos is saying is that I went through an experimental phase in my youth.”
“With him?” I ask curiously.
“Young lady, I should have felt used but, quite honestly, I am honored to have been the one to disprove that.” He leans forward and whispers, as if Matteo can’t hear him, “He has a magnificent cock.”
“Carlos, enough,” Matteo scolds him, obviously feeling the same way I do about the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn this conversation took.
“No, sir. She needs to know these things.”
He looks back at me. “It’s perfect, as if sculpted by angels themselves. It’s a work of art.”
My face heats up, and I look down, afraid I may tell him off.
“And due to medication, it’s not as useful as it once was.”
I look up at Matteo, shocked. “So, you can’t …?” I shake my head instead of saying have sex.
“I’m not the same man as I once was, but I burn with the same desires.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I miss many things. However, there is just as more pleasure in sensual romance, a deeper connection, than a quick release.” He lets out a slow breath and clears his throat again. “There is still more to tell you that doesn’t pertain to sex.”
“I have a better understanding of why Carlos is trusted.” He’s in love with you. Or, at least, your “magnificent cock.”
“Matteo helped me in more ways than even he knows.” Carlos smiles affectionately at Matteo.
“And you’ve done the same, my friend.”
Like a jealous little fiend craving his attention and less cock talk, I redirect the conversation to what’s important, if not most important, of all. “The question that still remains is: why are you not seeking medical attention in your own name? I understand you’re intelligent and worldly and … very open-minded, and I know I can live in a land of my own making where monsters control my moods and basically my everything, but I am not so gone that I don’t believe there is help if you weren’t hiding the disease behind the assumed name, from your brothers. I understand they suck and don’t know how to be loved, but—”
“That’s because you didn’t see them when he collapsed at their mother’s service. If they knew that, because of the stipulation left in his grandmother’s will, the most successful son was in charge of the estate, and that he was that son, and had it not been for witnesses, they’d have let him lie there.”
“I’m so confused. So, they know he’s ill?”
“Matteo has covered his bases, with second and third opinions. The first doctor has been paid handsomely to say it was a misdiagnosis. If they believe that Matteo is ill, they’ll dig and possibly find a way to undo the changes we’ve made ensuring the children are not affected by the reality that their fathers would piss way the money and they’d be left with nothing.”
“I’m sure you’ve considered this, and it’s not my business what kind of money you have, but couldn’t you just … I don’t know, set aside a trust fund for them?”
“That would be a perfect solution, but it’s not enough for Matteo. The man whose heart is as big as his—”
“Hugo’s wife is unable to have children,” Matteo cuts him off. “He had several affairs resulting in pregnancies. He paid off the women to relinquish custody and to doctor birth records. If, someday, the women change their minds and want to be part of their daughters’ lives, I’d hope he couldn’t hang money over their heads.”
“Wait—what?” I ask, because, holy shit! “Did they willingly hand over—”
“He says yes. But a man with power and money can obviously be ruthless. I don’t know if they felt threatened by him but, at some point, that will end. And, at that time, the girls will be able to make their own decisions.”
“What about his wife, the woman who has raised them?”
“She’s delusional and self-medicates. He married a woman who, apparently, is a lot like his mother.”
“You mean, your mother,” I state.
Carlos sighs. “And the plot thickens.”
“After our mother’s death, I received an envelope containing a handwritten note from my grandmother, sealed with her wax stamp.” He looks down. “I am not biologically related to the family I believed was mine.”
The things he is saying make no sense, but I do not doubt the truth in his story. I do know that what he’s lived is making my monsters look like pets.
“Who would do that to you?”
“Someone who wanted to hide a child.”
I look back at Carlos.
“For generations, the Arias family has lived like kings and raped the soil. The family’s vineyards have long dried up. Yet, after Matteo’s birth, and well past those years, they have lived off invested money.”
“It’s speculation, Carlos.”