My arms were pinned between our bodies, elbows tucked in and hands in prayer position, so all I could do was lean my head forward against his chest.

Lazy strokes of his hand moved up and down my spine as he cradled my head with his other, keeping me sheltered in the safety and comfort of his hold.

Seventeen years of bottled-up emotions came exploding out of me, and I let go of an even more resounding, harsher cry while also trying to silence the sound by burying my face against his chest.

“That didn’t go as I expected,” I murmured through my mess of unrelenting tears.

“I think it went how it was supposed to,” he said as he continued to soothe me, when it should’ve been me taking care of him.

After a few more minutes, I managed to pull myself together and stepped back, allowing my arms to return to my sides.

His shirt was visibly damp from my tears, but he murmured something to me in Italian before I could apologize. “Andrà tutto bene.” He drew my chin into his hand, guiding my eyes up.

“And that means?” I sucked in my wobbly lip to keep from dissolving into more tears.

“Everything’s going to be all right.”

I wanted to latch on to his words, cling to them for dear life, but before I could say anything, I realized we were no longer alone.

Constantine’s eyes were pointed behind me, and he lowered his hand as I turned to see our son there.

“Are you two together now? Like a thing?” His eyes, which I now noticed had a touch of purple forming around his right one, slipped back and forth between us with hope, not accusation.

“No, of course not,” I said as he dropped his duffel bag by his Converse.

He stared at us for another long moment, placing us under the microscope before setting his sights on Constantine. “Since you’re rich, does that mean I am, too?”

“Colin,” I snapped out in embarrassment.

“What?” He shrugged. “It’s a legit question.”

“Not appropriate,” I reminded him.

Based on a look I knew all too well on my son’s face, he had a hundred more questions burning in his mind, and his tears would take a backseat to his curiosity about his dad.

Constantine touched my back and offered a gentle but firm reminder. “We shouldn’t be here long.” I glanced at him as he asked, “Mind packing some photo albums?”

“Oh, um, everything is pretty much digital these days. I have all my photos on my phone.”

He nodded, and when he dropped his hand from my back, I stepped in front of my son and whispered, “Are you okay?” as if it were only the two of us there.

“Yeah,” was all he gave me, shifting his focus to his father.