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“But still, it would give me a chance to return home, to see my mother,” Isotta politely countered. “And who knows, my presence may soften things all the way around.”
“I appreciate your willingness to play peacemaker and the fact that you want to visit your old home, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Massimo affirmed.
“Why not?” Isotta was miffed by his response.
“Because if things get contentious or highly contested, I don’t want you to have to choose sides. I don’t want you in the middle of it,” he offered. “Pick another time to visit with your family. Not this time.”
Isotta didn’t like his answer, not at all, but she respected that at least he explained it to her.”
“I’ll go another time,” Isotta acquiesced. “But can I ask one favor?”
“Sure. What is it?” Massimo inquired.
“Play nice,” she suggested, “as nice as you can.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t make any promises. I have to do what I have to do to protect the family.”
The family she married into, she thought. Isotta was not satisfied with his response, but she had no choice but to accept that Massimo’s allegiance was to his family. He was the heir apparent to his family’s dynasty, and nothing would keep him from it. She didn’t like it, but Isotta understood. As he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, all Isotta could hope was that things remained cordial and went well, for all their sakes.
Massimo made his way downstairs.
“Keep her entertained,” he said to Rosa. “I don’t want her stressed out.”
“Of course, sir,” Rosa replied, wondering what Isotta had to be stressed out about. She watched as he exited the estate and made her way upstairs to entertain his bride.
Massimo was slated to pick up his father and brother at his original home. As he rode in the back of the stretch limousine, he contemplated just what the context of the meeting would be like, whether it would get ugly or be cordial, as Isotta suggested.
Only time would tell.
Francesco was nervous. Even though they were in the proverbial driver’s seat when it came to the meeting with the Ricci’s, he still felt unsettled. He paced back and forth as the maids and butlers attended to the area in which they would meet, ensuring that there were refreshments and hors d'oeuvres readily available for nervous consumption. Francesco, in his pacing, made his way over to the hors d'oeuvres spread and selected something, he didn’t care what, to gnaw on. Maybe it would help him with his nerves.
Celestina looked on, amused at his discontent. She was still furious with both her husband and mother-in-law. Any unsettled feelings he had made Celestina feel good, at least temporarily.
“Nervous, huh?” She asked, padding into the dining room where the meeting would take place.
Francesco looked up, still chewing. “A little,” he confessed.
“Why?” Celestina inquired, although she didn’t really give a damn one way or the other. Francesco rarely listened to her advice when it came to business, even though she had good ideas. Celestina didn’t expect this time to be any different, so she didn’t even try.
“Because, dear, a lot is riding on this meeting.”
“More than usual?” She feigned interest in keeping him talking.
“It’s quite possible,” Francesco admitted, welcoming the idea of running his thoughts across someone who wasn’t his mother. Constanza would see his nervousness as a weakness, and Francesco didn’t need any additional undue pressure.
“What do you mean?” Celestina asked, moseying up behind the couch and placing her hands on the rise.
“If things go well, then we are fine,” Francesco answered. “But if things are the least bit contentious, then we may have a serious problem. We entered into this relationship to benefit the bottom line. Now, the bottom line is at risk. And I’m afraid the marriage of our daughter with their son could very well be at risk, especially if we don’t come to an amicable solution.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t have married that boy in the first place,” Celestina mused.
“What do you mean? Of course, she needed to marry him. It was for the good of the family.”
“Not really,” Celestina admitted. “What about her own good? What about us farming out our daughters for business? It makes them no more than glorified prostitutes.”
“How dare you make that kind of assessment,” Francesco huffed, stopping his pacing and staring at his wife. “How could you say that?”
“Because, dear, it’s what I am, a glorified prostitute married to a man who married me out of duty, not out of love.”
