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Everything. Absolutely every aspect of my life has changed in the months since I wished my parents good luck as they left on their trip. I’m a different person now. And there is no way for me to explain it to her. I wouldn’t know where to begin.
“Please, Mom,” I murmur. “Listen to me. It’s important. I can tell you everything, but not just yet. Soon, I swear, but not yet. I need you to trust me. And I need you to respect my privacy more than anything. That’s the most important part of all. Can you do that for me?” I hope she hears the trembling in my voice and takes it seriously.
“Emilia…”
What’s it going to take? Do I have to threaten to call the cops on her for breaking in? “Please, Mom.”
“All right, fine. You can have your precious privacy. But I don’t know how much longer I can take this… me, or your father, who is just as worried about you, if not more so. Do you want to do this? If you don’t care about me, do you at least care about him?” I have to give it to her. She has the ability to pivot on a dime and attack from another direction.
“You know I love you both.” I am much too old for her to guilt me like this, but that’s another issue. I have more than enough to deal with as it is. “I need to go. I love you. Please, trust me.”
It’s clear by the time I set the phone down that I need to either piss or get off the pot—one of my dad’s favorite sayings. They need to know, and I need to figure out how to tell them.
No matter how sure I am, they will never understand.
* * *
“I thought I would make us a nice dinner.” I step back from the table, and though my heart is racing with dread, it’s nice to see Luca looking so pleased as he loosens his tie.
“How did you know this is exactly what I needed to come home to?” He looks at me with so much love and appreciation while all I can do is wrestle with guilt. I’ve been fighting myself all day, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to balance my old life and my new life. Blaming myself for putting it off until now.
“It’s not exactly Michelin quality, but I do make a good meatball,” I assure him as he takes his seat and starts dishing out food while telling me about his meetings today.
“Apparently, Alessandro knows which families have aligned with us, and he’s decided to fuck with them. Low-level shit, nuisances, but it’ll only get worse.” He’s scowling as he drapes a napkin over his lap, a scowl that only deepens when he looks my way. “You don’t need to hear about this. There’s a reason we never discuss business at the dinner table.”
“If there is something on your mind that’s bothering you, I want to hear about it. I’m here for you,” I remind him.
“I know,” he says with a brief smile. “This is for me to worry about, not you. It isn’t fair.”
Picking up my silverware, I shrug. “Well, whatever you think is best.”
His head snaps back a little, and his chewing slows. “What?” he mumbles around a mouthful of food.
“What?” I blink rapidly, shrugging. “What did I say?”
“Whatever I think is best? Since when?” He’s chuckling, so I know he’s not offended or anything. I also know I made a mistake. I have to relax.
“I’m just saying. I’m not trying to push you into opening up. You can take the lead when it comes to stuff like this.”
“How generous of you.” There’s something about the way he lifts an eyebrow that leads me to think he’s suspicious. “How was your day?”
“Fine.”
His eyebrow lifts higher as he looks around. “You’ve used so much lemon-scented cleaner today. It’s all I can smell. What’s up? What has you so anxious?”
Am I that obvious? I suppose a sparkling house, a home-cooked dinner, and the fact that I have only been able to play with my food rather than eat any adds up to trouble. “Now that you mention it, there is something I wanted to talk about.” I can’t put it off any longer.
“I knew it.” Still, he keeps eating. “This is delicious, by the way. Don’t tell Mama, but I prefer your meatballs to hers.”
“I would never dream of insulting her that way.” We share a soft laugh, and I’m glad because it eases a fraction of the nerves that have gripped me all day. “I might as well come right out and say it. My parents came home earlier than expected, and they’ve been bugging me to see them.”
His features draw together in an expression of concern. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier? Did it just happen today?”
“No, not exactly,” I hedge, and now my heart is beating faster.
He arches an eyebrow. “Exactly when did they return?”
“Last week, maybe late the week before? I don’t quite remember.”
