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“No.”
“It’s because Mom never wears fucking normal mom clothes, and Mrs. Giordano doesn’t like how Mr. Giordano looks at her.”
“Eliza!” I say, holding onto the dash as Dante swerves. “Language!”
“Mr. Giordano what?” Dante asks, moving over the fact that our 14-year-old just dropped an f-bomb without hesitation and moving to the fact that someone’s husband looks at me too often.
Still as protective as ever.
“Mr. Giordano has a wandering eye, apparently,” Liza says with an eye roll.
“Okay, look, you’re not allowed to play with Juliana anymore,” I say. “I am so not comfortable with you being there.”
“Why do you know her father has a wandering eye?” Dante asks, voice firm.
“Her mother told her,” Turo explains.
“Steven Giordano?” he asks, looking at me. I give him wide eyes, knowing what he’s going to say.
“Dante—” His name comes through gritted teeth, but it’s no use.
“Comes into the club a lot. Lot of private dances.”
“Jesus fuckin—”
“Juliana’s dad gets private dances?!” Liza says with a teenage girl screech. “Oh my god, this is gold!”
“Eliza Teresa, you do not fucking bring that up ever,” I say, turning in my seat to speak to her directly, mom glare firmly in place.
“But, Mom—”
“Family rule, Eliza. Family information stays family information,” my husband says, and I know he’s looking in the rearview at his daughter when she meets his glare, puppy dog eyes on.
“Daddy—” she starts, trying to win over her father, but I know she won’t.
Not this time.
“Listen to your mother, Eliza. You don’t bring that shit up, not ever, you hear?”
You hear is Daddy Dante for nothing you say will sway me, now agree.
“But I—”
“Eliza, you confirm you hear me right fuckin’ now.” Turning again to look at our daughter, I see her jaw tight and her eyes watering in anger.
“God, you both are the worst,” she shouts, frustrated tears falling.
“I know,” I say, turning back around because there will be no reasoning with her as she stares out the window and pouts angrily.
“I wish I were in a different freakin’ family,” she murmurs under her breath, and even though I know it’s said in anger, my heart pulls a bit. Dante’s hand moves across the console, squeezing my thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road.
I can only sigh, hoping once we get to the cabin, she’ll turn her attitude around.
* * *
“You know, your dad took me here right after we got married,” I say, my hand moving across the glass display cases. We’ve been in Lake George for a full day, and Liza still has a shit attitude. Dante told me it was time for her and me to have some time together, to mend fences. I turn to face her.
“The first time or the second time?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.
