“It’s tea,” I cut her off. “For my morning sickness. All day sickness, really. I hear it gets better after the first trimester.”
Her resting-bitch face crumples as she blinks rapidly, her eyes going glassy. Good God, is she actually going to cry?
But then her expression smooths out, the fake smile back on her face. She shrugs. “I moved on a long time ago. There’re two more, aren’t there?”
She opens the door with an exaggerated tug and walks out.
I wait a few seconds before following, wondering what exactly she meant by that. When I enter the dining room, however, I’m slapped in the face with the sight of her hanging all over Marco, who wraps his arm around her as well. Just like that, her meaning is clear. Huh.
Could she have been blowingMarcothat day at the house? That…actually makes perfect sense. And it also explains why she hasn’t managed to stay permanently fired. Huh.
Still. What a bitch.
I don’t get time to dwell on it as Dante rises to kiss my cheek and then sweeps me around the room to make introductions. I see Charlie chatting with a few of the other spouses. Meanwhile, Armani appears to be the only man without a companion—he really should have invited Candi—and he looks a little tense. Though I doubt not having a date is the cause.
Soon enough, our group is led outside to the restaurant’s courtyard, where a beautifully decorated table sits under a canopy of string lights. The center has a sunken arrangement of running water surrounded by small pools of flame, and several outdoor fire cages throw delicious heat against the early December chill. Slipping my wrap around my shoulders, I’m glad when Dante pulls out a chair for me close to one of the firepits. Everyone else is still mixing and mingling as they stroll around the dramatic, gas lamp-lit courtyard in groups of two and three, drinks in hand. I chat with Charlie for a bit, but then Dante reappears to steal me away. He’s in the process of pointing out a few new arrivals who I haven’t met yet, but doesn’t get to make all the introductions before the first course is brought out and we have to take our seats at the table.
All told, there are seven couples (plus Armani) gathered around the huge table. I’m positioned between Dante and my sister Charlie, Clayton on her other side. Beside Dante are Officer Bryant and his handsome partner. I’m charmed by the warm atmosphere and the glamorous company, even though I’ve already forgotten the names of the rest of the people closest to us.
Charlie must notice me studying them. She leans over to whisper in my ear.
“Most of these are West Coast family connections, the others are from the Chicago family. Pretty sure that one’s wife is an elected official in Illinois.”
I take a sip of water and whisper under my breath, “Criminals, senators, mobsters, and princes.”
Charlie gives me a confused look.
I laugh. “Never mind. Inside joke.”
15
Dante
I’m pleased.The dinner is progressing nicely.
I wasn’t completely sure about this gathering, initially. It was Armani’s doing. But I trust my brother with my life, so I didn’t question him. He’s spent the last hour stoically watching everyone, assessing. Weighing and measuring whether any tensions might get out of control.
They won’t. We all have something we need from each other, and there’s too much at stake.
Frankie downed a good portion of caprese salad and olives and sliced bread dipped in oil, which was a relief to see. She hasn’t been able to keep much food down over the past few weeks, and I’m more used to seeing her push her plate away after just a few bites, but tonight it seems like her stomach is under control. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes bright instead of dulled with impending nausea. She actually looks content. I haven’t seen that expression in a while, either.
The waitstaff come around to collect the appetizer plates just as Frankie excuses herself and rises from her chair. Guess I spoke too soon.
I stand up. “I’ll come with you.”
A line forms between her brows. “I’m fine. I just have to use the restroom.”
“I’ll wait outside the door for you, then,” I tell her.
“But—”
I shake my head to dissuade any arguments and put a hand on the small of her back as we leave the table. The set of her jaw tells me she’s annoyed at my concern, but I stay glued to her side as we make our way out of the courtyard. Once we’re out of earshot of the guests, she shoots me a glare.
“I’ve been drinking baby tea all afternoon to prepare for this dinner,” she hisses. “It’s working, but it comes at a price. This is going to happen like a thousand times a day, and it’s really going to cut into your work time if you insist on escorting me to every bathroom break. Why are you being so paranoid?”
I don’t want to answer that, so I just gesture for her to enter the ladies’ room and post up outside the door until she comes back out.
“Listen,” I say softly, taking her hand. “One of the men was talking about all the problems his wife had when she was pregnant. Gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, some liver thing I’d never even heard of. Her morning sickness was so bad she had to be hospitalized and hooked up to an IV. I’m just worried. This is all new to me, too, and I—want to be there for you.”
