Page 99 of The Kingpin’s Bride

Matteo’s mouth twitched. “The bird is fine today.”

I set the cup down. My hand did not shake. The diamond caught the light when I did it, and Camilla’s eyes went straight to it, the way they went to anything that sparkled. She took a sip. Foam on her lip. I came around the island and sat on the stool next to Camilla so we were the same height. I waited until she looked at me and not at the ring.

“There’s something else. You asked at breakfast a while ago. About my tummy.” I grinned. “Remember?”

Camilla’s spoon paused. “You said there wasn’t a baby. You said you were just hungry.”

“I wasn’t ready to say it then. I am now.” I put my palm flat on my own stomach, over the shirt. There was still nothing to see. “There is a baby. It’s very small.”

Camilla stared at the place my hand was. Then she looked at Matteo, then back. “Is it a girl?”

“We don’t know yet.”

She frowned, thinking it through. “I hope it’s a boy!”

She slid off the stool, walked around, and pressed both small hands to my stomach like she was checking for a heartbeat she couldn’t possibly feel.

“Hi,” she whispered to the shirt. “I’m Camilla. But you can call me CamiYou can never, ever eat my marshmallow cereal. Okay?”

She climbed back onto the stool like the meeting was adjourned, and picked up her toast.

I looked at Matteo over Camilla’s head and smiled. He was still holding the edge of the counter. For a second he looked like a man who had walked into the wrong kitchen and been allowed to stay anyway. Then he exhaled, slow, and nodded once toward the hallway.

“A new project is waiting, Cami,” he said. “Tape’s already up. Paint’s in the corner.”

Camilla’s head snapped up. Toast still in her mouth. “Are we painting?”

“Your room,” I said. “Your favorite color.”

She swallowed too fast and slid off the stool again, already gone before I could tell her to wipe her hands. Matteo watched her disappear down the hall, then looked at me. “You good?”

“I’m good.” I touched the ring with my thumb, just to feel it. “Come paint a wall with us before you start looking for problems.”

His mouth almost smiled. “Yes, wife.”

The room still smelled like new plaster. Soft yellow cans sat in a neat row against the far wall, lids already cracked. Painter’s tape framed the baseboards and the window in clean white lines. Camilla stood in the middle of it all with both arms out, turning a slow circle.

Matteo shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the door handle. He kept the cane. He didn’t pretend he didn’t need it.

He pried a lid off the nearest can with the flat of a screwdriver and the yellow came up wet and bright, the exact shade of a morning that hadn’t gone wrong yet.

Camilla leaned over the can until her nose almost touched it. “That’s it. That’s my favorite color of all!”

She accepted the roller like a sword. Matteo poured a tray and set it where Camilla could reach without stretching. I took the second roller and started at the wall beside the window.

The first pass always looked too thin. The second pass made it a room. Camilla painted in serious, uneven stripes, tongue out, breathing through her mouth. Every few minutes she stepped back, squinted, and announced, “So pretty!”

Matteo worked the high corners. He had to shift his weight carefully, brace the cane against the drop cloth, reach, reset. He didn’t complain. When Camilla’s roller clattered and left a fat yellow comma on the tape, he crouched and handed it back without wiping the smile off her face.

Camilla sat down on an unopened box in the middle of the room, roller across her knees, and stared at the walls once we finished.

“Can the baby and I share a room?”

“The baby gets a different room,” I said. “When it’s time. This one is just for you.”

I rolled the last wet strip up under the ceiling line and stepped back. My shoulders ached. My shirt had a yellow fingerprint near the hem where Camilla had used me as a wipe. Matteo’s cuff was speckled.

Matteo set his roller in the tray and leaned on the cane. He looked at the wall, then at her, then at me. For once he didn’t look like he was waiting for the next threat to come through the door.