Page 53

She nods and continues to chow down.

I cannot argue that logic. Mostly because there is none. It’s the nonsense logic that makes sense to a child, and as long as it keeps her eating and maintaining her strength, I will not poke holes in it.

Mark’s brow furrows as he tries to figure out what to say next. Instead, he moves on to questions about the olive oil business and what it actually involves. A mild interrogation.

Lupo answers with real detail—pressing, acidity, and the rest. Mark nods along, building a model of a man. Lupo watches him build it and lets him, and adds nothing false to the materials. It’s the most dangerous kind of honesty—facts, arranged around the shadow of an elephant in the room.

After dinner, Sarah drags Mark to the piano to make me play, and I play, because what else am I going to do?

My brother listens to his sister play scales in a mafia don’s house. I can see him failing to make the pieces form the picture he flew here to confirm. The surreality of it all is hard to process, even for me, and I’m living it.

The evening tilts toward its real business by degrees. Lupo excuses himself to take Sarah up for pills and Pip, a courtesy—giving the siblings the terrace, trusting me to hold the line out here alone. I’m not sure if it’s faith or a test and, knowing him, it’s probably both.

Mark corners me on the terrace the way I knew he would. “Okay. Here’s what I’ve got. The kid is wonderful, she loves you, and that’s not fakeable. The Italian grandmother is a delight.”

“You have but voice.”

He nearly smiles at that. “But. The house is a fortress. The gardeners move like soldiers. Your husband shook my hand, and it felt like a threat.”

“Right. As if you weren’t threatening him right back during that standoff.”

He turns to face me. “Which is it, Vee? I see a woman who’s happy, standing inside a castle with a wall. So tell me the truth. Are you a damsel in distress? Do I need to rescue a princess, or what?”

“That was a whole lot of mixed medieval metaphors⁠—”

“Just answer the damn question. Are you okay?”

The only thing that protects my brother is my brother believing the lie and going home.

“Is that what this is?” I stare off over the vineyard, irritated.

“What?”

“You really thought you would get to show up here and play white knight and rescue me?”

“I don’t know what to think about any of this, Vee! And you don’t get to act like the grieved party when you’re the one who ran away from home!”

“You got in a plane and flew around the world because I was a little vague about a vacation. And I didn’t run away from home, you lunatic. I’m a thirty-two-year-old doctor who is overworked, underappreciated, and needed a fucking break. And I don’t need to justify myself to you. We are both adults, and it’s about time you start treating me like one.”

His face shutters, eyes half-closed, lips tight. “You got married on a whim without even introducing me to your betrothed first. If anyone is acting like a child here⁠—”

“I fell in love. Not just with him. All of them. It was fast and messy, and it cost me my career in Boston, and I don’t even care, because for the first time since Mom and Dad, I have a family that’s mine. And my brother is standing on my terrace, implying I’m too stupid to know when I’m being conned.”

“Veda—”

“The gardeners are security. You spotted them. Congratulations. What did you expect? Lupo is wealthy, and Italy has kidnappings. Look it up. The wall is because it’s an estate. The handshake was two men being men, which you were doing right back, so don’t play innocent.” I fold my arms. “I’ve spent my whole life showing up for you, Mark.”

“Veda, what do you think I’m doing by being here⁠—”

“I built a family for myself, and you tell me it can’t be real. That’s not love, Mark. That’s you not being able to stand that I don’t need saving from my big brother.”

It’s a low blow. I know it is. But if he hates me, it means he’s still breathing, and if being cruel will keep him alive, so be it.

“That’s not fucking fair,” he murmurs.

“You flew here uninvited to rescue me. Not from Lupo. It was never about him. You wanted to rescue me from my own choices. Tell me how that’s fair.”

Every word I’m choosing is a scalpel, and I know his anatomy because it’s half mine. I keep cutting until there’s nothing left. “Mom would be ashamed of you for this. She raised us to be feminists. To trust women. But here you are, doubting my judgment.”