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The back of my neck prickles and I know he’s staring at me from across the room. I refuse to acknowledge it, though, and keep my gaze riveted on the plate in front of me as I play with my food.
"You need to eat, Livvy; you’re fading away." My mother scoops up a spoon of the risotto and brings it to her lips. I’ve told her so many times, I hate being called Livvy, but does she listen? Of course not.
"The food’s not bad, eh?" my aunt pipes up from my other side. Yep, the two maneuvered me so I‘m seated between them.
"You’d think, since we’re lunching at the house of the Don of theCosa Nostrahe’d, at least, have provided for a five-course, if not a seven-course meal.” My mother sniffs.
"I think the food’s tasty," my younger cousin pipes up.
"Don’t interrupt when the adults are taking," my aunt scolds her.
"I’m almost eighteen," she points out.
"You’re not yet eighteen," my aunt shoots back.
"And when I am, I’ll be gone," she says triumphantly.
"That’s what they all say; then look what happens." My aunt glances at me in a not-so-subtle manner.
I blow out a breath. "If you want to say something, you can do so to my face."
"Oh, it’s not my place." She scoops up more of the food. "I’m only your aunt, after all."
"I, on the other hand, have no such compunctions," my mother announces. She turns to me, but I refuse to meet her gaze. I know what’s coming. More of the same ol’ same ol’. She doesn’t disappoint. "You’ve had your shot at doing what you wanted. I’m glad you finally came to your senses and returned home."
"I haven’t returned home. I’m merely here because Solene wanted me to attend her engagement."
"And now that you’re here, it’s time you think of getting married." There you go. That didn’t take too long, did it?
"I’ve told you many times, I’m not getting married."
"Oh, pfft." My ma waves her hand in the air in a gesture she’s used so many times with me in the past. The gesture that indicates what I think doesn’t matter. That she’ll have her say, and I have no choice but to listen. I raise the glass of water to my lips and steel myself, but even I’m shocked when the next thing she says is, "Of course, with that scar, no one’s going to want to marry you now."
Ladies and gentlemen, presenting exhibit A: my mother, who never pulls any punches. I choke on the water and burst out coughing.
"There, there." Mamma pats my back. "I know it’s a tough thing to hear, but maybe it’s God’s way of telling you your career is no longer worth pursing and it’s time for you to come home and get married to a good Catholic boy."
"I thought you just said no one will marry me?" I say when I’ve stopped spitting all over my food.
"I meant, no one of good prospects. On the other hand, there are enough men in the community who’d be happy to marry you, for a good dowry, of course."
"Of course," I say through gritted teeth.
"Good thing you’re still of childbearing age, though it would be too much to assume that you’re still a virgin."
"You know I’m not, Mamma; you caught Raoul leaving my room when I was sixteen," I shoot back.
My mother touches her pearls. "Please, Livvy, must you bring up such unsavory topics while we are eating?"
"You brought it up first," I point out.
She blows out a breath. "Is that any way to talk to your mother? I only have your happiness at heart. You know that."
Guilt twists my insides. "I know. It’s just... I’m not going to get married."
"Why, is there someone else?" my sister asks from across the table.
I shoot her a glance. "And if there were?"
