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Ginevra: Send me your attorney’s contact information. I’ll put mine directly in touch.
Cormac: Say please.
What an asshole.
Ginevra: Please.
Cormac: Good girl.
The contact information popped up in the chat. “I’m sending you their attorney’s contact information now.”
“Don’t worry, love, I’ve done this before, although it’s my first time working with the mob. Now, on to more important things—when can I visit and get eyes on these delicious specimens that have lured you into a committed relationship?”
I closed my eyes. I’d been back at my parents’ house for less than three hours and having friends to lean on through the emotional whiplash sounded marvelous. “Come for the wedding,” I answered. “We’ll set the date soon.”
Cheryl agreed, and I dropped into my bed. One more call to make before I could close my eyes and pretend today never happened. I swiped through and opened a video call to Min-joon.
“Bestie!” He exclaimed, looking me up and down through the screen. “I burned down the house and crashed your car, just so you know.”
A snort of laughter escaped me, despite my exhaustion. I knew he would take excellent care of my house. “I just wanted to let you know I made it to my parents’ okay, and I haven’t murdered anyone yet.”
“It’s only been a few hours. You’ve still got time,” he teased. Min-joon’s laughter was infectious, and I let him cajole me out of my dark mood.
“What are you doing at home on a Saturday night, anyway?”
“I’m leaving to pick up my date right now. You should know I’m taking your car so I can impress him.”
I laughed. “My car is your car. Do what you need to do.”
When I hung up the phone, I felt a million times better. It was getting late, but I still needed to unpack. As I dragged my suitcase onto the bed so I could open it, my mother strode into the room, knocking on the door frame as she entered.
We stared at each other for a moment, taking in the changes that a decade had wrought. She was holding herself back from rushing to me and giving me a hug, but I wasn’t inclined to make this easy for her.
“Welcome home, Ginevra,” she whispered, her voice raspy after decades of secondhand smoke from my father.
“Mamma,” I acknowledged. Taking pity on her, I said, “I could use a hand getting my clothes hung up. I wasn’t sure what I’d find here, so I brought a bit of everything.”
She snorted. “California informal, no doubt,” she said, opening the closet and revealing a couple dozen hangers. “All of your old stuff is in the attic, if you want it.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want any memories of my childhood intruding upon me here. The room was soothing and elegant, a deep forest green with mahogany furniture and gold accents. Silently, we put away my clothes.
“Turns out, it’s a good thing I brought it,” I muttered when she didn’t bother to hide her amusement at my lingerie.
She lay a hand on my shoulder. “You always were the best of us. Even your father knew that. It’s why he let you go.”
“I don’t want to talk about any of that tonight, Mamma.”
She respected my wishes, and began gossiping quietly about the people I’d gone to high school with, the families I hadn’t seen in ten years. When we finished putting my clothes away, she eyed the gun I had set on the bedside table. “Do you still sleep with that under your pillow?”
I nodded.
My mother pulled me into a tight hug. “I don’t know what to say to you, Ginevra, except that I am, selfishly, so glad you’re home.”
I hugged her back. “I missed you, Mamma.”
Luca knocked on the door, letting himself in just as my mother had. I’d forgotten how little respect for privacy there was in this house growing up. Except for my father, of course.
Mamma smiled at us both. “Mass is at ten tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.”
