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But I don’t. Not tonight, anyway. I push past her and head downstairs, calling over my shoulder, “Be ready in half an hour.”
MY MOTHER SIPS from her spoon as Leo refills her wineglass—Screaming Eagle Cabernet Napa, 1995, which she brought as a wedding present and decided to drink anyway. Her hair sits twisted in a tight bun on top of her head, a string of pearls clasped around her recently-botoxed neck.
Elia’s stayed true to his word, at least about two of the issues with having my family in our home; my father hasn’t spared me a single glance, instead opting to talk to my father-in-law about the state of Maine’s pension fund. Benito flanks my sister’s side, even as she sits at the table, eating like the rest of us, his eyes trained on her.
It won’t surprise me if she ends up dragging him off to an empty bathroom before the night’s over. For all the sadness she seems to collect, she’s never been one to turn down a quickie.
So far, we’ve broached the subject of my future, which is nonexistent at this point; it’s hard to make plans when you have no idea what’s going to happen in the next few months. Still, I’ve expressed my love for baking to Orlando, Elia’s father, who regaled me with a story about Elia’s mother and the scones she used to make for them.
The story very clearly made Elia uncomfortable, so when my father requested the elder Montalto’s attention, I let him have it.
Even if I do want to know more about his mother, I shouldn’t.
I push my soup around with the butt of my garlic bread, unable to eat. My stomach churns, a violent storm I’m trying to tame.
Elia reaches for a saltshaker, his hand brushing mine as he leans over. “Doing okay over there?”
Nodding, I switch to my spoon, ladling soup broth and then dumping it back into the bowl. “Feeling a little sick is all.”
“Do you need something? Anti-nausea medicine? Water?” He waves to Leo, requesting a glass with ice.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Our conversation is hushed, meant not to draw attention. “I was rude to you upstairs.”
“I’m a Montalto; we have thick skin,carina.”
Leo returns with a glass, a blank expression on his face as he pours from the stainless-steel pitcher at the center of the massive dining table. I take it, bowing my head gratefully as he returns to the other side of the room, and gulp down a big sip. It glides down, icy and shocking to my core, and I welcome the distraction.
“And,” Elia continues, his lips curving against my ear, “I won’t lie and say I don’t like it when you’re rude to me. I told you long ago; your mouth is my favorite part about you. I’m excited to see what else you’re capable of.”
The water stills in my throat, choking me, and I sputter some of it up into my hand. He reaches over and rubs my back in a fluid, soothing gesture, while my father glances over at me for the first time since he’s been here.
“Don’t mind my wife.” I can practically hear the smile in Elia’s voice, and as I work to clear my throat of the liquid obstruction, it pisses me off. “She can be so overeager sometimes, is all. Isn’t that right, love?”
I nod, silent, pulling my napkin from my lap to wipe my mouth. Returning the glass to the table, I swallow, straightening up against the scrutiny I’m not receiving.
“Caroline, eager?” My father snorts into his wine glass. “You must be getting her confused with someone else. Caroline isn’t excitable in the least. I had to drag her to every one of my galas when she was younger.”
“That’s odd. She was entirely too excited to marry me.”
“She’s probably out for your money,” my father mutters, cutting into his lasagna.
“Or pregnant,” my mother adds, swirling the wine in her glass. “I swear, don’t you think she looks a little plumper since she left us?”
Juliet frowns, lifting a shoulder. “I don’t know, Mom. If she says she’s not pregnant, then I think we should believe her.”
Catching her eye, I send her a soft smile. She’s never really been on my side, too absorbed and sheltered in her own life to see beyond. But I’m glad for this, at least, that she might try to protect me in her own way, the way I’ve always tried to with her.
“I’m just saying.” My mother shrugs, diving back into her soup. When she comes up for air, she points her spoon at Elia. “I blame you for corrupting her, regardless. Look at this house—where’s the character, the personality? According to theGazette, Caroline never even leaves. When she was with us, she went to all of Dominic’s functions, helped out with everything. Are you keeping her here, tied up all day as some kind of sex slave?”
“Mrs. Harrison, all due respect, but I’m not going to discuss my sex life with you. Certainly, you get enough from your husband that you don’t need to sniff around other couples’ bedrooms.”
She huffs, tossing her spoon down. “This town talks, you know. We know what goes on at that little club of yours, and we know what girls have reported about what you like sexually. The stuff of deviants, honestly. I can only assume you’ve drawn my Caroline into some kind of demonic sex cult, and that’s why she was so willing to jump into a loveless marriage with you.”
“Now, hold on a minute—” Elia’s dad tries to cut in, but my mother starts back up, apparently releasing a month’s worth of pent-up anger.
“If that’s not the case, then explain it to us. Tell me why my daughter suddenly felt the need to marry you, to tie herself to amurderer, when she’s lived her life thus far without a single ripple in the water.” She inhales, cutting her gaze to me. “This isn’t you, honey. You’re not spontaneous, or irresponsible. If you’re in trouble, just tell me. I can help you.”
Not anymore, you can’t.
