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Chapter 30
“Dio mio,you must’ve put on ten pounds since you’ve been gone.”
Mamá’s comment slices through the air of our living room, bouncing off the white walls and matching furniture, embedding itself in my skull where her criticism usually makes its home.
Now that the neighbors and childhood friends have filtered out for the evening, having spent every second since my arrival gushing over how happy they were to see me alive and to badger me about life as a captive, despite my repeated and vehement reluctance toward the term.
For the most part, when the shine of my return wore off and they finished asking about the island, everyone disappeared, as interested in my life as they were before I ever left Boston.
It didn’t necessarily feel good seeing people I’d known for years become visibly bored by the truth behind my disappearance, but at least Kal looks less likely to commit mass murder now that the house is silent.
Or, was silent.
Mamá sweeps into the room, a long red silk robe dragging on the floor behind her, a glass of white wine in one hand. She stands beside the white stone fireplace, keeping her distance while we wait for Papá to arrive with Ariana and Stella, who’d apparently been otherwise occupied.
“You could’ve at least tried to dress like a Ricci,” she notes, curling her lip back as she rakes over my outfit. “Instead of Kallum’s cheap flavor of the month.”
I don’t respond, knowing she’ll eventually tire of the insults. Her game always was criticism first, pleasantries second, and it was always just a matter of waiting her out.
Sipping slowly, Mamá keeps her dark gaze trained on Kal and I, the heat of her stare almost causing me to get to my feet and move to a different chair.
My fingers twitch in my lap, nerves eating away at any source of comfort created by my husband’s proximity. Pleasantries would be great any time now.
But Kal seems completely unaffected, leaning back and slinging his arm on top of the sofa. His fingers toy with the ends of my hair, setting my nerve endings on edge, my body primed and ready for more.
Always ready for more where this man is concerned.
Nonna staggers into the room a few minutes after we settle in, wearing a royal blue pantsuit and grumbling about getting cheated at her bridge game. She notices me, her wrinkled face splitting into a smile, and walks over, bending down to scoop my upper half into a bear hug.
“Nipotina!” she says, warmer than she’s ever been with me. The slight hint of booze I get, mixed with stale perfume, tells me why. “The way your mother’s been pouting around here the last couple of months, I’d begun to think you died and I missed the funeral.”
I shake out a laugh, but it doesn’t sound normal. “No, just married.”
“Kind of the same thing, eh?” she says, slurring the words from one corner of her mouth, then slides her gaze to Kal beside me. “No offense, of course, dear. It’s just, I know men in my son’s world. Hell, my husband started the family business here. I know how taxing it can be on a marriage.”
“Maybe don’t compare virtual strangers to the shitty men in your life.” His eyes leave hers, darting quickly across the room and back—so quick, I don’t have a chance to see what he looked at. “I can promise you, we’re quite different.”
Mamá snorts into her wine glass.
Nonna squints at him, hiking her purse farther up her shoulder. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.” Yawning, she pushes white bangs from her face, patting my cheek as she straightens. “I’m going to turn in before your father arrives, but I’m sure I’ll see you at the recital.”
Nodding, I watch her head down the hall past the stairs, ambling toward the in-law suite at the back of the house.
My skin prickles with awareness of Mamá’s perusal, and I start to move forward and push to my feet, but Kal tangles his fingers in my hair, twisting until they’re flush with the nape of my neck. I glare from the corner of my eye, pulling gently so as not to alert Mamá as to what he’s doing.
“She’s trying to get under your skin,” he says in a low voice, only loud enough for me to hear. “Don’t let her have that power over you.”
“She’s just staring,” I hiss back, my voice just as low.
“Jealousy, little one. It’s not as attractive on everyone as it is on you.”
I let out a tiny, exasperated sound. “I don’t even know what she’s jealous of.”
His mouth parts as if to answer, but in the next second the front door is flying open, Papá and my sisters hustling inside, water dripping off their raincoats onto the dry floors.
“Grazie a Dio, Rafael!” Mamá snaps, splashing her wine as she gestures toward the foyer. “You’re tracking mud everywhere.”
Papá mutters something under his breath in Italian, coming into the living area looking primed for an argument. He stops dead in his tracks when he spots Kal and me on the sofa, eyes nearly popping out of his head.
