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Giovanni goes straight to where the coffee maker is shoved into the corner along the kitchen counter. Opening the cabinet above it, he pulls out a mug and places it under the machine at the same time he’s reaching for a coffee pod to his left. Within a few breaths, his coffee begins to brew.
“Are you hung over?” My father’s question is said from behind me before he stops toward the other end of the island closest to the door Giovanni walked in.
“The real question, Tony, is why aren’t you? She drank us both under the table last night,” Giovanni says with his back to us as his cup of Joe finishes percolating.
She?
“Yes, but I’m a grown man who knows when he’s reached his limit,” my father says in a condescending tone like he’s scolding one of his children. “I didn’t realize you were still reaching for your adolescence.”
Turning around, Giovanni presses his back against the edge of the granite while taking a long sip of his piping hot coffee, the scalding temperature of the liquid seemingly not fazing him. “I don’t have one fuck to give either version of you that I see right now.” He sighs, half yawning in the process. “When did I get so goddamn old that I wake upstilldrunk in the morning?”
“Apparently, when you play drinking games with someone that’s over thirty years your junior,” Dad replies.
“She has to go somewhere else, Tony. That teenager is going to put me in an early grave if we continue sharing the same close quarters.”
Excuse me? What the fuck did he just say? Since when do we have guests that I know nothing about?
I twist my head to the side, eyeing the side of my father’s suit-covered frame. “Exactly who is here that you haven’t told me about?”
That leads to another question. Where is he stashing Ciera? I can find that out after he explains why he and Giovanni are playing with a kid. My father doesn’t even date, and now this?
“Your Irish rainbow. The girl can—”
“Ciera is a goddamn teenager?” I growl, suddenly appalled at the way I touched her weeks ago, not to mention the thoughts swirling through my head when I had my hand on her soft, warm body.
“She’s nineteen, Dom. Unwad your fucking panties,” my father has the audacity to say to me before moving toward the coffee maker. Giovanni slides out of his way from blocking the corner.
“Do I have child molester tattooed on my forehead?” My father’s back is facing me, but the shake of his head is clear as the morning sky outside. “Well?”
“She’s legal, so . . .” After Dad removes the used coffee pod from the machine, he puts a new one in and closes the top. Then he shoves a mug under the coffee drip and presses the brew button. Turning around to face me as the machine makes his coffee, he arches a thick, dark brow.
“Is she even out of high school?” I demand, even though the question sounds dumb to my own ears. Unless she was held back a grade or started school late, she wouldn’t still be in high school at nineteen. Still, I need confirmation.
“Actually, she graduated two years ago. A year early, in fact.” Dad crosses his arms. “She’s smart.”
“She’s a Fitzgerald. I doubt that.”
“No,” Giovanni chimes in. “Your rainbow is more than book smart. The kid is street smart too.”
“Why do you keep calling hermyrainbow?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, boy.” He snickers from behind his mug.
“Actually, I’d like to know howyouknow that about her, G. Just how personable did you get with my soon-to-be daughter-in-law?”
“Tony, a better question is, how do you?” One side of Giovanni’s mouth tips up, making me want to demand they tell me what they’re going on about, but that’s the least of my problems. Dad thinking he has a say in my life decisions are too pressing to attempt to figure out their cryptic bullshit.
“Why are you so insistent on this, Dad? Did you think because Ren and Si were a success, you’d hit the ball out of the park with me?” His eyes leave Giovanni’s to find mine. But instead of answering, he turns his back to me to pull his coffee mug from the machine.
“Unlike either of you, there is nothing Idon’tknow about Ciera.” Turning back around, he breathes forcefully. “I didn’t choose your bride willy-nilly, Domenico. If you give her a chance, you’ll figure out she’s quite perfect for you.”
“She’s still a child!” I yell.
“She doesn’t drink like a kid, that’s for sure,” Giovanni adds, muttering under his breath.
Before I can open my mouth to tell him to butt the fuck out, the back door opens, pulling my gaze to Ciera, her green eyes widening with surprise. She blinks, then turns her head, her stare leaving mine as she closes the door.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Caputo—”
