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Margaret Ann blinked at her.
“Yeah, I know, Margaret Ann. It’s a bad word, but, baby, trust me. It fits the situation.”
“Oh,” her niece said, glancing at her sister whose eyes were wider than normal.
Not like Tess could explain that the guy she’d fallen at least a one-fourth in love with, had amazing sex with, and lost a job to had shown up at her family’s Easter dinner. Using the obscenity was mild compared to what she wanted to do, which was barge into the dining room and call him a no-good bastard. But this wasn’t a soap opera, so she picked up the spoon and tossed it in the sink.
“Why?” This from Meghan.
“Huh?” Tess swiped at the tile floor with a paper towel, removing the crumbs.
“The reason you said shit,” Meghan persisted.
“Shh!” Tess said, slapping a hand over Meghan’s mouth and looking around for Beth. “Don’t repeat that word. Ever.”
Margaret Ann wrinkled her brow. “So why does it fit the situation?”
“Have you ever had a best friend who you thought was super cool, but then she kicked dirt in your face and went off to play with someone else?”
Meghan peeled Tess’s hand from her mouth. “Kay-Kay didn’t kick dirt, but she did dump my bubbles out.”
“Well, that’s what this is like. Kind of.” Tess eyed the hall leading to the dining room and tried to decipher the hum of conversation coming from there. She couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but the vibe seemed congenial.
Pinching her cheeks and rubbing her bare lips together, Tess tossed her hair and scooped up two plates of cannoli. “Later, gators.”
“We wanna see the mean girl,” Meghan said.
“It’s not a girl,” Tess whispered, wishing she could hold a finger up to her lips and shush the chatty eight-year-olds. “It’s a man.”
“Ohh,” Margaret Ann said, her eyes growing wide. She gave an excited smile to her sister. “It’s a boy… which is kind of gross and kind of interesting.”
“Shh,” Tess said again before throwing back her shoulders and sashaying into the dining room. At least she thought it was a sashay. She’d never taken dance. Interfered with soccer.
Everyone turned and stared. Imaginary crickets chirped.
“I have cannoli,” she trilled with a fake smile plastered on her face.
“Us, too,” one of the twins said.
Tess set a plate in front of Michael and then one in her own place. Sinking into her chair, she refused to look at the man standing beside her father. Refused. Picking up a fork she cut into the crisp pastry with the sinful filling. “Mmm… this is fabulous, Mom.”
Michael stared at his plate and tossed Tess a questioning look. She could feel the guilt emanating off her family. Why did they feel guilty? Wasn’t their fault her father had invited the enemy into the fold.
“Thank you, honey,” Maggie said, shifting eyes to her husband then to Tess. Getting no help, she rose. “And who else would like some dessert?”
A few murmured responses met her mother’s inquiry. Then silence fell again, hard and loud. After several stretched minutes, Frankie Jr. cleared his throat. “So, Graham, would you care for some coffee?”
Frankie Jr. What a nice boy. So mannerly for a shark. So hospitable toward the man who had screwed his sister then not bothered to call her like he’d said he would. So welcoming to the man who would take over the family business. Did Frankie even know he extended the hand of politeness to the wolf who would eat them?
“No, thanks,” Graham said. Everyone’s attention was on him. But not Tess’s. She was busy pretending Graham wasn’t intruding on her family Easter dinner.
Why in the hell was he here anyway? Why on God’s green earth had her father invited him to a family meal? If she didn’t know her father better, she’d think it was designed to rub her nose in the mess he’d made of their relationship. But while her father was many things, he wasn’t a total bastard. No way he invited Graham to needle her. He had other reasons.
Silence sat among them. Even Joseph, impeccable surgeon able to withstand excruciating ten-hour surgeries with a steady hand, squirmed in his chair.
Finally Beth smiled. “So, Graham. Frank told us you have a daughter who is close to our girls’ age.” Not a question but an invitation.
“Emily. She’s seven and with her mother today. I’m actually on my way over to her house to take Em her Easter basket. Frank asked me to stop by and meet his wife. I had no idea the entire family would be here. I hate to interrupt.”
