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“I told him he’d be taking the night off,” I say. “I truly hope I didn’t overstep, but he was being so rude—”
“My home is your home,” Salvatore says. “My staff is your staff. My garden is your garden. Make yourself at home, Marialena, and if anyone in my company gives you a hard time, you come to get me. You got me?”
It sounds so magnanimous, as if he truly wants us to make this work. Then why does my heart beat so fast, as if waiting for the conditions? Maybe it’s decades of living the lifestyle I have, seeing what I have, but I can’t shake the nagging feeling I get that there’s more to Salvatore than I’ve bargained for.
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. “I got you.”
I look to see Romeo has a look of surprise, but Rosa’s face has gone soft and gentle. They share a look but don’t say anything.
“Dude,” Mario says, shaking his head. “This place is incredible.Give us a tour?”
Salvatore gives him one of his very rare smiles. “Of course. We have time before we eat.”
I feel proud walking beside my husband, showing my family our home.
“You’re welcome to visit,” Salvatore offers. My heart swells. “Now that we’re family.”
I turn to see Agnesia standing in a doorway. She sees us coming. I expect she’ll table her hatred for me for a little while anyway, and at least attempt pleasantries with my siblings. I wish my mother had been able to come. To be honest, I’m not quite sure she was invited.
But instead of doing the polite thing, Agnesia turns on her heel and stalks away. I look to Salvatore, but he only rolls his eyes at me.
“Let her stew,” he says in a low voice. “She’s losing control of everything around her and not handling it very well.”
“You could say that again,” I mutter under my breath.
By dinner and several bottles of wine later, we’re all loosening up a bit. Mario is regaling us with tales of drag racing in Tuscany, and we segue pretty easily into a lively chat about the trouble we got into as children.
“I saved her ass a time or two,” Mario says with a wink at me.
“And I saved yours a couple of hundred times or three.”
Romeo chuckles and puts his wineglass down. “You could say that again.”
“Surely not since you’ve become Don,” Orlando says with a twinkle in his eye. “Right?”
“Definitely not,” I agree.
“I thought we taught you not to lie, Lena,” Tavi says with a smile and a wag of his head.
“Au contraire, mon frère, you taught me to lie with discretion and candor.”
Salvatore smiles. “I approve.”
No one misses the underlying thread of truth.
“Do you remember that time Mama caught you and Mario drinking by the quarry?” Rosa asks, shaking her head. I feel Salvatore stiffen beside me. It catches me off guard. I quickly turn to look at him, but his face remains impassive.
“Which time?” Mario mutters with a grimace, making everyone laugh.
“Lena wasyoung,” Rosa says. “She had, like, barely turned sixteen and you were trying to convince her to get a tattoo from your novice friend.”
“Oh my God, I remember that!” I cover my mouth with my hands. “And we managed to convince her we were doing a recycling project with the Boy Scouts, and all the empties were part of the experiment?”
Mario guffaws. “How could I forget? Mama never went to the quarry. Not sure why she was even there that day.”
Salvatore puts his wineglass down, picks up his knife and fork, and cuts a thin slice of steak. “Did you frequent the quarry?” he asks. “Seems a dangerous place for kids to go to hang out.”
“That’s maybe why we loved it,” I say dryly.
