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She gasps and turns over. “What the hell? What are you doing?”
“Making you wet.” I pause, letting my grin grow wider. “Again.”
I’m rewarded with a red blush that flames her cheeks. She grabs her towel and covers herself. “Leave me alone, Lazzaro. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“It’s Laz. How was school?”
“Like you care. Go do burnouts in a parking lot or something.”
“That reminds me. I was driving around all last week, and you know what? I didn’t see you with any friends, not even once.”
Her mouth falls open. “You were stalking me?”
I roll my eyes. “Please. So dramatic. Avoiding your mom is my number one priority, so driving is what I do. I passed your skinny ass purely by coincidence. So, what’s the story?”
“The story is mind your own business.”
There are photos of her with friends in her bedroom. Happy photos taken recently. I sit down on the pool chair next to hers and take a swig of water. “Let me guess. Your psycho uncles chased them off?”
Mia fights to hold on to her anger, but as her restraint collapses, her shoulders slump. “Just leave me alone, please. I’ve already lost my boyfriend and my friends. You can’t make me any more miserable than I already am.”
One of my eyebrows lifts. She had a boyfriend? What boyfriend?
She scrubs her hand over her face and sighs. “I hate it here. As soon as I can, I’m leaving.”
“I get it, kid. Family’s the pits.”
Mia sits up and glares at me. She has long brown hair and big brown eyes. Bambi eyes.
“Don’t call mekid, Lazzaro. We’re not bonding. We’re not going to be friends.”
I kick her deck chair. “I swear to God, if you call me Lazzaro again, I will throw you into this pool.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “What am I supposed to call you? Dad?”
My mouth twitches, and I want to smile for the first time all day. A real smile, not a sarcastic one to piss someone off. “Kinky. But I told you. Call me Laz.”
Mia lays down and turns back to her phone. “Whatever, Laz.”
I stare at the long, slender line of her back and the curves of her waist and hips. She whatevered me, but I don’t even care because she called me Laz.
Breathing comes a little easier. As I cross the threshold back into the kitchen, I stop dead as I come face to face with Giulia dressing an enormous salad. Something is heating in the oven. There are discarded food packets all over the counter.
I walk to the fridge and grab myself another beer. It might be disgusting, but at least it’s alcoholic.
Giulia glances at the drink in my hand and her mouth tightens. “I see you’re working hard.”
I pick up an empty packet that lays discarded at her elbow and read the label. Beef stroganoff, one of those pre-prepared meals from a fancy catering company. “Darling. You cooked.”
Giulia shoots me a poisonous look. “Tomaso, Roberto, and Marzio are coming to dinner. Make sure you’re dressed appropriately.”
How wonderful, an evening with my wife and her brothers, men who get on my nerves even more than Faber does. I take an angry mouthful of beer and swallow it down. “I had an interesting talk with Faber earlier. Nothing makes a man feel more at home than his wife bitching to his brother.”
My wife picks up a pair of tongs and starts tossing the salad. “I talk business with Fabrizio. I’m glad someone in the Rosetti family has a head for figures.”
I grab the tongs out of her hand. My wife is forty-one and beautiful. Practically a ten. I’ve rarely screwed women more attractive than her, but Giulia never smiles. Never laughs. Has never once tried to make me feel welcome in this house or in her bed. The only time we talk is when we fight. “If you have anything to say to me, say it to my face.”
Giulia considers me, her head tilted to one side. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. You don’t hold a candle to your brothers, and everyone hates you wherever you go. You’ll be dead by the time you’re thirty.” She raises one beautifully drawn-on eyebrow. “Is that honest enough for you, darling?”
