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“What’s the charity for?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Some kind of disease or something… I’m only interested in finding a new husband. You know, since mine chose to run off with his secretary.”
“So, you need to look hot. Got it.”
“Exactly.”
“Alright, I’ll work my magic.” I set down the phone and flipped through my notes, looking through her measurements to decide what kind of style would best show off her assets. I went to all the fashion shows. Had all the magazine subscriptions. Did everything I could to stay on top of the hottest trends.
My phone started to ring.
I assumed it was another client, so my hand moved quicker than my mind. I took the call before I could truly process who was on the other end.
My father.
But now, it was too late. He was on the line.
I stared at the screen for several seconds before I brought the phone to my ear.
“Didn’t expect you to answer.” His voice was exactly the same as I remembered, masculine and full of arrogance. It’d aged a bit, which was no surprise because it’d been almost a decade since we’d last spoken.
“Thought you were someone else.”
He processed the insult in silence.
“Are you calling for a reason?” Most of the time, I didn’t think about my father at all. But there were times when the estrangement was painful, especially during the holidays that I spent alone or with friends. But he’d made his decision—and I made mine.
“Uncle Tony passed away.”
When someone passed away, they had a heart attack or lost their battle with cancer. They went in their sleep or died instantly in a brutal car wreck. Things that were out of their control. But I knew none of those circumstances applied to Uncle Tony. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He was a good brother.”
Because he blindly followed your orders—and got killed for it.“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Funeral’s on Friday—if you can make it.”
Florence had been my home my entire life. The Duomo was the first thing I saw out the bedroom window every morning. I’d walked those narrow streets eating pistachio gelato with friends. I’d gone out to explore the city at two in the morning and never felt afraid. I still missed it…always would.
“Laura?”
“I—I have to think about it.”
“You always seemed fond of him.”
He was a better father than you were at times.“I was.”
“Then pay your respects.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Leonardo.” Now we were on a first-name basis. I hadn’t called him Father in nearly a decade, even though I referred to him that way in my mind or when I mentioned him to anyone who asked about him. It was a sign of disrespect, a reminder that I still hated him with every fiber of my being.
His temper seemed to have improved, because he took the blow in silence. “I’d also like to see you. It’s been a long time since I last saw your face.”
The feeling wasn’t mutual.
When my father knew he wouldn’t get anything else out of me, he let me go. “Hope to see you there.”
10
