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I force my eyes shut, trying to get those thoughts out of my mind.
He kills people, Nina.
And he enjoys it.
He has slept with too many women—far too many to count.
I take the pot off the marble counter and bring it to the sink, filling it with water to start the soupe à l’oignon.
“You can cook?”
I begin cutting the onions, but I put the knife down and look him in the eye with the blankest face. “What does it look like?”
“Careful.” He takes another sip, slowly, without breaking eye contact.
That’s all he says as lifts his weight off the chair. The tone in his voice is demanding but loose at the same time. He walks over to the dining room and looks at me over his shoulder, his hair falling over his forehead.
He slams the door leading to the patio as he exits the house.
The slam of the door echoes in my ears.
Why am I reading so much into the way he closed the door?
I stare at the pot as the water begins to boil over.
Loud heels enter the room. I already know it’s my mama by the clicking of her red stilettos against the hard marble floor. “Nina! Have I taught you nothing?” She shoves me away from the stove.
Giovanni showed me a different side of him tonight: his kindness toward my mama. But I can’t wrap my head around how fast his emotions went from hot to cold in less than a minute.
“Go get dressed for dinner, my love,” she says. “Be ready in an hour! No less.”
* * *
I put on a red silk dress for dinner tonight, but I can’t find my black heels for the life of me. I trash my room trying to find them. They were a gift from Mama from Paris for my eighteenth birthday. They are suede and have a skinny heel and would look perfect with this dress.
I toss a couple of my clothes back into the closet as I fall on the floor, accepting my defeat.
“Jesus, Nina.” My sister comes into my room, laughing at the mess I’ve made.
“Can’t find those heels Mama got me from the Gala.”
“Oh, yeah.” She scratches her head. “I have those on right now.” I look down at her feet and see her freshly painted toes popping out of my favorite shoes.
“Give them back. You can wear the white ones.”
“Fine.” She walks over to my bed and takes the shoes off, swearing under her breath.
I can’t help but laugh at her. “Maybe you’ll get a pair since you turned eighteen recently,” I say while slippingmyheels on.
People always think having a sister is one of the best things in the world, but I disagree in this moment. Growing up with Ana, she always had to have everything I had, or something better. She stole every fancy dress I got, and all my makeup.
“Where’s Carlo?”
Why hasn’t she moved any of her belongings out of the house yet? She’s a married woman, and she needs to take her things out of this house and move in with Carlo.
“Downstairs, talking with Papa.” She’s stumbling in the heels I gave her. I made sure to give her an uncomfortable pair so she doesn’t feel the urge to take any more of them. “Are you coming down?”
I stand up and walk behind her. “Coming.”
