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In a weak attempt to clear my mind, I take the shot off the counter and walk over to the table full of dense laughter.
“Nina, darling,” my father shouts across the table, overpowering the loud laughter flooding over the fresh food.
He calls medarlingnow.
I used to belove.
I used to be his sweet and innocent daughter who wanted nothing more than to make him happy. To make him proud to be myfather.
For eighteen years, I did nothing but try to prove myself. Even in those long years, I still have no idea what I was trying to prove to him. That I have priorities? That I can be a good big sister? That I do my chores even though he pays someone thousands to do them anyway?
Dozens of heads spin toward me as I pull out a chair. I’m on the edge of the table. No one is sitting by me yet.
After the introductions, it goes dead silent. So many people told me their names, but I’m embarrassed to say I can’t remember a single one.
Cheers, Nina. You dumbass.
I take the shot, leaning my head back, feeling the alcohol scorch my throat.
Carlo and a man behind him start walking toward us. The man behind him holds something strong in his walk. The way his suit clings to his body, revealing his definition but fitting him perfectly. I tilt my head trying to look at him more. He looks familiar.
“Nina, my love,” Carlo says, planting a kiss on my cheek. His hands grip my shoulders. “I trust that your sister will be joining us shortly?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to relax my breathing as his grip loosens.
Carlo is a great man, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t frighten me. I know what every single man at this table does in their free time, and I don’t want a freaking thing to do with it.
“Good.” His hands leave my shoulders. I lift my head to look at him, but he’s eyeing the man who came with him. “Siediti con lei.”
It takes me a moment to recognize him. It’s Giovanni, Carlo’s cousin. The last time I saw him was for Christmas three years ago.
He looks at me and then back to Carlo with a slight nod. His eyes are back on mine, and he looks at me as if I’m the dog crap he had to scrape off his thousand-dollar oxfords.
Some things never change, no matter how much time has passed. He practically grew up here. His father is in Sicily, and his mother passed years ago. My mother and his were like best friends, so it’s no shocker that he spent as much time here as he did.
Our eye contact lasts for a long minute before he casually sits right in front of me. I take in a deep breath. I am going to need way more shots to make it through a dinner with him sitting in front of me with an expression as blank as a sheet of paper.
He’s changed a lot since the last time I saw him. Is it possible that a grown man can grow even more? I can’t tell if he’s taller or if his arms have doubled in size.
Hell, maybe both.
Small dark curls hover over his forehead. My palms begin to sweat as he doesn’t look away from me. I’m not backing down either. What the hell is this about?
I’m never one to get nervous around people, but I have always been nervous around him. He is known as the man with a temper. And if you mess with his temper, he messes with his trigger.
He has always been like this. I will never forget the day I learned to keep my distance from him. Being a young child wanting to play a simple board game and walking up to Giovanni, the one person in the house who happened to be home. He told me that I needed to “grow the fuck up.”
Even though I’m familiar with him, we’ve hardly exchanged any words. When he isn’t demanding things from me and watching over me, he’s silent.
Come to think of it, the most he has ever said to me that wasn’t condescending was “pass the potatoes.”
Every time he is in the same room as me, his eyes never fail to find mine, roaming over my body, taking in every look he can get.
His head tilts slightly down, and he lets out a heavy breath. He finally takes his dark eyes off me and calls for Carlo.
“Quanto temo ancora?”
His voice is deep and intimidating, sending chills down my body.
