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“I am well. It’s been too long, my love. Are you coming to Paris with us soon?” she asks to imply that she will be going with Mama. “I am staying there for a week or two before I go to Russia. I heard the men there are great.” She winks.
I laugh at her response. She is still searching for a man who will change her world. I don’t know how much longer she can keep this façade going. We grew up together, in a strange way. Her father was involved with mine a long time ago. Her mother was a drug addict and left when she was too young to remember.
Mama took her with us to Paris a lot of the time. She made a lot of the women in our family follow us to Paris—something about her wanting Madeleine to stay connected to our family. She never brings up her father anymore. It’s like the moment he passed, every memory of him left her mind and heart. Ever since then, she has been hard to handle. Max holds her money. I can’t remember why, but once she marries, she will get the money in her name, or it will be put in her husband’s name.
It was one of the rules when she joined our family. Papa’s rules.
Madeleine is a couple of years older than I am. Our birthdays are a week apart. Growing up, we would always have our birthday parties together. She always wanted the girly things to decorate the party with; meanwhile, all I wanted was a small get-together at a cute coffee shop.
I stumble forward and Giovanni kicks his chair back, pushing me into Madeleine. His throat clears as he gives me a stare that looks like death, his eyebrows carving down toward his eyes and his mouth forming a subtle frown.
It’s a warning.
Almost as if he’s telling me I shouldn’t go to Paris with them.
I tuck a strand of my curled hair behind my ear.
I want to go—I do. I also don’t want Giovanni thinking he can control where I go.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to text you about that.” I try to sound sincere. This way Madeleine can keep her hopes up, and Gio will remain flustered.
I tell Madeleine that I will find her later to talk more about the subject. I pull my chair back and take a seat, feeling Giovanni’s eyes on me.
I try to make small talk with my sister, but she seems out of it. I stop when I feel a hand brush over my upper thigh.
I look down and seehishand gripping my leg, digging his fingers into my skin.
My leg twitches, kicking my Uncle Vito’s leg.
“Facile,” he says, letting out a scoff mixed with the sound of laughter.
“I’m sorry, let me excuse myself.” I throw my napkin down on my clean plate.
Whatever is going on in his head, he needs to keep it there. I don’t want my entire family assuming anything.
When I reach the bar, I order my classic red. I take a seat and look behind me as Gio’s stare says more than his words can.
The blonde sitting next to him keeps trying to get his attention but fails.
I could almost laugh. Sheisgorgeous; I am just envious of her.
Am I though?
I wouldn’t want to be the girl who gets ignored by the man who is supposed to be showing interest in her but shows it to another.
“You ordered a red?” the bartender asks.
I nod in response.
“You don’t look like a girl who would order that.” He winks in my direction.
My cheeks flush when I realize he’s attempting to flirt with me. If Papa saw him trying this, he would be fired on the spot and walking out with a finger less.
However, I can’t help but let this interest me.
I lean in toward the bar, and closer to the bartender.
His light brown hair is long on the top of his head and shaved into a fade on the sides.
