AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This isn’t the kind of thing a person could laugh off.
It isn’t cute. We’re not in some real-life rom-com.
And while Roman would be angry, maybe slightly humiliated for being played for a fool, he’d eventually move on, quick to forget any of this ever happened.
But me, on the other hand?
I imagine I’d think about what might’ve been for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROMAN
“The girls mentioned Harper was over last night,” Theodora says Saturday morning after we finish breakfast. The girls are at the kitchen sink washing the syrup off their hands, playing with soap bubbles and none the wiser about the conversation we’re about to have at the island. “I take it you went out?”
“I did,” I say before changing the subject. “How were the Hamptons?”
She arches a thin brow. “Margaux again? I presume?”
Per usual, I can’t get anything past her, and she’s not going to let this go.
“Yes.” I don’t want to say too much. This is all so new, and it would serve no purpose getting ahead of myself or filling my aunt’s head with false hope. No one ever knows how things are going to go after a handful of dates. Hell, no one ever knows how things are going to go once you tie the knot, either, but that’s neither here nor there.
“And?” She leans closer, tapping her long red nails against the marble countertop. “Aren’t you going to fill me in? Or wait, a gentleman never kisses and tells.”
“I believe it’s a lady never kisses and tells,” I correct her. “But in this case, there’s nothing to tell anyway.”
She straightens her spine, examining me. “You’re just like your father, taking things at a snail’s pace. It used to drive your mother insane with anticipation. I see exactly what you’re doing. Classic Bellisario move.”
“I’m not . . . doing . . . anything. Just letting things progress naturally.”
“Sometimes there’s no harm in giving nature a little push in the right direction.” She traces her fingertips along her razor-sharp jawline, a feature courtesy of a lower face-lift she had a few years back. “No shame either.”
“Aunt Theodora, can I show you my new Squishmallow?” Adeline asks, tugging on my aunt’s arm.
“What on God’s green earth is a Squishmallow?” Theodora chuckles. “I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life.”
“Come to my room and I’ll show you.” Adeline gives her another tug.
“Well, all right,” she says, disappearing down the hall.
I head to the sink to help Marabel finish washing her hands.
“Look at this, Daddy.” She scoops out a mountain of tiny dish-soap-scented bubbles and blows it into the air. It soars high for a brief second or two before floating to the countertop like a heavy little cloud. She giggles and does it all over again, this time with an even bigger handful. “Can we go to the park and blow bubbles today?”
Grabbing a nearby dish towel, I dry off her hands and the foamy mess on the counter before helping her down from the step stool.
“I think that sounds like a great idea,” I say. “Maybe Aunt Theodora can take you to the bodega on the way home to pick some up?”
“Okay.” Marabel flashes a mile-wide grin reminiscent of the very one her mother used to wear, only Marabel’s is accented with dimples courtesy of her Bellisario DNA. “Daddy, why did Harper babysit us again last night? Where do you keep going at night?”
While it’s only been twice now that Harper has watched them on a Friday night, I imagine to a four-year-old, it feels more substantial, given it’s such a rare occurrence.
“I had dinner with a friend,” I say.
“You have friends?” She wrinkles her nose.
I snicker. She has a point. I’ve let almost all my old friendships dwindle into disconnect over the years. Friendships aren’t unlike houseplants. They need water and sunlight to thrive. If you leave them in the dark, eventually they shrivel up and die.
After losing Emma, I shut out a lot of people I used to care about.
Eventually the phone calls and text messages became fewer and farther between, and the Christmas card pile got smaller each year. I never blamed any of them, though. I was an insufferable, miserable person to be around, especially that first year. I’d have quit me too.
But I don’t want to be that guy anymore.
The one feeling sorry for himself.
The one who’s too busy being angry at God to take a second to stop and breathe and live.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Marabel asks. “Wait, I want to guess it.” She presses her index finger against her lips, which are twisted at one side. “Is it Cora?”
“Nope.”
“Is it Sawyer?” she asks.
“Guess again.”
“Is it . . . Mrs. Templeton?”
I snort a laugh. “No, it’s not your preschool teacher.”
“Oh, I know.” She does a little bounce. “It’s Crew, no, it’s Jax B. No, Jax W.”
