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“We’ll talk about it later. Come.” I walk to the door. “It’s time for dinner. Sabella and I are leaving early in the morning, so she can’t go to bed late.”
She pauses in mid-step. “I don’t want her to go.”
“We’ve already discussed this. She has to go.” When her bottom lip starts to quiver, I say, “Why don’t you bake Sabella a special gingerbread cookie? Think how happy that will make her when she gets back.”
She tilts her face to the ceiling, seemingly considering the idea. After a moment, she says, “Like a heart?”
“Yes, a heart-shaped cookie.”
“Or a flower.”
“Why not both?”
“All right,” she says slowly. “But don’t tell her. It will spoil the surprise.”
“It’ll be our secret,” I say solemnly.
Pacified, she takes my hand again and lets me lead her to the kitchen where a dinner of beef roast, mashed potatoes, and beans are set out. Heidi joins us. We agreed that it’ll help if Sophie gets to know her better before we leave.
Heidi engages her in a conversation about the movies she’s seen here. Except for the fact that Sabella and I don’t exchange a word, the dinner passes amiably. Heidi is telling Sophie about One Hundred and One Dalmatians, promising that they can watch it together, when Sophie says out of the blue, “Can I have a dog, Angelo? I want to walk my own dog.”
Sabella chokes on her wine.
“A dog?” I say.
“A small one.” Sophie looks at Sabella with pleading eyes. “He won’t take up much space. He can sleep in Beatrice’s bed. Please, Sabella.”
“We can discuss a dog when things are more stable,” I say carefully.
“Sabella doesn’t mind. She likes dogs. Don’t you Sabella?”
“Of course I won’t mind,” Sabella says. “But it’s for Mr. Russo to decide. This is his house, remember?”
I don’t know why the way my wife phrases that irks me so much. Heidi shoots me an accusing look, making her opinion on the matter known as if she hasn’t already told me multiple times.
“Can I have one for Christmas?” Sophie asks.
“That’s a discussion for later,” I say in a sterner tone. “Finish your food.”
Sophie heaves a sigh. “All right.” Swinging her legs, she says, “You won’t forget, Angelo?”
“No. I promise.”
Shoving a fork-full of potatoes in her mouth, she says, “Okay.”
Heidi brought chocolate mousse for dessert, which wins her more points with Sophie. When we’ve finished dinner, Heidi offers to tidy the kitchen while Sabella and I tuck Sophie in.
“Are you sleeping in your own house again?” Sophie asks when I kiss her forehead.
“Yes. I still have work to do.” I look at Sabella as I say, “I’ll be here at sunrise tomorrow. We have an early flight to catch.”
After saying goodnight, I close the door and follow my wife down the hallway. She enters her bedroom without looking at me. It wasn’t my plan to go inside, but her defiance sets my teeth on edge. She’s ignored me for long enough. Sadly for her, pretending I don’t exist isn’t going to make me disappear.
She gives a start at the click of the door when I close it behind me. She spins around, facing me quietly. When I turn the key in the lock, her gaze homes in on the action.
She doesn’t run or cower when I cross the floor. She pulls her sweater over her head and reaches behind her to unclip her bra. Then she kicks off her sneakers and shimmies out of her jeans, socks, and panties.
I’m riveted to the spot, watching her naked body as she goes down on her knees and spreads her legs. Lifting her chin, she meets my gaze head-on, not cowering under the heat that must burn in my eyes as a dead giveaway of the lust firing through my veins.
