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“How very bourgeoisie.” Mel winks at me, pointing at a cupboard over the sink where I find wine glasses.
“It’s a ‘drink wine out of wine glasses’ sort of a morning,” I reply, yawning.
“That it is.” Mel unscrews the bottle and pours a generous amount of white wine into each of our glasses. “Hungry?”
I shake my head.
“Let’s go then. The sofa awaits.”
We both let out a content sigh as soon as we’re sitting, then giggle.
I sip the wine as she watches me. “Are you leaving town?”
I shake my head.
“I’ve got so many questions. I don’t even know which one to ask first,” she sighs.
“Dealers choice?”
“If you’re not leaving, why were you at the bus station?”
I wince. “Iwasleaving.”
Mel’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”
“I didn’t want to,” I rush. “Dante basically made me.”
Her eyes widen even more. “You call Mr Santoro—Dante?”
“Eeew. Mr Santoro? Makes him sound so old.”
“He kinda is, I guess. Or at least older than us. I think he’s in his mid-thirties.”
“Really?”
“Mhhmmm.” She nods her head. “Have you been thinking naughty thoughts about Mr Santoro?”
“More likestabbythoughts,” I laugh.
Mel blinks. “So, why would he make you leave?”
I whine. “It’s this whole thing. He’s been an asshole to me from the day we met, telling me I should leave town and that no one wants me here. He blacklisted my name so that no one in town would hire me. I had to use a fake name and ID—”
“That’s why Luca called you Alessa!” Mel exclaims.
“Yeah, my real name is Alessa Jones. I was going to tellyou tonight so you could decide if you still wanted me to move in with you, but I guess I live here now, so… Surprise?” I smile tentatively.
Mel chuckles. “Girl, I wouldn’t have changed my mind. You have a place here for as long as you want. I’m a bit bummed, though. I was hoping you were going to tell me you’re actually related totheStevie Nicks.”
“I wish.”
“Don’t we all?” she sighs, her eyes unfocused, as she stares out the window before shaking her head and looking back at me. “Anyway, Mr Santoro wanted you gone and…”
“Stop calling him that!” I shudder. “Just call him Dante, okay?”
“I’ll try. But all my life I’ve known him as one of the Saints or a Santoro.”
“What’s up with the Saint nickname? He’s more like a demon.”
