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“That was quite the surprise,” Scarlet says during the car ride home, saying it in that particular way she has, subtly questioning, always able to get to the bottom of things, but not this. I can’t let her.
Beside me, Molly sits in her car seat, babbling softly.
“She doesn’t have to tell us every little detail of her love life,” Elio says with a smile.
Scarlet glances at me in the rearview, her eyes narrowed. “No, I guess not.”
I can tell she suspects something. I’ve been living with them for months, and we’ve been getting on well, but I never once mentioned Vito. I wish I could tell them everything, all the sick things I experienced. It cuts deep into a person, like a tattooist’s needle going right to the bone, bleeds the ink into their core.
When we get home, I carry Molly into the house. She giggles and wraps her arms around me. “Why sky blue, Me-Me?”
She melts my heart, and I have to remind myself I never want kids. I have to ignore the warm blossoming in my gut. “I guess it was just made that way.”
“Why, Me-Me?”
Scarlet holds the door open for me, giving me another look. Luckily, their house is enormous, so I can disappear into my bedroom. With my headphones in and trash pop music on, I focus on my sketching. I’m outlining a piece that’s supposed to show a wolf becoming a dog, the larger animal bleeding into the smaller one, with one side of the painting wolfish and silver and the other brown and canine.
Yet my fingers itch like they’re trying to get me to paint something else. Painthim. When I close my eyes, though, I can’t see Dante clearly, not how I want to. I want him to be right there, staring down at me with that intense look in his eyes.
Then he got cold, though, when Vito arrived. It was like his mafioso shield was dropping. I stopped existing to him because I’m a woman, and now, apparently, I belong to somebody else.
Scarlet walks in front of the canvas, waving her arms and moving her lips, but nothing comes out except trashy pop lyrics about how things will never be the same. I loop my over-ear headphones around my neck. “Sorry, Scar,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “I tried knocking about a thousand times. What’re you listening to?”
“Nothing as angelic asyou,” I say, turning off the music.
She laughs. “You know why I’m here then.”
She’s seen through me. Maybe I was flattering her so she won’t ask a bunch of probing, impossible questions and tell me how messed up I am.
I sigh, putting my pencil down and then moving to the bed. Scarlet follows me, pulling up a stool from my makeup table. She rests her forearms on her knees. She’s only a few years older, but she feels like the mama bear of the group.
“Who’s Vito?” she asks.
“My fiancé,” I tell her.
“But…” She smiles with a flourish of worry as if she thinks something is wrong. “Who is he toyou?”
“My boyfriend.”
“How many times have you said?—”
My phone vibrates. I grab it and look at it. Scarlet cuts off, maybe because she can see the fear pulsing through me. It’s from Dad.You’re such a wonderful daughter…
The three dots imply too damn much. I feel sick.
“Who was that?” Scarlet says.
“My dad.”
Scarlet moves to the bed, sits beside me, and wraps her arm around me. “Mia, if something’s wrong, we’re here. You can talk to us. Aboutanything.” She lowers her voice. “You know Elio would never let anybody hurt you.”
That’s the really twisted part because whatever else is true, he’s my dad. Maybe he can change. Maybe he can be better. Maybe, maybe…
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Jeez, Scarlet. I’m sorry I didn’t fill you in oneverydetail, and that stuff about never wanting a man? It’s called a J-O-K-E, okay? Thank you.” I wave at the door, hating myself, knowing this isn’t me, but feeling like there’s no other choice. “Can you… please? I want to finish this before dinner.”
Scarlet stands, looking down at me softly, not fooled by my act, but I can tell she wants to give me space. We’ve all been through our own version of hell: Scarlet with her dad’s death, her mom’s issues, Ruby with that sick congressman’s son, then Lexi with that freak Ralph, but this is different. Mine is the man I was always supposed to be able to rely on.
