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“Yes, Gina?”
Exhaling, I retort, “Gabby, you’re proud of your son, who will probably piss all over dead bodies as a serial killer one day?There, I said it.”
“Gina,” Santino mutters my name as Zane and Geraldine snigger under their breaths.
Glaring at Gabriella like a hawk, I exclaim, “She has beady eyes!” Alright, I’ve avenged myself, and now, I make a pointed move to snatch the bottle of rose.
“Who’s next?” Aunt Tammy inquires, a tipsy, amused grin on her face.
Gabriella smirks. “I wasn’t done. My husband has a good job. How many of us around the table can boast about a man providing for them?”
“Little girl,” Aunt Tammy tests. “If you’re coming for me . . . . hmmmm, Gabriella, I will beatallthe black off—”
“No. My statement is for Mr. Buff Guy. Do youat least—”
“I will murder you!” I snarl.
“—have a job?” Gabriella chuckles.
In a collected tone, Santino begins, “Not that it’s any of your business . . .”
“Well, if you’re serious about my daughter,” Dad begins. Beneath his breath—and I’m not implying his tone drops—he mutters how Geraldine and Zane live offher. “My eldest has already lost her mind.”
“Mr. Galloway,” Zane speaks up. “For the umpteenth time, I have a job! This is uncalled for.” Poor guy. He was more outspoken, years ago, when they visited for Thanksgivingand Christmas. He will make my eldest sister pay in kinky, sexual ways for this one day.
I clasp Santino’s hand, and I am starting to stand when he mentions that he “lays pipe.”
“I bet you do.”(Bet you were assuming Gabriella gave that comeback. Nope, it was all Geraldine.)“I apologize,” she adds. “This wine made me do it.”
Santino silently laughs with Zane, not offended in the slightest. I squeeze his thigh beneath the table, having half a clue that he set himself up for that. Damn bastard is enjoying this!
I clear my throat. “It’s a perfectly respectful job, you guys.”
“Well,” Gabriella sniffs. “Gina, are you Geraldine number two?”
“You know what.” I kiss my teeth. “I admire my sister. Zane sits through our pretentious Thanksgiving dinners every year—”
“Thank you,” he says.
“—And he eats very well. Santino does too!” I wink. “Gabby, since the brunt of your satisfaction is on your wedding finger, let me break that down to you. He eats, I eat! By way of eating, I mean, I suck then gobble it all down very fucking well! So we’re all happy, well-fed fuckers! Okay?”
The table falls into silence. Geraldine garners all attention as she pulls out her phone. “If you’ll excuse my lack of manners, I’m a smut columnist, as you all know. I just need to add that to my notes . . . gobble it down . . . done and done. Little sister, I thought you were black Cruella. I will reconsider your title later.”
I slam a hand down on the table. “I resent that title!”
“Let me go ahead and apologize,” she says. “The title was bequeathed to me at Galloway Enterprises. I just assumed, forgive me, baby girl.”
“Thank you.”
Dad’s jaw burns red. He clears his throat.
Mom lifts her champagne with a shaky hand. “Well, the fun part’s over.”
When we’re about to dig into dinner like a prim-proper dysfunctional family, the sound of running water captures our attention. Gabriella and Steven’s son has wiped out that little thing. He’s peeing against the leg of the children’s table.
Dad shouts, “If you don’t reprimand that—”
“Daddy!” Gabriella whines. “Little Stevie’s therapist suggested that if I spank him during the act, he will develop a complex about his—”
