Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Medusa ran around the yard for a while before she came back to me. She stood there in her walker and looked up at me, like she had the intuition to feel my thoughts, my sadness. Her big brown eyes looked into mine as she searched for a solution to my heartache. Then she came closer to me and rubbed her head against my leg, the closest thing to a hug she could give.
I started to pet the top of her head. “I’m okay, baby girl. If I could do it all over again . . . I wouldn’t change anything.”
I took Aurelia out to dinner, to one of my favorite restaurants, Trattoria Tiramisù. Their family was friends with my family, like pretty much everyone in Taormina, and they had great food.
I ordered a bottle of wine for the table and then looked at the menu.
The waiter poured the glasses of wine, then left us to decide what we wanted.
When I looked up over the menu, I saw Aurelia sitting there, her eyes on a nearby table instead of on her menu. I watched her for a while, noticing the paleness of her cheeks. There was a dullness in her eyes along with an underlying sense of panic.
It’d been this way for a couple days now.
I set the menu aside. “Sweetheart.”
Her eyes flicked back to me.
“Did you lie about my sister?”
“What?” she asked, her eyebrows arching.
“When I noticed you were down, you said it was because my sister didn’t like you. But that was days ago, and you’ve been . . . distant ever since. So, was that actually true?”
“Yes. Not only does your sister not like me, but she talks shit about me at work.”
I loved my sister and thought we were close, but if that was true, it made me wonder if I really knew her at all. “What does she say?”
“I don’t know, but everyone knows she doesn’t like me, so she’s saying something.” Her eyes flicked away again.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“No,” she said quickly. “You’ll just piss her off.”
“You shouldn’t be in a hostile work environment.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t have to work there, Aurelia. If it’s causing you this much distress, it’s not worth it.”
“It’s fine.”
“My mother won’t be upset—”
“I said it’s fine.”
I stared at her across the table, seeing the toll this soap opera was taking on her. It was even more idiotic, considering the fact that she had access to more money than everyone on this island combined . . . but she was taking shit from my sister.
I suspected Beatrice had crossed a line and said something to her she shouldn’t have. Maybe played a joke on her. Did something to make her life more difficult at the restaurant. But Aurelia, being the person she was, didn’t want to cause problems between me and my sister.
She opened the menu and tried to sidestep the tension. “So, what’s good here?”
I let the issue slide because there seemed to be no easy solution in sight. “I usually get the sea bass. They cook it in a potato crust. Goes well together.”
“I’ll try that too.”
“Pairs well with the wine too.”
“Wish I could have some, but I had a massive migraine earlier and took about twenty pills.” She rubbed her temple before she fixed her hair. She turned the menu over and looked at the desserts on the back. “The tiramisu must be good since it’s in the name of the restaurant.”
“Never had it, but I’m sure it’s delicious.”
“Well, that’s all I need to hear.” She set the menu aside and looked me in the eye, seeming to be herself again because she smiled at me. “So how was your day?”
I arrived at my mother’s house and knocked on the front door.
It was a big villa, but she opened it right away like she’d been in the entryway, excited for me to get there, peeking through the window every minute to see if my Range Rover was outside.
She greeted me with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, rising on her tiptoes to reach me. “My boy.”
“Hey, Ma.” I kissed her on the cheek and walked with her inside.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I just had lunch.” I wouldn’t mind her cooking, but she always went overboard and made more than I could possibly eat. A feast for literally one person. Now that I lived nearby, I guessed I could take the leftovers home.
We went into the kitchen, where she had a six-seater table. She had a full dining room, but she used this space as her office when she worked at home, probably because it was closer to the microwave to reheat her coffee. It took her a couple hours just to finish a single cup.
I took a seat and watched her work in the kitchen to make me a latte that I didn’t ask for. She brought it to me along with a saucer of biscotti, even though she knew I didn’t eat sweets. She made herself a latte and sat across from me, paperwork and her laptop on the table like she was doing the books at home.