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)
“It’s been nice having Aurelia at the restaurant.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, she’s great in the kitchen. But she’s a better waitress. Easy on the eyes, you know.”
“Trust me, I know,” I said with a slight smile.
“She’ll give you beautiful children, Con,” she said. “She has the perfect hips for childbirth.”
She had the perfect hips for other stuff too. “Whether we do or whether we don’t, I’m very happy.” Aurelia wasn’t adamant about having children, like most women her age, and I’d never really cared either way. I didn’t want to put that pressure on her, because some women couldn’t have children and she might be one of those women. The last thing I wanted her to think was that I’d love her less if that were to happen.
“Seeing you happy makes me happy,” my mom said with those emotional eyes. “You’re a fine young man who deserves a good woman. I’m glad you finally found her. The fact that she doesn’t have to work but chooses to get her hands dirty at the restaurant says a lot about her character. That she doesn’t mind hard work like washing dishes or doing her best to integrate with your family says even more.”
“Yeah, I know.” I’d known for a long time. Even when I’d been pissed at her and walked out, I still knew. I just needed to wait for my anger to pass like a gray storm cloud to see the sun again. “I wish Beatrice felt the same way.”
“She doesn’t?” she asked in genuine surprise.
I didn’t want to throw Aurelia under the bus after she’d confided in me. “That’s my perception.”
“Well, I think your perception is wrong, Con. She’s just overwhelmed with work and the kids and all that. She asked me to babysit so she can work, but I’m running two restaurants—what makes her think I can babysit?”
“True.” She wouldn’t need a babysitter if that piece-of-shit ex of hers hadn’t run from his responsibilities. Didn’t abandon his family like worthless scum.
She tapped her fingers on the rim of her mug as we fell into silence.
The few times in my life when I felt overwhelmed, I’d come to her and she always made me feel better. But now I didn’t know how to start, how to confide in her when she didn’t want to know about my life in Rome in the first place.
She took a drink of her coffee before she studied me across the table. “Something’s on your mind.”
“Yeah.”
“You know I’m always here to listen.”
My eyes drifted elsewhere, to the open window that let in the sunlight, to the colored plate that hung on the wall. It was something I’d made when I was little, but she still had it up, even in her new villa. “Been feeling lost . . .” I swallowed, feeling a swell of emotion that seemed to come from nowhere. I’d barely said a few words, and I was already drowning in my misery. I questioned who I was as a man, something I’d never done before.
She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry for more. Just listened.
“I left Rome because I had to—not because I wanted to.” I swallowed again, feeling guilty for destroying my mother’s fantasy, that I’d come home because I wanted to be close to her and the rest of the family. “I was outsmarted by my enemy, and I had to choose between my world and Aurelia. I chose her. Obviously.” I kept my eyes on the window because it would be too hard to look at her. “I let everyone down. My men, my friends . . .” The thought of Rocco made my throat tighten, remembering our final conversation with bone-splitting pain. “My people, my country. Aurelia . . .” I didn’t look at my mother, because I knew I would succumb to the sadness that I carried like a bag of bricks in my chest.
I could feel her eyes on me, feel her pain waft across the room like smoke.
“I fucked up . . . and I can’t fix it.” I felt the distant rim of moisture at the bottom of my eyes, but I took a breath, held it for a couple seconds, and then I felt the tears drain back into my head like they’d never been there.
My mother didn’t ask for specifics or clarification. She just listened to me. Was present with me. “I’m proud of you.”
My eyes flicked back to hers quickly, surprised by what she’d said.
“You put her before yourself. You put her before everyone else. And that’s exactly what a man does. I wish your father had done that for me. I wish Beatrice’s husband had done that for her. You’re exactly the man that I raised you to be, that I dreamed you would be.” Her eyes started to water. “I’m very proud to call you my son.” Her hand moved to the center of the table, her palm slightly turned up.