Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
If they said anything else, I didn’t hear it because I headed across the house, back to where I came from. I walked into the kitchen and saw his mother and aunt finish preparing the cannoli and place them on multiple serving platters. “Need a hand?”
His mother looked up first, having the same kind of luminance in her gaze that her son had when he was excited. I recognized it well, saw the sincerity on the surface. “Yes, yes, yes. Come on over.”
When I came to her side, she rubbed my back like I was one of her kids. “Put one of these on every table.” She handed me two different plates of cannoli, an assortment of flavors of pistachio, vanilla, and chocolate.
I carried them out of the kitchen and into the hallway—and almost walked right into Constantine.
“What have we got here?” He looked at the two plates in my hand before he smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile I’d seen from him through the night. It was strained, the weight of his confrontation with Isabella still heavy on his mind.
“Your mom asked me to help. It’s nice to know she trusts me not to take these into the bathroom and eat them by myself.”
This time, the smile was genuine. This time, it reached his eyes. This time, it lit up his entire face. “Here, let me help you.” He took both the plates out of my hand. “And make sure you don’t eat one of these in front of me.”
“Why?”
He moved into me, coming closer like he might kiss me where everyone on the terrace could see if they looked. But he didn’t seem to care about that, about Issy or his family or anyone. “Because the last cannoli you ate was on my dick.”
Most of the guests had already left when we said goodbye in the entryway. His mother held him for a long time and struggled to let go, knowing he was leaving Sicily for Rome tomorrow.
“I don’t see you enough,” she said. “And you know how busy the restaurant is. I’d come see you if I could.”
“I know, Ma. I’ll try to come back soon.”
“The last time you came was six months ago.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I had a lot of stuff going on at work at the time.”
The second he mentioned work, she physically and emotionally withdrew. “I love you, baby.”
“Love you too, Ma.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for dinner.”
He was so good to his mom, and he was polite. God, he was a dream come true. It was hard to believe this was the same man that . . . I still didn’t quite understand what he did. He sounded like a police officer for the worst criminals in the country. What was the name for an occupation like that?
She turned to me next. “It was so wonderful to meet you.” She hugged me and kissed me, smothered me like I was already accepted. Like she didn’t hope Constantine and Isabella would find their way back to each other. She wanted him to have whomever he wanted, and that was such a relief.
“You too. I had so much fun.”
“I can’t wait for both of you to come back. We’ll need to spend more time together.”
My heart squeezed because I already loved his mom. She reminded me of mine. “I look forward to it.”
Constantine and I walked outside, and we went through the gate of the property, where he pulled out his phone to order a ride. “Couple minutes away.” He stared down at the cliffs and the lights from the buildings, a quick rush of breeze moving through his hair. He seemed to feel my look before he turned to look at me.
“Thanks for bringing me. I had a good time.”
“Yeah?” He grinned in his special way, the smolder entering his gaze.
“Yeah, it’s nice to be around family, if that makes sense.” They weren’t my family, but it was like a memory of what a family used to feel like.
His smile slowly faded as his eyes filled with endless depth.
“But I noticed your brother wasn’t there. Does he live in another part of Italy?” I’d noticed no one mentioned him either.
His stare didn’t change, still locked in my gaze. “He’s dead.”
His words were so final and abrupt that it took me a second to understand what he’d just relayed to me. “I—I’m sorry. What happened?” I assumed his father passed from a health problem, but even if his brother died yesterday, he would have been in the prime of his life.
“I’m not ready to tell that story.” He looked down the cliff again, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Of course. I understand.” I continued to watch him stare, carrying a weight of hurt entirely on his own. I reached for his arm, and I rested my head against his shoulder, the only affection I could give him when he was closed off like this. “I’m always here, whenever you’re ready.”