Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
These were mistakes I would never make again. My one regret was not being what Amara needed at the time she needed it. The shame that lives inside of me will never wane. But I swore to be better and for Vittoria, I vowed to be the husband Amara – shamefully – never got.
Some lessons were learned the hard way.
And my brother was about to discover that.
Before I’d even started to eat, I noticed my dad watching Vittoria closely. When her lips closed over the forkful of food, she chewed slowly and her eyes closed in delight.
“You like it?” My father asked.
Vittoria nodded, making a sound of sheer pleasure that I hadn’t heard her make outside of the bedroom. I shifted in my seat.
“Try the other one,” he said and my eyes narrowed on the old man because it was obvious, he was up to something.
Vittoria was happy to oblige and when she lifted the second forkful to her mouth with what looked like a braised beef stew, her lips closed around it, her brows creased in thought and then, she stopped chewing. The gentle clink of the fork as it touched the side of her plate sounded louder to me and for a second, it looked like she was having a difficult time thinking, or breathing, or swallowing.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned, before peering at my dad and accusing, “What did you do?”
Vittoria lifted her elbows to the table, closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her hands a moment, shaking her head. And it alarmed me enough to pick up her fork, scoop up some of the stew and shovel it into my mouth. The more I chewed, the more I realized it was just a stew. A regular stew. It had a rich wine-based tomato sauce, cubes of tender beef, thyme and a hint of sweetness provided by the stick of cinnamon I could see resting against a particularly juice piece of meat.
But then Vittoria sniffled and I sent a cutting glare to my father. His light smile told me there was nothing to worry about. After a moment, Tori reached out, took hold of her glass of water and sipped at it, swallowing the contents in her mouth. When her eyes met my dad’s, she was blinking back tears as she uttered shakily, “It tastes just like…” the words seem to stick in her throat.
“Your dads,” my father finished for her. She nodded brokenly and his smile widened. “He told me one night, over a glass of wine, here in this very room. He said the best beef ragu he ever made was by mistake and that his girls liked it so much that it became a favorite. Wasn’t long after your mom died, you see, and he was still mastering the cooking bench. I asked him where he screwed up and he said thought celery seed and cinnamon were interchangeable.”
Vittoria let out a watery laugh and the rest of the table smiled. All except Daniele.
A quiet moment passed before Papa Nunzio’s smile dissolved. “I wish I could bring him back for you, sweetheart. I really do.” The regret in his voice carried when he said, “He was my friend and I miss him very much.”
My wife and father exchanged looks of mutual sorrow and I slipped my arm around my wife’s back in a silent show of support, giving her the moment she required. But before long, the meal picked up again. Easy conversation was flowing and everything felt lighter.
I should have seen it coming. There was nothing more my brother enjoyed than making people uncomfortable. The truth was, I enjoyed it too, but not at the cost of my family’s happiness.
“I don’t get it,” Daniele stared directly at Vittoria and when he had her attention, he said, “How does it work?”
“How does what work?” she replied warily.
His lips stretched but there was nothing joyous about the smile. If I had to call it anything, I would have called it mocking. “I just don’t know how you do it.” He dared to shift his focus to me then. “How do you sleep with the man who killed you father?”
The entire table ceased conversation and an awkward silence followed with the light clinking of cutlery cutting through. I was stuck between wanting to stand up and lunge at him from across the table then beat the ever-loving fuck out of him and checking to make sure the kids couldn’t hear what was being said. The latter won out and my head snapped towards the kids table where the boys were chatting away, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beside them, but Ella…
Fuck me.
Ella sat stiffly with rigid shoulders, her fingers curled around the armrests of her chair, appeared both confused by what she’d heard and utterly shocked by it. She peered anxiously between Vittoria, Daniele and myself, knowing something bad was coming and bracing for it.