Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
"This is Eden." That's all I say. I don't know how to describe her.
She isn't my girlfriend. She isn't my betrothed. She's more than that.
love. I know I’m not worthy of someone like her.
I never expected it to find me like this.
It fucking terrifies me.
I can't shield her from everything. I know I can't. The footage of the truck coming at me and Mario plays over and over and over in my mind.
But goddamn it, I might die trying.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eden
"Nice to meet you, Eden." The man that shakes my hand looks a lot like Sergio but a little older, with hair graying at the temples. They have the same broad shoulders, the same piercing eyes and rugged masculinity written in their features.
There’s a difference, though. Sergio looks as if he wants to take on the world. This man looks a little defeated by it.
"My name is Ricco."
Ricco. Oh.
Marialena told me about Cousin Ricco, Sergio's older brother whose wife is sick.
What do you say to someone whose wife is actively dying?
"Very pleased to meet you," I say honestly. "I've heard so many good things about you."
Ugh, how trite.
I don't know how to tell him I'm sorry, that it isn’t fair that you have to watch someone you love hurt and dying… but it is true that I’ve heard so many good things about him. Marialena’s told me how heartbreaking it is seeing him carry her to her chemo appointments, how he braids her hair when she goes to bed at night because she sweats in her sleep, and it gets all tangled. She's told me how Sergio has taken on Ricco’s job so that Ricco could be home caring for his wife and baby.
So while my words may be rote, I mean them.
He gives Sergio a sharp look and smirks. "Wish I could say the same."
I feel my eyes widen as I stare, speechless, at Sergio.
“What did you tell him about me?” I say, which makes Ricco laugh.
“Oh, nothing. That’s the problem and the sum total of it… nothing.”
Oops. So it seems that Sergio has kept me a secret.
Okay, so I actually like that.
Timeo comes up and extends his hand as well. "Nice to meet you," he says.
I giggle but Sergio smacks him on the shoulder with a force that would make a lesser man stumble. Timeo only laughs.
"You know her, asshole."
"I know, I know,” Timeo says. "I'm just trying to be polite, okay?"
They talk about the North End, and a barbershop run by guys they call “the three Tonies.” They talk about Tuscany and France and Sergio tells them about a recent trip to Paris.
An adorably plump, much older woman dressed completely in black stands up. Unlike the rest of the people here, she's under five feet tall fully standing. That doesn't mean that she doesn't have an imposing presence. The notorious Nonna.
I watch Sergio's mother take in the whole scene with a pinched look. I know that a woman who's buried both her husband and a son has battle scars, but it doesn't make me any more eager to get close to her. "Time to sit down to dinner."
I imagine the future… with Sergio.
I imagine myself holding a baby.
But then I see this woman sitting to the side and imagine what she’d be like as a mother-in-law.
I shiver.
Would she ever accept someone like me?
Her makeup is impeccable, her short hair styled nicely. She's fit and well dressed and wears more jewelry than I’ve ever seen anyone wear before. When she walks past me, I'm hit with a wave of her perfume that smells expensive and elegant.
We all sit and eat the delicious meal, but I’m still feeling out of place when Sergio’s mother announces it’s time for dessert.
Before I can stew any further, Nonna returns with a large platter piled high with pastries and cake.
Timeo gives a hoot. "Tell me that’s your tiramisu."
“Mmmm. Mangia!” she says triumphantly.
We don’t need to be told twice. We feast on delicate, creamy tiramisu and fresh cannoli dusted in powdered sugar, golden cookies bedecked with slivered almonds, and layered pastry so tender it melts in your mouth.
Sergio declines when offered a platter of cookies, shaking his head.
Timeo snorts and takes two. “Sergio doesn’t eat sugar. Says it messes with his girlish figure.”
I watch them tease and joke with each other. I listen to them share memories. There's a longing in my heart, and even though I know his family is far from perfect, it’s… family. Flaws and warts and all. There's a camaraderie here I haven't experienced. Even this home speaks of it—the pictures of the boys when they were younger and a girl that I can only assume is their sister Vivia, all lined up in frames on the mantle. In the distance I see pictures of them on the wall at the end of the room, dressed in satiny graduation caps and gowns, and a picture of an older man who must've been their father.