Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I steal a glance at my wife, noting the rise and fall of her chest from the exertion as we reach the top. I imagine her belly round with my baby. I imagine how she’d look, and a protective rage already washes over me.
I’m getting too soft around her. I have to be careful.
Heidi opens the door. The captain would’ve alerted her to our arrival.
“Mr. Russo,” she says, barely nodding at me before turning her attention to my bride. “Mrs. Russo.” She beams. “Welcome home. Come inside. You must be freezing after having been on the water all day.”
Sabella appears lost as Heidi takes both her hands and pulls her into the warmth of the house. Flavors of oregano, garlic, and portobello mushrooms hang in the air.
“I prepared a welcoming dinner,” Heidi says, taking Sabella’s coat. “After all, it’s a special day. It merits a celebration.”
I observe the exchange quietly, shrugging out of my coat as Heidi makes small talk about the weather, which gives Sabella time to remove her scarf and find her bearings. What kind of a mistress will my wife make for my house? Will she be mousy and too afraid to breathe like my mother or buoyant and over-present in every corner like Adeline?
As always, the memories tighten my chest. A dark cloud drifts over my mood. It’s difficult to witness Sabella in the house where only the ghosts of the people I loved remain and not to hold grudges. A voice deep down says that my mother and Adeline paid the price for Sabella’s presence. They paid with their lives so I could finally bring my bride home, and I can’t help but think the same thing as always—that it’s my fault they’re dead. That we are where we are because of Sabella. That my mother and sister should’ve been here, that they would’ve been here if I hadn’t been so adamant about marrying Sabella. But I’ve always been selfish. No one can accuse me of possessing a bleeding heart.
“This way.” Heidi gives Sabella a warm smile before leading the way to the dining room.
Sabella glances at me from over her shoulder, her expression uncertain.
“Come,” Heidi says, entering the dining room and waving Sabella in. “You must be starving.”
Sabella stops dead in front of me. I cup her waist to prevent her from tripping. Her body is warm under the layers of clothes, her muscles tense beneath my palms.
The reason for her apprehension becomes apparent as I lift my gaze over her head. My uncles and cousins sit around the big table. They’re not in a hurry to get to their feet. Animosity hangs like a thick cloud of poison in the air. My uncles size my wife up with unfriendly stares while my cousins take her in with curiosity as they slowly stand.
“Uncle Nico, Uncle Enzo, it’s good to see you.” I nod at each in turn. “Toma. Gianni. This is my wife, Sabella.” I walk her deeper into the room. “Sabella, meet my uncles and cousins.”
Uncle Enzo steps up first. He doesn’t kiss her cheek or shake her hand. He scrutinizes her with shrewd eyes. “Welcome to Angelo’s home.”
Not your home.
The jab doesn’t escape anyone. Toma and Gianni exchange a glance. Sabella tenses more under my hold.
The hostile smile that curves Uncle Nico’s lips says he already despises her. “Yes. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” she says, lifting her chin.
Heidi is either oblivious to the strained atmosphere or pretending not to notice. “I’ll let you take care of the seating arrangement while I get the starters, Mr. Russo.”
I acknowledge her with a curt, “Thank you, Heidi.”
In the uncomfortable silence that follows when she walks from the room, I seat Sabella on my left before taking my place at the head of the table.
“As you were,” I say, indicating they’re free to sit where they please.
A bottle of rare red from my father’s cellar—not from our own vineyard—was opened to breathe and left on the table. I pour a generous amount of wine for Sabella and then serve everyone else.
“A toast,” I say, raising my glass. “To the new Mrs. Russo.”
Sabella flushes, hiding her face behind her glass as the men dissect her with their glares. Uncle Nico tips back his glass but barely wets his lips. Uncle Enzo mumbles something unintelligible.
The grandfather clock ticks in the background, counting down every awkward second.
“Oh, um.” Toma clears his throat. “I’m also marrying soon.” At the cutting look his effort to strike up a conversation earns him from his father, his enthusiasm slips. His voice wavers. “Um, in one year’s time.”
Uncle Nico scowls at him. Toma swallows a gulp of wine and hangs his head.
Heidi enters with bowls of asparagus soup on a tray. She convinced a few guards to play waiters. They follow behind her, carrying more bowls, baskets of freshly baked bread rolls, and dishes of salted butter.