Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I chew my lip. I noticed that tonight too and I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. “Maybe there was some truth in what he told your husband. Maybe, I don’t know. It’s a little confusing right now.”
“Look, I don’t know what you two are up to, and I don’t care. Just make sure you’re happy. That’s okay, you know? You can just be with him and be happy.”
“Yeah. Right.” I want to say more, but laughter spills down the path, and a second later Carlo appears with Saul. Gian and Renzo aren’t far behind, both of them much more reserved, though I noticed they’re loosening up a bit. Carlo’s telling a story about a clueless young kid that wants to join the organization and is willing to basically mop floors and bus tables to make it happen. Everyone’s laughing, and Carlo’s getting more animated, and I barely even notice when Gian appears at my side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.
I could pull away. I could set boundaries. Instead, I lean into him and breathe in his smell, spicy and musky mixed with the fire, and I smile at the way Carlo’s miming the kid trying to balance six plates on his arms and falling over in the middle of a strip club. I glance at Maddie, and she’s smiling too, and I realize she’s right.
I can be happy. It’s okay to be happy. I’m not hurting anyone, and I’m not betraying my family. I’m just smiling and enjoying my time with my husband.
For tonight, I can just be happy.
Chapter 30
Allegra
Once the house is in decent shape and I have plenty of throw pillows, I run out of stuff to do.
It’s kind of pathetic. I find myself obsessing over meaningless little projects like tightening doorknobs and using a level to get pictures perfectly straight. Gian keeps shaking his head whenever he finds me elbow-deep in some new household project, and one afternoon he can’t seem to hold back anymore.
“You need to get out of here.”
“Sorry?” I slide out from under the sink where I was tightening the bolt that keeps the faucet in place. It felt a little wiggly. “I’m not—” I sit up too fast and slam my head into the edge of the cabinet.
“Oh, shit.” Gian’s down at my side, helping me out and checking my head. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a bruised ego. And a bruised head.”
“Come here, sit down.” He steers me to a chair and gets me seated before rustling up an icepack. “Hold this on the wound.”
“It’s not a wound,” I mutter.
“Since when were you so handy? From what I remember, you didn’t know the difference between a screwdriver and a hammer.”
“That’s exaggerating it a little bit.” I glare at him, but he’s not wrong. I grew up a spoiled little mafia princess—tools and I didn’t get properly introduced until later in my life. “I’m just trying to stay productive, okay?”
“You could always go back to work.”
“I’m thinking about it.” I groan and lean forward. “God, my head’s killing me.”
He decides to leave it there, pours me a glass of wine, and we spend the rest of the evening watching a movie together before hitting bed early. Which means copious filthy sex to the point that I pass out and only move again when the sun’s rising the next morning.
But Gian’s right. The bump on my head proves it. I need to get the heck out of the house for a while. When he leaves for work—which means hanging around the Rossi house waiting for Renzo to give him a job while he figures out what’s next—I head out to that little coffee shop I like with my laptop.
There are other young professional-types hammering away at their keyboards. I sip a latte and wish I could be more like them. After I graduated from college, I never moved out of my father’s house. That was basically taboo: a girl my age should either live at home or get married, no other alternatives. And since I couldn’t meet a decent guy to save my life, I remained in my childhood bedroom.
Those years taught me a lot about myself. While my father always viewed my work as a silly little game to keep me distracted, I realized pretty fast that it was the most fulfilling thing in the world. Screw sitting around at home waiting for Mr. Mafia Prince to come sweep me off my feet. I wanted to take control of my life, and I think that’s what motivated Sophia to apply to nursing school, even though I doubt she’ll ever use the degree. She saw how happy I was, and she wanted a piece of that.
Thinking about Sophia is depressing as crap though. I finish my latte, order another one, have to use the bathroom like three times, before I finally stop pretending like I’m working and head back to the house. It’s a quick walk, and as I get close, I start to slow then stop.