Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Did they even remember this place existed? I doubted Massimo did. He was one of those men it was impossible to imagine as a child. Now, Stefano? I could easily imagine him as an excited little boy. Carmine too, when I thought about it. Well, not the little part. But I could visualize them both in here playing. Talking and laughing. Maybe sharing a snack.
The wall was hard behind my back, and I remembered the sheets I’d brought up here. I retrieved them from the counter next to the sink and brought them in. I unfolded them and laid them on the floor. Then I settled down, my back on the linens and my hands behind my head. It wasn’t a bad place to daydream. It felt my thoughts were safer when I knew Massimo wasn’t going to suddenly appear. Maybe that was the reason I never felt relaxed in that little room off his bedroom. Or in his bathroom.
The Moretti brothers clearly hadn’t used this little space in a long time—so maybe it was time for me to.
8
STEFANO
I’d practically inhaled my minestrone soup, but it was a pleasure to watch Leila finish hers. After every third bite or so, she’d give a big, contented sigh of pleasure. I didn’t blame her. Jana was an excellent cook. She’d first started working here a few years before my mother passed away. Mom hadn’t wanted to share the recipes she’d learned from her mother and grandmother at first, but eventually she’d grown to trust Jana. Now Jana’s Italian cooking rivaled my mother’s, though I never would’ve let her know that.
Leila tore off a hunk of bread and her eyes closed briefly as she popped a piece in her mouth. “So good.” Her voice was practically a moan.
“Don’t fill up on bread,” I warned her, but I was smiling. It was nice eating lunch with her. Despite the staff, the house was big and could feel quite empty sometimes. I preferred the solitude when I was working, but I had to admit it was nice to share a high-quality meal with someone like Leila. And it was getting easier to talk to her. She’d been like a little ghost when she arrived—afraid to say much of anything.
Not that Massimo had done much to make her feel welcome.
But it seemed like she was opening up in my presence, which was a start.
She smiled at me now. “I won’t.” Then she gave me an impish smile and took another bite of the homemade bread.
I chuckled. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She shot me a mock stern look. “Are you saying I’m going to get fat?”
I had to bite back a laugh. I couldn’t quite picture her figure looking anything other than perfect. She was thin, but the hourglass figure was there. Her waist was narrow, and well-accentuated by the floral dress she wore today. But I’d seen the curve of her hips when she sat down. She was a beautiful young woman, and my brother was a lucky man.
Too bad he didn’t seem to realize it.
“I’m saying that you might want to save room for dessert.”
She waved her delicate fingers at me in dismissal. “I’ll skip it.”
“Not today,” I told her. “it’s one of Jana’s specialties. You’re going to love it.”
She tilted her head, her dark, glossy hair falling lower over one shoulder. “What is it?”
“Something you’ll love.”
“Fine, don’t tell me,” she pouted. But she put the bread back on her plate and only ate a few more bites of soup.
Her eyes lit up a few moments later when Jana brought out the lemon ricotta cake. The light and fluffy yellow cake was dusted with powdered sugar. I thanked Jana and cut a piece, putting it on a little plate. The look of eagerness on Leila’s face was a sight to see. I wished she smiled more often.
I wished she had more reason to smile.
She was a tiny thing, but she managed to finish every bite of the slice. So did I, and unlike her, I didn’t turn down a second piece. It really was amazing.
“Aren’t you glad I made you stop eating bread?” I teased after she was done as I sipped coffee. She had tea—she didn’t seem to be much of a coffee drinker.
“Very. That was the best lemon ricotta I’ve ever had.”
“Does your mom make it?”
“I think she has once or twice. But she’s not much of a baker. Her pasta, though… there’s nothing like it.”
The smile on Leila’s face was wistful. “You miss her.”
“Yes.”
I sensed there was more. “But?”
“But… I miss other things, too.”
“Like what?”
She looked off to the side, her eyes going out of focus. “Like things I’ve never done before.”
I frowned, leaning back in my chair. “How can you miss them if you’ve never done them?”
She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I just do. My whole time growing up, I felt like I was waiting for life to start. When my dad told me about Massimo, I thought maybe this would be it. Now my life was finally about to begin.”