Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I missed you,” I whisper in her ear. “I fucking missed you.”
I expect her to go rigid, to keep her distance from me. To play the role she was meant to play and has since before she came of age. Since before she ever married the motherfucking traitor Mercadio.
But she doesn’t. I feel her sigh, and she gives herself one second to rest her head on my shoulder. “I missed you, too,” she whispers in my ear.
A crash of glass comes behind us, and we release each other on instinct. When she wobbles a bit on her heels, I grab her elbow to steady her. But it’s only another Rossi brother fight over goddamn food.
“Boys, boys,” Nonna scolds. “Santo home for one day, you no fight over food! Ottavio!” She calls over the crowd. Tavi looks over. “Focaccia?”
“Always, Nonna.” He mutters under his breath, “Dumbasses.” Then, louder, “I brought a catering tray for a party of a hundred.”
Orlando releases Mario’s collar, and Mario glares. “Son of a bitch,” Mario says, straightening himself. “I told you I didn’t eat the last piece. Jesus. You should eat once in a while instead of just drinking those goddamn protein shakes.”
“Oh yeah?” Orlando says, taking another step toward him. “Just like you said you didn’t eat the last fucking manicotti the other night?” Mario stands his ground and cracks his knuckles.
Shit, I’ve missed these assholes.
“Guys.” Romeo’s deep voice cracks like a whip, and we all look to him. “Enough. We only have a short visit with Santo.”
A strange feeling settles in my chest, a feeling I can’t put my finger on. I swallow at the sudden rise of emotion.
We only have a short visit with Santo. As if he doesn’t want to waste the few minutes they have with me on bullshit. As if I matter.
They settle down, but Orlando points to his eyeballs then swivels his wrist to Mario and glares to warn him he’s watching him.
Romeo nods to me. “Let’s hear about the vineyards.”
Fucking great. Can’t wait to talk about the goddamn vineyards.
We take our seats at the huge table in the Great Hall. We eat our formal meals in the dining room, an ornate affair with hung tapestries and fine Persian rugs, a gleaming table custom-made to accommodate the large Rossi family and their guests, wineglasses made of crystal. We eat on fine china, and drink wine procured from Tuscany. I personally oversee the first shipments home.
One entire wall of the dining room is comprised entirely of bottles of the Rossi family wine, which we drink liberally and replenish every weekend. On Sundays we have our family meal in the formal dining room as well, but every other meal takes place in the Great Hall. And today, we have business.
I settle back in the chair Romeo gestures for me to sit in, take the glass of wine offered to me by staff, and prepare to fill them in. Before I do, I make a casual sweep of the place to see where Rosa sits.
But Rosa’s gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rosa
Natalia’s with her nanny, which is all I should care about.
No, it’s all I do care about.
Natalia’s safe, and she’ll be feasting on all the food with the rest of the family. Nonna’s ravioli is her favorite, which Nonna made especially for her today. Her other great-grandchildren are still too young to eat everything we do, so Natalia gets the special treatment.
From here, I can sit with my back against the fence that surrounds the pool, and hear Santo’s deep, confident voice in the Great Hall. The courtyard’s only a small staircase away, but busily decorated with pillars and columns and greenery galore. Enough to hide me.
I was surprised Santo didn’t notice me slip away, but I waited until he was fixated on Romeo. Romeo holds the keys to Santo’s entire world in his hand, so it only makes sense Santo focuses on him. It’s easy to get swept away in the crowd with my brothers and their ridiculous obsession with food.
I have no appetite anyway. How could I?
I close my eyes and will myself to breathe more slowly. In and out, in and out, as slowly and as purposefully as I learned to breathe through labor pains when I was pregnant with Natalia.
It’s a different sort of pain, but it’s every bit as consuming now as it’s ever been.
A gentle hum comes from the pool, either the heater or filter or both, but it’s only white noise against Santo’s deep, melodic voice. I don’t catch all the words, but I hear him say vendemmia, the Italian word for the harvest of the grapes, one of the most special times of the year in all of Tuscany. In late August or early September, the grapes of the vineyards are harvested. Some people make it a holiday in Tuscany.