Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
She felt her heart drop.
Swore it jumped right back up into her throat at the same time.
Catherine didn’t even get the time to appreciate how thick her anxiety could become before everything was fine and okay again. Because Cross caught Naz and just as fast, the boy had two feet on the ground. His little toque with the furry ball on top bounced the same way he did while his pealing laughter echoed over the backyard.
“Again! I wanna do it again!”
Cross looked toward the house once more, but this time, his gaze did land on Catherine. While she felt something akin to amusement, she was also sure her face didn’t look like it. “Probably not, buddy.”
That was that.
Naz headed for his tree swing.
Cross followed right behind.
It was still taking time for her to get used to the fact that their son wasn’t anything like their daughter, in a lot of ways. Her husband didn’t have a problem with that—that morning he snuggled with Cece after breakfast until he heart was content. This afternoon, he was letting their boy jump out of a treehouse like the kid had wings.
Later, he’d probably dangle Naz upside down by his ankles before he played pretend tea with Cece like he usually did in the evenings. When their daughter had been Naz’s age, Cross wouldn’t even let the girl look at a street without looking like he might kill anything and everything that dared to move in her direction.
Naz?
He just let the kid go.
Catherine didn’t get it.
That was Cross, though.
And he was just being a dad.
She knew that.
Even if sometimes it scared her to death.
The Teens
The front door to Catherine’s Newport home slammed shut with a loud bang. Stomping and teen girl screeches soon followed.
“Ma! Ma, where the fuck are you?”
Catherine rolled her eyes as she pulled a casserole from the oven. “In the kitchen, Cece.”
All too soon, the seventeen year old tornado that was Cecelia Catherine Donati stormed into the kitchen. She looked every inch like her mother—Catherine’s features, her smile, and more stared back at her.
But those eyes?
All brown, and soul-deep.
That hair?
Currently chopped to shoulder-length, and black as night.
And good God ...
Her attitude?
Sometimes snarky, and often times, aloof. Occasionally restless, and lately, a touch too much of smartass.
All of that?
Cross Nazio Donati right out of bed.
Catherine saw a younger mirror of herself when she looked at her daughter, but sweet Jesus, she found Cross reflecting back, too.
“Could you not cuss the moment you walk through the front door?” Catherine asked. “Just save it for elsewhere, Cece.”
Her daughter clicked her tongue, and rolled her eyes upward. “Like you don’t swear all the time, Ma?”
Damn.
She had Catherine there.
Another con to add to the list about having children that might as well have been your little twins.
A person couldn’t get away with shit.
“What happened now?” Catherine asked.
Maybe if she moved Cece back onto the issue at hand—whatever it was that sent her storming into the house—then her teen would stop looking like such a smug little shit.
Doubtful.
It was still worth a shot.
“Well?” Catherine asked. “What happened?”
“The same thing that happened last week when I agreed to drive Naz’s spoiled ass home, Ma. What else?”
All at once, annoyance and exasperation shot through Catherine. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel those two things in such extreme ways at the same time until her kids became teenagers overnight. Teens who seemed hell-bent on driving each other—and thus, their parents—crazy.
“I’m sure Naz didn’t—”
“Ma, he dumped a whole can of soda on Frankie’s head, and then he threw the can at his face.”
Cece stared hard at her mother like she was trying to let that statement sink in. All Catherine could do was press her lips together to keep from smiling. She was ninety-nine percent sure that was not the reaction Cece was looking for at the moment.
“And do you know why he did that, Ma? Do you know why?”
“No, but I assume you’re going to tell me.”
“Because Frankly may have looked like he was possibly touching my ass with his hand after he hugged me goodbye in the parking lot.”
Yep.
That would do it for Naz.
Nazio was terribly protective of his older sister even being four years younger than her. Age didn’t make much of difference for Naz—his position was always made clear where his sister was concerned.
Like a giant bloody line in the sand.
Bloody, because he had no problem using the next fool’s blood to make the line stand out more when needed.
He didn’t like guys messing with his sister. Not all guys, of course. There were a select few boyfriends Cece had in which Naz made an effort to tolerate.
Still, he hated far more of them than he liked. And he had absolutely no problem with letting them know that, too.
“Ma, you have got to tell him to back off,” Cece said.