Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Her kindness breaks something inside me. The tears I haven’t given Angelo roll over my cheeks.
“Here now.” She pulls me in for a hug, her arms just as strong and comforting as our housekeeper, Doris’s, used to be.
My tears spill faster. My mom never gave me hugs like these, not until after Angelo bulldozed into my world and destroyed my family’s lives. That’s why Doris always stood in, giving me comfort when I needed it from a woman. I assume my mom’s bitterness and inability to show me affection had a lot to do with the grudge she carried toward me for being my dad’s favorite. He often chose me above the rest of the family, even above her, and I only understood how much that hurt when I grew older.
“There,” Heidi says, patting my back.
Sniffing, I swallow my tears and pull back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for needing a little solace. It’s perfectly normal.” She goes to the suitcase and flicks it open. “Come. Let’s get you something warm and dry to wear.”
My protest is weak. “I can do that.”
“It’s all right.” She smiles up at me. “I’m happy to do it, and you should never be shy of taking assistance when it’s offered.” She adds with a note of wisdom, “Or to ask for help when you need it.”
She retrieves a set of underwear and socks. I take the items from her and look around, feeling a little lost.
“There’s a guest bathroom next to the kitchen,” she says, handing me a sweater and yoga pants.
“Thank you, Heidi,” I say, realizing that Angelo never introduced us. I just picked up her name during dinner.
When I come out of the bathroom, feeling much warmer in my own clothes, I find her in the kitchen, pouring steaming liquid from a flask into a plastic cup.
“Don’t burn yourself.” She pushes the cup over the counter. “I’m afraid there isn’t a proper mug with an ear. If I’d known the kitchen cupboards were empty, I would’ve brought crockery and cutlery.”
I pull the cup closer. It smells like tea. “This is perfect.”
“I stocked the cupboards with non-perishable foods. I’ll be back with proper groceries tomorrow.”
Worry knots my stomach. “Is it okay? I mean you coming here and bringing these things? I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
She busies herself with wiping sugar grains off the counter into her palm, avoiding my eyes. Her tone hardens a bit when she mentions his name. “Mr. Russo is aware that I’m here.”
“All right,” I say, biting my lip.
She brushes her hands off in the sink and walks to me with a sigh. “Give it time. It’s tough for him, having lost them both on the same day. He was very close to his sister. You just opened old wounds going in there.” Her smile is reassuring. “That’s all.”
No, that’s not all. That’s not only why he hates me, not by a long shot, but I can’t tell her that.
She takes my shoulders and gives a squeeze. “Why don’t you drink your tea while I get your bed ready? I added sugar. My mother always said a warm cup of tea with lots of sugar is the best medicine for nerves and fatigue.”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “I can make the bed.”
“I’ll be happy to.” She waves a hand. “It’ll only take me a minute.” Her gaze drifts to my knee again. “I’ll bring disinfectant and band-aids tomorrow. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Looking pleased with herself, she marches up the stairs.
I don’t correct her. I don’t tell her that nothing will be normal again. I don’t tell her that this is my punishment, and that I’m frightened to death of what my new future holds.
Chapter
Four
Angelo
* * *
At first light, my uncles pull up in front of the house. I instruct Heidi to greet them at the door and show them to the dining room where I’m having breakfast. The table is set with a selection of pastries. A pot of fresh coffee stands at my elbow.
A pang of nostalgia hits me straight in the chest as a memory of my father protesting his breakfast menu flashes through my mind. All he ever wanted was his damn pastries and his cigarillos. He was right. We shouldn’t have kept those small pleasures from him. In the end, he died much too young.
Uncles Enzo and Nico file into the room, dressed in their signature dark suits. Identical in their features, they bear a strong resemblance to my father, which makes what I have to do more difficult than it already is.
“Angelo,” Uncle Nico says in his gravelly voice. “Isn’t your wife taking breakfast with you?”
The comment is a little too smug for my liking. “My wife is none of your business.”
He gives a start, obviously not having expected the rebuke.