Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I will admit something uncomfortable.
I'd gotten accustomed to my misery. It became comforting in a way. It created this wall around me that made it possible to turn down Luca's efforts to help me take those steps he talked about.
Like going and having dinner in the kitchen.
Like spending some time on the patio.
Like coming out and talking to Tina instead of hiding from her under the sheets I refused to let her clean.
It was easy to wallow.
Wallowing took no effort. It took no self-control, no fortitude.
You could just do it.
And people would let you because you were hurting, and it was important to give people the space they demanded.
Except, of course, for when those people around you decided they'd had enough, that you were being your own worst enemy.
Luca had probably been more patient than I would have been in his situation.
And for that, as I sat in the tub, I decided I owed it to him to play the part for this one night. To get clean, to put some effort into my appearance, to wear something other than his shirt, to eat something substantial, to try.
That was what it came down to.
Trying.
To do a little bit better.
For him, yes.
But also for myself.
I couldn't live in the bed—and in my head—forever.
I had to try to move on.
Step by baby step.
So I scrubbed and shaved and lotioned and did my makeup. I slipped into a red dress, knowing Luca was partial to that color on me since he kept showing up with new pieces for my wardrobe in varying shades of that color.
Sleeveless with a deep V in the chest and a slit in the skirt that went damn near up to my underwear line, it was sexy and flirty without showing too much.
By the time I got done with my appearance, I felt more drained than I had in ages, but also more human than I had in over a week as well.
The person staring back at me had sadness in her eyes, yes, but she didn't look like she'd just climbed out of a grave anymore.
"Look who found a hairbrush," Luca teased as I walked out in the living room, heels clicking all the way. "You look beautiful," he added, coming close, putting his hands on my hips, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"I wasn't sure how fancy your restaurant is. The name made me think it was somewhere to wear a dress."
"It's perfect. You're perfect," he added, and it was maybe the first time in over a week that I felt anything other than grief and disbelief and a small bit of anger at my sister for making me doubt myself.
But Luca?
Luca gave me something much better to feel.
Butterflies.
Flapping their little wings in my belly, a light, happy sensation that seemed to spread outward until the exhaustion started to slip away, replaced instead with excitement.
"You shaved," I accused, narrowing my eyes at him.
"I was looking a little Grizzly Addams, sweetheart. It was time. But it will grow back. Extra scratchy," he added, smile devilish.
Had you said just an hour before that my sex drive might come charging back, I would have laughed. But there was no denying the stirrings in my core, the longing for something we'd gone too long without.
That was a baby step I could get on-board with.
After dinner.
"Is everyone going to be there?" I asked, apprehension chasing away the need that had been growing.
"Everybody meaning Matteo and Lucky?" he asked. "No. Matteo is off doing his own thing. Lucky is working tonight. It's actually just going to be my father at Famiglia."
"He's joining us?" Damnit. I meant for that to come off as calm and collected and interested. Instead, it sounded almost fearful.
That was understandable, of course. Since Antony Grassi was an actual, real-life mafia boss.
Sure, Luca was a close second in ranking, but somehow the big guy made it seem even more real.
"No. He works most nights. Making sure everything is up to par. Socializing. But he will stop by. Maybe have a drink with us. Does that bother you?"
"Bother me? No. I guess you can say that I am nervous, though."
"There's nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart."
"You don't know that."
"I do. He is going to love you."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I know you. And I know him. He's a fair man, Romy. He isn't going to be throwing around veiled threats. If anything, he might grill you on personal things."
"What kind of personal things?" I asked as we rode the elevator down to the lobby, Luca's hand never leaving the small of my back.
"Things about your plans for the future. If you want to be a mother. If you know how to cook."
"Right. all the things that would make me a good Italian wife," I teased.
"He means well."
"I know. And it is sweet that he would ask."