Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Oh, I had a feeling I was going to get along with Mira quite well.
We barely got through introductions before Ant was coming in. And, just two or so minutes after him, a beautiful brunette holding a baby and an equally gorgeous man came in holding one son with a hand on the shoulder of another.
It was actually kind of hard to imagine that their obvious love story had started with such a crazy, borderline brutal, situation.
“I see you’ve heard about me,” Primo said by way of greeting, shooting me a smirk as he offered me his hand.
“Oh, only all the bad stuff,” I said, getting a surprised chuckle out of him.
“Oh, oh, God, no. Why me?” Mira’s voice asked, sounding horrified, making both Primo and I turn to find that Isabella had deposited the baby into her sister’s arms, so she could put her purse and baby bag down on the table beside the door that I imagined serving just that sort of purpose when I’d bought it.
“Look, she loves you,” Vissi, clearly having a little baby fever, tried to insist even as the baby squirmed and got red.
“Shit. Uhm, yeah, here,” Mira said, shoving the baby at me instead, then looking like the weight of the world had fallen from her when I took her happily, pulling her to sit up on my hip like I’d seen Isabella holding her. “Better. Much better,” Mira said, exhaling hard.
“Don’t mind Mira,” Vissi said, rubbing her lower back. “She’s… child-challenged.”
“Hey, I love kids. They’re fun when you can teach them to swear and make them ask their parents incredibly uncomfortable questions. Preferably in line at the bank. Or at church. It’s the baby stage that makes me feel uncomfortable. All the noises, and smells, and… fluids,” she said, a shudder coursing through her at the very idea.
I mean, yeah, the baby was a little… slobbery, but, fuck, she was cute, looking up at me with these surprisingly wise eyes, like she knew all my secrets, and was trying to decide how to judge me based on them.
“You’re ridiculously cute,” I told her, then glanced up to find Emilio watching me, his gaze intense.
I knew what he was seeing. I was picturing it too. This same scene, some time in the future, only it was our baby on my hip. And maybe our toddler currently trying to climb up the stairs before Ant grabbed him and turned his attention toward the living room instead.
It was right that moment that the door opened.
And there she was.
The matriarch of this part of the Costa family.
Emilio’s mom.
I’d seen pictures of her, of course, but most of them from years before.
She was average height with an average build, dressed in slacks and a blouse much like I was, with her dark hair pulled back from a pretty face with kind eyes… and a beaming smile.
“There she is!” she said, hands out, coming toward me.
Misunderstanding, I went to hold out the baby.
“Shit,” I gasped as she came for me, but Primo swooped in for a save, scooping up his daughter, so my hands were free to go around Emilio’s mom. “Sorry,” I said, wincing, realizing I’d cursed. In front of his mom. In front of the kids.
Over Emilio’s mother’s shoulder, Vissi was waving a hand at me in a ‘no big deal’ gesture while Mira was having a little laugh at my expense.
“Hey, at least it wasn’t me dropping the p-bomb like I did at Thanksgiving,” she said.
“Yes, have I thanked you for that recently?” Isabella asked, small-eyeing her sister.
“He still says it?” Mira asked, a mix of surprised and delighted.
“Every single time he sees a cat. Again, thanks.”
“Good thing we have the cats upstairs then,” Emilio said, smiling as his mom finally released me. Well, released my body. Her hands were framing my face.
“Oh, you are far prettier than any of the girls I interviewed. No wonder Milo chose you,” she said.
And, God, my heart felt like it swelled in my chest.
It felt like it had been so, so long since I had a mother figure in my life. And now I got to share Emilio’s.
“And whatever you are cooking, my dear, smells amazing.”
I’d gone with the lasagna that Emilio loved so much, the one he claimed was better than his mother’s. Not to try to show her up, but because Emilio insisted that it would impress her, and therefore make her like me even more.
“Anthony, the vase,” she called, making everyone turn to look. And, sure enough, Primo and Isabella’s son was trying to pull it down off of the table.
“What? You got eyes in the back of your head?” Ant asked as he carefully moved the vase to a higher spot, revealing what looked like a small burn mark on the inside of his wrist. The poor freaking guy. He could never catch a break. I don’t know what the universe had against him, but, damn was he paying for whatever it was.