Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Disgusting.
The waiter took my dirty plate, and I crossed the courtyard to grab another glass of wine.
“Laura.” My father’s voice commanded my attention. It brought back childhood memories, when he would call my name just so he could tell me to do something. Not do my chores, but fetch him another scotch.
I turned back around and made a slow approach, feeling so much hatred in my racing heart. My eyes were locked on his, ignoring the men who stood with him.
“This is my daughter Laura.” My father introduced me to two men who were clearly brothers. Same dark hair. Same olive complexion. Same dark eyes. They both regarded me with interest, like they already knew my story. “Laura, this is Crow and Cane Barsetti. Old family friends.”
Crow stared me down like the scope of a sniper. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak or try to shake my hand. The look was so intense, it was like he hated me. The brother behaved the same way, looking at me like horns had grown out of my skull.
I spoke to break the tension. “I haven’t spoken to Vanessa in a while. How is she?” We used to be friends, but after I moved away, it became harder to keep in touch. She had her family and her priorities, so she didn’t travel much. And of course, I’d never returned to Italy until now.
The second I mentioned his daughter, the tightness in Crow’s face released. Now his eyes shifted back and forth between mine, regarding me with a whole new attitude. “She’s well. Back at work now that my grandchildren are in school.”
“Good for her,” I said. “She’s such a talented artist.”
He gave a nod. “Yes, she is.” There was a hint of pride in his voice. A moment ago, he looked like another one of my father’s cronies, angry and hostile. And now, he looked like a person…a father.
My father never looked at me like that. It didn’t come as a surprise, but it still hurt.
I said goodbye and dismissed myself, letting the men resume their conversation, no doubt about business. Uncle Tony was probably briefly mentioned then forgotten, already old news even though we stood at his funeral that very moment.
I spotted her across the terrace, sitting alone at the table. A waiter had just come by to pick up her dirty plate. Her little fingers wrapped around her glass of red wine, and she took a small drink. She seemed to be in a haze, not looking at anything in particular, her mind taking her somewhere else. So distracted, she didn’t notice my approach until I was directly on top of her.
When her eyes found mine, they went still. She held the glass of wine to her lips with a steady hand.
I took a seat, keeping a chair between us.
She slowly lowered the glass back to the table.
The tension between us was so heavy, it was like we held each other at gunpoint. Her feelings toward me were as clear as a billboard in Times Square. She’d heard all the rumors about me, had formed an opinion based on whatever bullshit my father said whenever someone asked about me. There was such an age gap between us that she was too young to really know me. Now she was twenty-one but still looked like a teenager, too young to be married, just the way I’d been before my father pushed Victor on me.
I suspected he’d done the same to her—even though he was the world’s worst matchmaker. “How are you, Catherine?”
After a long stare, she gave a shrug. “Fine, I guess.”
“I didn’t know you got married.” I knew my invitation didn’t get lost in the mail. It was never sent. She never called me. Didn’t even text. I stopped trying years ago because she ignored every olive branch I extended.
What kind of father turned his daughters against each other?
She never addressed what I said.
“Father arranged it?”
She finally gave a nod.
My eyes focused on her face, hardly noticing the color of her left eye. “No amount of makeup is going to hide that.”
Her reaction was instant, terror crossing her beautiful features.
“Does Father know?”
Her eyes dropped, and now I wouldn’t get a peep out of her.
“Leave him, Catherine.”
Her eyes stayed down.
“Come with me to Paris. You don’t have to stay here.”
She looked up again. “Marriage is forever, Laura.”
“Not when your husband is an asshole, honey. You don’t owe him shit.”
She looked away, probably looking at Father across the courtyard. “It’s complicated—”
“It’s not complicated. I remember how I was when I was your age. I remember feeling the pressure to do whatever Father wanted. But I can tell you it doesn’t need to be that way. He doesn’t own you.”
“Lucas is one of Father’s most trusted men. He handpicked him for me—”
“It’s just a power move, Catherine. To keep you under his thumb.”