Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I tense. “Of course. Did you think I was quitting it forever?”
The room takes on an awkward strain. I wouldn’t sound so defensive if some part of me doesn’t share my mother’s opinion: the dance career is over. I might as well give up on the dream.
My mom puts her hands on her hips. “I just didn’t know. Do you have time to get back to dance classes with your business studies?”
Of course I don’t, which was exactly why my mom pushed me this way. By the time I re-emerge from my new degree, I’ll be so far removed from the dance world that making a comeback will be impossible.
I sense Carlo’s attention on the conversation, even though he stands casually talking to Joey, his gaze bouncing around the room with no particular interest. I’m sure he’s listening, though, and I like it. The only time John ever listened to my conversation was if he was the topic.
I wonder, suddenly, how many other times Carlo paid attention to me when I thought we were just hanging out at noisy Sunday gatherings. Was this how he knew my life was a hot mess?
Thankfully, my mother disappears, returning with a platter of seasoned steaks. “Carlo or Joey, will you take these out to Al? He’s warming up the grill.” My mom thrusts the plate at Carlo, and a glimmer of the familiar routine returns. Men outside to grill the meat. Women talking and sipping wine around the kitchen island. I trail my mother and Sophie into the kitchen and pull out the placemats and napkins to set the table.
I pull out the plates and make a stack of twelve, carrying them into the dining room. I brought John to a few of these Sunday dinners at my mom’s insistence, but my dad made them painful with his overbearing father act.
John never guessed my father was mafia, not in the entire time we were together. He was too self-absorbed, I guess. Other people close to me must know. Maggie never mentions it, but she’s not obtuse. Some of my other friends have made little jokes here and there, almost like they are testing for my reaction. The girls at St. Mary’s Academy knew, but some of their dads were made men, too.
I think of Carlo, my father’s golden child. How different it would be to be openly dating a man like him—a guy who’s part of the family business? What would dinner be like?
This line of thought doesn’t really matter because this thing with Carlo isn’t permanent. It isn’t a relationship. It’s hot sex.
Okay, smoking hot sex.
But that’s all. We’re not dating. We’re not going to announce an engagement around this dinner table.
He’s not the kind of guy who’s looking to settle down, and that’s okay.
He’s perfect for a rebound.
Carlo
Summer seemed flustered at first about being at her parents’ house with me. Well, not with me. Sadly. I hate hiding that she’s mine after I kept her up all night tormenting her body.
I had to leave early this morning, but I left a note with strict instructions for her to study all day and eat a good breakfast and lunch, and said I’d meet her here for Sunday dinner.
As enchanting as I find her blushes, I’m going to be in a world of trouble if Don Al notices. I suspect Donna Teresa, Al’s mother, hasn’t missed a thing. Obviously, if this relationship continues, I’ll have to reveal it.
And I plan for it to continue.
Permanently.
But I need to figure out how to best reveal it and do it in my own way.
I wouldn’t want it to come out badly. Yesterday, Vince came to drop his money by my apartment while Summer was there, which I didn’t plan for. I told her to stay in the bedroom while I met with him, but the coglione was peering past me like he knew I had a girl in there. Nosy fuck.
It suddenly occurs to me that if he noticed her Beamer parked on the street in front of my apartment, I’m fucked. Vince is some kind of older cousin to the don, but he’s not high in the organization. He works for me, which I know bugs the hell out of him, since I’m younger and not a blood relation.
“Why don’t you ever bring a date to dinner, Carlo?” Carmen probes. She’s always asking about my love life. Wants me to get married and settle down.
She makes me miss my own mother.
I smile, hoping Summer doesn’t take this the wrong way. “Because I don’t do relationships.”
Donna Teresa, Summer’s nonna, smiles at this for some reason. “Waiting for the special one,” she says in Italian. She’s always been extra fond of me because I’m an implant from Italy like she is.
Then she flicks a glance toward her granddaughter.