Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Nonsense. You’re our guest. Nothing is too much trouble.” She leans forward. “Between you and me, I like to keep the chefs on their toes. If you could dream up the most extravagant, unrealistic meal, you’d be doing me a favor.”
I laugh again. “Honestly, Mrs. Marino—”
“Please,” she cuts in. “Call me Allesia.”
“Allesia,” I say. “I’m fine with anything. Cereal. Bagel. Water. Whatever you can offer.”
“But what do you want?” she asks. “Excuse my forwardness, but something tells me that’s a new concept for you. Asking what you want.”
“I…” Leaning back, I look closely at her. She’s got a shrewd look on her lined face. “I guess so. How did you know that?”
“Reading people is something of a necessity for me,” she replies. “Now, don’t make me harass you any longer.”
“Eggs and bacon?” I say. “Maybe some orange juice?”
“Done,” she declares, making me feel like I’ve done her a favor by accepting breakfast. She raises her voice. “Sebastian, darling.”
The butler appears in the doorway. “Ma’am.”
“Two lots of bacon and eggs, please.”
“Of course.”
Once he’s gone, Mrs. Marino—Alessia—leans forward.
“Are you okay, dear?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to hide my instinctual reaction. It’s not as if I can list all my woes about Mom and Dad or the steaminess constantly trying to break out of me when I think about her son.
“Are you sure?” she presses.
I lean back, feeling a little stung. Physically, like she’s punctured me. “You seem pretty sure I’m not okay,” I comment.
Her lips flatten, and her eyes narrow. She looks like she’s about to snap at me. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake by getting too familiar with her. I should remember my role, the deferential singer. Just because she’s shown me a little kindness doesn’t mean she’ll tolerate me actually having an opinion.
Then she nods, sits back, and folds her hands. “Fair enough,” she says. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just that, dear, sometimes I look at people, and I see their sadness and hopelessness. Or perhaps I’m projecting. Perhaps I’m just a sad old crone with nobody to speak to properly.”
“It must be hard,” I say quietly, “after what happened to your husband.”
“Ah, yes,” she replies. “It’s difficult. I won’t lie. My Leo was always so strong. He was my lion. Leo the Lion. He was so powerful, both physically and mentally. To see him like this is a true tragedy. I wish there were something I could do. I wish there were some spell I could cast.” She stares past me, but it’s like with Elio in the car when he was thinking about his dad, about Leo. She’s staring into the past. “But that’s life. It can be cruel, and I see the same when I look at you. Something’s troubling you.”
I shift in my chair, feeling spotlighted under her scrutiny. “I’m just trying to do my best,” I say, perhaps the vaguest statement I could’ve given.
“Aren’t we all?” she sighs. “Are you… in trouble, dear?”
It takes me a moment to understand what she’s asking. “No, I’m not pregnant.”
“But you and Elio… You’re not just a singer, are you?”
I remember what Elio said. It’s better to let his mom think we’re a couple—or involved, at least—than for her to know the truth. I look down at the table. It’s not difficult to seem shy. I don’t have to force it. “I’m not sure Elio would want me to discuss this.”
She takes my hands in hers. “You don’t have to say anything else. The meaning is quite, quite clear. Yes, if you don’t want to talk, it means there’s something to talk about, correct?”
I shrug, letting her come to her own conclusions. Soon, Sebastian brings the food. Even the eggs and bacon look expensive, and it tastes heavenly. As I eat the food, I’m able to forget about Mom, Dad, and even Elio for a few guilty minutes.
Once we finish eating, Alessia stands, holding her head. “I think I’ll have a lie-down. That’s the story of my life these days. It was lovely to meet you, Angela.” From her emphasis on the name, I wonder if she somehow knows it’s fake.
I return to the bedroom, sitting on the bed, waiting for a text from Elio. I need to know if he’s found Mom or Dad. Even if they weren’t missing, I’d still be eagerly gripping my phone, staring down, desperately waiting for any sign from him.
CHAPTER 12
Elio
“My brother asked you a question,” Luca says, standing behind the man tied to the chair. Luca places his hand on the man’s head. He’s around forty, plastered in tattoos of every color and pattern. A naked bulb lights the storeroom of the betting shop. Luca nudges his head. “Well?”
I lean down, holding the photo of Jessica Smith so the man can see better. “It’s simple. Have you seen this woman?”