Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“The chef can make it.”
“That’s not really a dinner, though, right?” Normally, we had a piece of fish or chicken with vegetables and rice or potatoes. It was pretty boring because Constantine eyed his macros all the time. He still lifted twice a day like he had gangs to police every night, not that I minded.
“Sweetheart, we can have whatever you want. It’s your house.”
“My house?” I asked with a smile. “If it’s anyone’s house, it’s Medusa’s—and she just lets us live here.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Constantine pulled out his phone and sent a text to his chef downstairs. He made himself a drink at the bar while I went upstairs to shower and change. I tried to cover the aroma of the kitchen with perfume, but only a deep scrub could get the smell out.
I changed into little cutoff jean shorts and a blouse, enjoying my wardrobe as long as I could before I couldn’t fit into it anymore. When I stepped onto the terrace, Constantine lounged in the dining chair and stared at the sea, relaxed in his T-shirt and jeans, his hand absentmindedly rubbing Medusa’s head beside him.
He had a glass of water sitting there for me because all the good stuff was off limits.
Constantine turned his focus to me across the table, his stiff drink on the table before him.
“I’ve never seen you drunk before,” I said as I remembered the wedding.
He smirked. “Kinda lost it, didn’t I? I haven’t been drunk like that in over ten years. Hope I didn’t take anything too far.”
“No, you were fine.” Just named our unborn daughter if we had a girl.
“You’re still here, so I guess that’s true.”
“I like drunk Constantine,” I said with a smile. “And it would take a lot to chase me away.”
“Well, you won’t see me like that again.”
“What about at our wedding?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I want to remember it all. I don’t remember much after the dancing started. It’s just uncommon for all my cousins to be in the same room together like that, so it got wild quick.”
“How many cousins do you have?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Both of my parents each have five siblings . . . so probably like fifty first cousins. Something like that.”
“And they’re all here in Taormina?”
“They’re a bit spread out across the island, but all local.”
I was envious. I didn’t have a single sibling. Never felt like I had a tribe, even when my mother was still alive.
Elio appeared a moment later and brought out two Roman pizzas with a set of plates so we could share. He also presented a green salad with seared prawns on top, probably because Constantine wouldn’t eat much of the pizza.
After Elio left, I took a bite of the margherita pizza and felt the crunch of the dough, the crispiness I hadn’t had since we were in the city. I hadn’t thought about Rome much since we’d left. That part of my life suddenly felt like a dream, and this life in Taormina was my only reality. “Have you told Rocco I’m pregnant?”
The second I said Rocco’s name, the entire energy at the table shifted. He didn’t say a word and his expression didn’t change whatsoever, but the anger was so palpable it felt like someone lit a fire.
I waited for him to answer me, but it seemed like he never would.
He stabbed his fork harder than necessary into the salad and took a few bites, elbows on the table, eyes down on his food.
I didn’t eat another slice of pizza, just looked at him across from me.
When he felt my stare, he finally addressed what I’d said. “That friendship is over. Already told you that.”
I loved the friendship the two of them had, the way they could be serious one moment and then joke around the next. From what I’d observed, they were both good men and great friends, and it broke my heart to see it spoil. “What happened—”
“He’s dead to me, and I never want to speak of this again.” He didn’t raise his voice at me, but his hostility was so powerful I felt like he’d struck me down with his bare hand. Like a wolf that growled when I came too close to his den, he was prepared to bite my face off if I tried again. The territory was off limits.
“I just think . . . he might want to know we’re having a baby.”
The ice-cold stare Constantine gave me was utterly terrifying.
He’d never once looked at me that way—like he might kill me.
“What part of I never want to speak of this again did you not understand?” Again, he didn’t raise his voice, but he was scary.
My appetite for the pizza vanished, and I boiled in his anger. I didn’t know how to sidestep it or change the subject. So I just looked down at the pizza slice I’d previously put on my plate and forced myself to take a bite . . . to hope this painful discomfort would evaporate on its own.