“My anna-conna don’t want none unless you’ve got buns, hun,” Coco sings at the top of her lungs, and I shut off the stereo and glare at Nico.

“Daddy!” she protests.

At the same time, Nico shouts, “What the fuck, man?”

“Yeah, what the fu—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, young lady.” I hold her gaze in the rearview mirror as she pouts and turns in a snit to look out the window. Then, I shoot a quick glance at my supposed best bud. “Will you stop teaching my daughter inappropriate songs, please?”

“What? This is a classic. Besides, it’s better than that indie folk you listen to. Jesus, I’d get all hyped up about Sir Mix-A-Lot too if I had to have that hipster shit lull me to sleep.”

I roll my eyes. “Remind me why you’re here again?”

“Because Nonna loves me. I’m an honorary Moretti.”

“More like an honorary asshole,” I say under my breath.

“That’s what Aunt B says. That Uncie Nico is an asshole.”

“Coco!” I use my mirror to give my child death stares. I glance back at the road—shit! I’ve run us right off it. I jerk the wheel suddenly, bringing us back onto my grandparents’ long drive.

Nico turns in his seat and frowns at my daughter. “She does not say that.”

“Yep, she does.”

“Well.” He straightens and smooths down his sweater as if he’s insulted by that remark. “That’s just because she’s an evil harpy who needs a long, hard—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I say as I navigate the tail end of the switchback and pull up to the house.

“And speaking of harpies . . .” Nico says, as my sister comes into view, running out of the house and toward my car like an escaped mental patient on a mission.

I barely have time to shut off the engine before she’s opening my door for me. “I need to talk to you.”

“Hey, sis, good to see you. How are you? Me? I’m well, thanks so much for asking.”

“Aunt B,” Coco says, making grabby hands.

My sister opens Coco’s door and unfastens her belt. Coco wraps her chubby arms around B’s neck as the woman squishes her up in a big hug and pulls her from the car.

“Uncie Nico says you’re an evil harpy.”

“Does he now? Well, that’s because he wouldn’t know a real woman when he sees one. Also, he has a piccolo cazzo, so he feels threatened by strong, powerful women."

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Is it too much to ask that both of you try not to teach my daughter to swear like a sailor?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with teaching a girl that size and girth are important. She should be able to tell the difference between a man who is a little shit, and a man who is king shit.” B sets Coco down at her feet and ruffles her hair. “All right, princess, why don’t you and Nico run along and let the adults talk. Bisnonna has a surprise for you.”

Coco shrieks and grabs Nico’s hand, dragging him toward the house. I turn and head for the trunk to retrieve our overnight bags. I hand Coco’s to B, and she takes it and sets it down with a huff. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“B, just say whatever it—”

“It’s about Romy.”

Now she has my undivided attention. I turn and face my sister. “What about Romy?”

“She’s here.”

I laugh. “Yeah, okay. Quit fucking around.”

“I’m not joking, Elio.”

I study her face. She doesn’t look as if she’s lying. In fact, she looks crestfallen. My brows practically shoot up into my hairline, but I can’t shake the feeling she’s fucking with me.

“She really is here. Inside,” she says.

“Did you set this up? Did Nonna?”

“No.”

“Would you quit screwing around and tell me what the hell is going on?” I demand, but decide I can’t wait anymore. I forget about our bags, about closing the doors, or pulling the keys from the ignition, and stalk toward the house.

“Elio . . . she’s dating Marc.”

My blood runs cold. I stop in my tracks and stay perfectly still, certain I’ve misheard her. My sister touches my arm and I yank it away. “What did you say?”

“She’s Marc’s date. The new girl he told Mom he was bringing? Well, Romy is that girl.”

My jaw drops. Romy’s face at the club the other night when she pushed me away, the sweet taste of her still in my mouth . . . “I’m seeing someone.” What the fuck? That someone was my douche of a brother? “You gotta be kidding me.”

B exhales noisily. “I wish I were, fratello.”

“So, what? Coco and I aren’t good enough, so she decided to go after the next best thing?”

“I don’t think she had any idea. She looked sick when she saw me. She’s been in there for the last hour enduring the date from hell.”

“He can’t have her. Not after . . . He can’t have her.”

“He already does.”

I lace my hands behind my head and crouch down in the middle of my grandparents’ yard to keep from stalking in the house and beating the shit out of my little brother. Seeing him during the holidays is bad enough, but this? He brought the only girl I’ve cared about since my ex-wife as his date. Why her? Did he know? Did he do it just to piss me off? This is too much like history repeating itself. “I can’t go in there. I can’t see him with his hands all over her.”

“You have to. It's Nonna and Nonno's anniversary. Besides, they already know you’re here. It won’t be long before they come to find you.”

“This is bullshit, B,” I shout, and then lower my voice. “You really think our brother deserves someone as perfect and sweet as Romy?”

“It doesn’t matter what you or I think. If she wants to be with Marc, then we can’t stop her. Now come on.” My sister gives me a hard squeeze and tugs my hand. “You know if he sees you like this, he’ll use it to his advantage, and that woman you care so much about will become nothing but a pawn to him.”

She’s right. I may not want to see my brother touch her, or look at her, but he will use her against me if I can’t pull it together. I always did have a shit poker face.

I pick up our bags, grab the keys from the ignition, and close the truck, following my sister inside. I dump our bags in the foyer and enter the living room. My parents get up to greet me, Nonna and Nonno do too.

And then they stop crowding me. They move back to their seats, and there she is, tucked between the arm of the sofa and my brother’s beefy side. Romy.

She looks different. Her face is drawn, and her nails clutch the edge of the couch like she might tear a hole in it any minute. My first instinct is to ask what’s wrong, but then I realize I already know. Marc is wrong. My brother is wrong. It should be me at her side bringing her to meet my family.

“Look, Dadda. Womy’s here.”

I swallow hard and stare at the woman in question. I can’t take my eyes off her, not even to look at Coco, who must be confused as hell right now seeing Romy here at Bisnonna’s house. “I see that, baby girl.”

“’Sup, bro?” Marc’s words draw my attention away from Romy.

“Nothing,” I say with a forced smile. “Excuse me. I gotta take our bags up to the room.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, I grab mine and Coco’s bags and head upstairs.

Traveling with a four-year-old for just one night is the equivalent of trying to pack your whole life into a Mini Cooper. There are stuffies and several different kinds of pj’s, Disney princesses, books, and ten different outfits and dress-ups in case Coco’s feeling a little extra and deems it necessary to put on a show for Nonna and Nonno. All of this means that our bags are plenty, and heavy as shit.

I’m midway down the stairs when Romy appears at the foot of them, her hands balled by her sides, the toe of her sparkly heels scraping the floor in what looks to be a nervous gesture.

“Hi,” she says in a small voice, as if she’s afraid I’ll startle.

“Hey.” My response is brusquer than I mean it to be.

She winces, and then covers the expression with a smile as forced as my own. “How have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.” Romy shakes her head. “Actually, that’s not really true. I’ve missed you. I mean, I miss the bakery, and B, and seeing Coco. She’s really sweet, Elio, and . . . and unforgettable. You should be super proud.”

I open my mouth to tell her I am, but apparently Romy isn’t done.

“I’ve been spending all my time training, and dating your brother hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake. Huh. Cake, what’s that, right? I don’t even know what cake or processed foods or white sugar are anymore. They are not in this girl’s diet, that’s for sure. This girl only eats kale and chokes down wheatgrass, and your brother’s hideous smoothies. Man, I miss your muffins, and well . . . I thought she was your wife.”

I blink at her, stare at the blush creeping across her cheeks. I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she sucks in air, as if she hasn’t taken a breath for months. “What did you say?”

“Which part? I said a lot. Kind of wouldn’t shut up.” Romy grimaces. “Much like now, really.”

“You thought who was my wife?”

“Your cousin.”

My frown deepens. “You thought Sophia was my wife?”

“Uh-huh.” She smooths her palms on the skirt of her dress, as if wiping them free of sweat. “Guess I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, huh?”

I shake my head, taking several steps closer. “I don’t understand.”

“I was coming to see you, a few weeks back. I somehow got it in my head that you and I, well . . .” She glances down at her feet. When she looks up again, her eyes are glistening with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a dad?”

My shoulders sag in defeat. “I thought you knew. I wanted to talk to you about it, about us, but I didn’t want to scare you away. And I didn’t want to put Coco through losing someone she cared about like that.”

Tears spill over Romy’s lashes and roll slowly down her cheeks. I cup her face, brush the saltwater from her skin with my thumbs. “Why are you here with him?”

“I didn’t know he was your brother. I didn't even know your last name.”

“And now that you do?”

“Elio, I . . .”

“Well, don’t you two look cozy?” My asshole brother steps from the shadows of the long hallway and glances back and forth between the two of us. I jerk my hand away from Romy’s face.

“Marc,” Romy shrieks and steps away from me. “I was just um . . . looking for the bathroom.”

“It’s upstairs, sweet cheeks.” He studies her flushed face and glares at me. “Did Elio say something to make you cry?”

“No. He didn’t do anything,” she says.

She’s right about that. I’ve spent the last year doing nothing where this woman is concerned.

“Excuse me.” Romy bows her head as she brushes past me on the stairs and hurries off to the bathroom. It takes everything I have not to turn and watch her go. Instead, I eye my brother’s lecherous gaze on her ass.

“I made that,” Marc says proudly, as if he had some part in her creation.

“Then it’s kind of creepy that you’re looking at her like you want a taste.” I shrug as Marc turns his ’roid-raging gaze back on me. “Little incestual, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, brother. You tell me. What the hell were you doing touching my girl just now? Why is she crying?”

“I imagine it’s because she’s here with you.”

“Ha. You think she’d rather be here with you? Some deadbeat dad who’s grown soft around the middle?”

“Deadbeat dad?” I brush past him. “Oh, brother, the only thing gone soft here is your brain after all the steroids you’ve fed it. Although, you do look like you’ve gained a little extra.”

My brother scowls. I smile back and walk away because if I don’t, I’ll likely beat the shit out of him for taking my girl.

Again.