Chapter Twenty One
Tonight was as close to a fight as Sal and I have ever had, and I didn’t like it.
I never did answer his question.
Eventually he let it go, pulling me close and kissing me, not wanting to waste what little time we have together fighting over things neither of us ever wants to happen. Things were a little more normal by the time he walked me out to my car, but I could still feel the underlying tension when he kissed me goodbye.
Hopelessness threatens to settle in on me.
I go straight to my bedroom when I get home, but the first thing I see is the issue of Bridal Guide I bought like a moron at the grocery store last night. I really do live in a fucking fantasy world, don’t I?
Rolling my eyes in self-disgust, I drop my purse on the bed and look around. I feel restless. I don’t want to be caged up in this bedroom.
Since my stupid brother is the root of my stress tonight, I decide to remind myself why he’s worth it and head downstairs.
Logically I know Sal is the right choice. I know I should’ve told Sal that I’d choose him if it came down to it. But 28 years of conditioning to absolute loyalty to my family combined with the hold Mateo still has on me, evoking my protectiveness at the thought of him being in actual danger…
Ugh.
I find him in his study, alone. He’s at his desk doing paperwork—probably for his legit investments. He has so much to do every day with all his different endeavors, but he shoulders it all like it’s nothing. He’s used to it. Mateo walks around with the weight of all our worlds balanced on his capable shoulders, and he somehow carries it like it gives him added strength instead of weighing him down.
I realize I’m already feeling a little generous toward him. Probably because I just stuck my neck out for him like a dumbass, allowing him to come between me and the first person who has ever given a damn about me.
Instead of walking straight to the chair in front of his desk, I go to the alcohol cart and grab myself a glass. “Want anything?”
“Sure,” he replies, shuffling the papers and setting them aside, since I’m clearly not just here to say hi.
I stare at the amber liquid as I pour it into our glasses, my problems still heavy on my mind. The craziest thought occurs to me—what if I just told him? What if I came clean? What if I appealed to him as a sister, explained that Sal is on his side? I could be sort of a bridge between our families.
Only I can’t, because Sal’s father is the head of his family, and apparently he will never accept me.
I hate the stress of keeping secrets from Mateo though. Especially because people almost never succeed in keeping secrets from Mateo, so he probably will find out. It will be just like Vince’s situation then, and considering Vince’s mood lately, that’s not an aspirational endgame.
Now I head to Mateo’s desk with the alcohol, scooting his across for him and taking a seat in the chair.
“Hard night?” he asks.
I shrug, since I can’t share, and take a gulp. I hate the taste of liquor, especially the strong-ass shit that he stocks in those decanters, but what the hell?
“You’ve been missing a lot of dinners lately,” he remarks.
Unease prickles, traveling down my spine. This was a bad idea. I need to tread carefully.
Meeting his gaze, I nod. “Yeah. I’m a little understaffed at the bakery. Sometimes it’s just easier to stay late and play catch-up by myself.” Glancing pointedly at the stack of papers on his desk, I offer a slight smile and add, “I don’t have to tell you that, though.”
Smiling faintly, he nods, glancing at the papers. “Yeah, there’s really no rest for the wicked, is there?”
“I’ll defer to your expert opinion on that,” I tell him before taking another little sip.
He laughs, grabbing his own glass.
“No Adrian tonight?” I ask.
Watching the alcohol in his glass, his amusement lessens. “No. Elise was fawning over me at dinner, so he’s pissed off at me again.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “You’ve gotta stop toying with her. She’s going to be his soon enough. Stop alienating him.”
“Can’t help it,” he murmurs. He doesn’t even sound happy about it, and it strikes the same sympathetic heartstrings that had me defending him to Salvatore just a little while ago.
I take a bigger gulp of my drink, sadness weighing on me. Now I’m not just sad for me, or even for me and Sal, now I’m feeling a little blue for Mateo, too. He’s such a disaster. I don’t know how someone so capable and successful can be such a horrendous mess on the inside.
“You should start dating again,” I tell him, suddenly.
He glances up at me, raising an eyebrow. “That’s random.”
“You’re less destructive when you’re in a relationship.”
His lips curve up in faint amusement. “Ah, so you have an ulterior motive for this suggestion.”
“No,” I drawl, rolling my eyes. “My life is boring, there’s not much you can wreck for me.” I manage to spit out this bold-face lie somehow, and I almost feel like I deserve a pat on the back. “But I also want you to be happier than you are, and you’d be happier if someone loved you again.”
“Until they didn’t anymore,” he says lightly.
That’s true; Mateo doesn’t take the end of relationships very well. It might not be worth the temporary peace an actual relationship would bring all of us. I’m a little afraid of what’s going to happen when Adrian leaves.
I drink more.
I realize my alcohol is gone, so I get up and grab the decanter, bringing it to the desk to save myself a trip later. He watches as I pour some more alcohol into both our glasses, then smiles when I immediately start drinking it without delay.
“Is it the bakery or my love life that’s driving you to drink?”
I swallow it down, grimacing. I wish he’d keep bottles of water in here for those of us who try to drink this shit and realize it’s a bad idea.
“Mia started at the bakery,” I say, my words feeling a little slurry. I forget to watch his face, which was the whole point of saying that. Damn. I’m a bad sleuth. I also can’t hold my liquor, I’m quickly realizing.
By the time I look at him, his face is clear of any expression—his goddamn poker face. “Yes, I saw that. After I specifically told you not to bother.”
“Well, you didn’t issue an order,” I point out. “Obviously I would’ve followed your orders like a good little fucking soldier. Like I always do. No. You were just suggesting I not waste my time, but why not? I’ve got nothing but time.”
Now he grins, taking a sip from his glass. “You’re already getting drunk, you lightweight.”
My face feels funny. I open and close my mouth, shifting my jaw side to side. What a weird feeling.
Mateo reaches across the desk and slides my glass away from me.
“Hey!” I object, reaching for it and scowling at him. He lets me have it, so I hurry up and take another drink in case he takes it again.
“I don’t think you need to drink the rest,” he informs me.
“I do. It’s making me think of good advice.”
“Oh, wonderful,” he says dryly.
I nod, even though he was being sarcastic. “It is. First, stop feeding Elise’s crush on you so Adrian doesn’t keep getting hurt by it.”
“I’m talking to Elise tomorrow, actually. About their little…” He waves his hand, rolling his eyes.
“About her going with him?” I ask brightly. “Aw, that’s nice.”
“Nicer if she finds the idea appealing, but sure, it’s a good first step.”
I nod vigorously. “And when she says yes, stop feeding into it. Let her nurse an interest in Adrian. He’s more than earned it.”
Indicating his pen and notepad nearby, he asks nonchalantly, “Should I be taking notes?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding decisively. “And second—I think it was second. Was that just one thing? I don’t know. Secondly, it’s time to get over Beth.”
His amusement swiftly evaporates, but I’m too drunk to stop.
“I know she hurt you and she was the worst. I know the whole having to kill her thing sucked hard. But closing yourself off to actual human connections isn’t the answer. You need them more than anyone I’ve ever met. Meaningless hook-ups don’t count. That’s not connecting. You need to fall in love again. You need someone to love you, because having someone love you is incredible and I want that for you.”
He tips his glass back and drains it, then calmly stands, grabbing the decanter and taking it back over to the alcohol cart.
“I think it would be good for Isabella, too,” I add, because I do not know when to stop. “You don’t want her to grow up like we did. She needs a mother. Kids need mothers. I’m sorry we didn’t have one.”
Now Mateo returns to my side, helping me out of the chair and letting go to see if I can walk.
I totally can, I just weave a bit.
He ushers me toward the door.
“You can kick me out all you want,” I proclaim, “I speak the truth.”
“I’ll take it under recommendation,” he says dryly. “Do you need me to walk you to your bedroom?”
“No.” I grasp onto the doorframe as I step into the hall. “I’m fine.” Before I head off on the treacherous climb up the stairs, I turn back to point in his face. “I love you, you know.”
“Yes, drunk women love just about anyone,” he informs me, leaning against the doorframe. “Walk, so I know you’re not going to fall over.”
I shake my head at him, but I start walking toward the stairs anyway. “You’re impossible,” I mutter.
He’s an impossible bastard, but he still follows me out of the study and watches me climb the steps to ensure I make it. I take that as a sign of his affection, because it’s apparently all I’m going to get.
By the time I get to the bedroom, I feel somehow drunker. I belly flop onto my bed and dig around in my purse, extracting my Salvatore phone. I have to blink a few times to focus, but I manage to get the messages open and open up our message chain. The last one was about the doughnuts, and I’m suddenly immeasurably guilty. I have this wonderful man who loves me and wants me and treats me so well, and I’m jeopardizing things for a hypothetical beef between our families that may never even arise. That’s stupid. I’m not stupid, so I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to be like Mateo. I’m not going to push people away until they finally give up on me.
“I’m so sorry about earlier,” I type and send. “That sucked and I don’t want to fight with you. I love you. I just hate thinking about that because I never want it to happen.”
Sal read my first message immediately, and just the thought of him out there, still awake but not with me, makes me sad. I just want to be with him. I don’t want to be here. I want to cuddle up in bed with him and fall asleep. I want to sleep all night and not have him wake me up so I can leave to come back to my big, lonely bed.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he sends back. “I get it. Don’t worry. I’m not mad.”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” I send back, despite him just saying he wasn’t.
“I’m definitely not. I understand family loyalty. I guess for me, you just feel like family somehow.”
“I wish I could be your family,” I tell him. “I wish I could fall asleep curled up in your arms every night.”
“I wish that, too.”
I flatten myself on the bed, lips downturned. I probably shouldn’t be texting him out in the open like this. I have no idea if there are cameras in my bedroom, but my assumption is yes, since they’re everywhere. The last thing I need is Mateo to wonder why I felt like drinking with him tonight and investigate, or even him just being concerned that I got lost or fell on my way up here. He could pop into the security room to check my monitor, just to make sure I got here safe, and he’d see me texting. There’s only one reason I would be sending drunken text messages after proclaiming to Mateo how incredible love is, and the last thing I need is for him to start looking into me.
The phone lights up again and I tip it on its side so I can read it without moving. “Are you okay?” Sal asks.
Typing feels hard, and I need to put my phone away and go to bed, but I grab the phone and clumsily type back, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he assures me. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m okay. I had a drink with Mateo and he drinks battery acid, I guess.”
“That was probably not a good idea,” Sal remarks.
“I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t. I just felt like I needed a drink and he has the good stuff.”
“I’m sorry I drove you to drink,” Sal types back. “Especially with your brother.”
“I should set him up with Maddie.”
“Not in a million years,” he sends back.
“She’s pretty. He’d think she’s pretty.”
“You need to sleep off the battery acid, babe,” he sends back.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“You said that already. It’s fine. No need to apologize. Everything is fine, and if that ever changes, you know I’ll take care of you no matter what.”
That warms up my insides and I can’t help smiling. My eyes drift closed though and I realize I desperately need to hide my phone so I can go to sleep. My body suddenly feels like a sack of bricks.
“You always take care of me,” I send back, with a kissy face emoji. “I love you. I’m going to bed. Good night.”
I wait for him to say good night back, then I stash my Salvatore phone and grab my real phone out of my purse and put it on charge. I drape myself across my bed, still fully clothed. Thank God tomorrow is Sunday and the bakery is closed. I feel like I need to sleep for three days.
I don’t even crawl the rest of the way up the bed to put my head on the pillow, I just crash in the middle of the bed and a minute later I’m asleep.
---
I feel absolutely awful when I wake up around lunchtime on Sunday.
Not physically. My mouth is as dry as a cotton field, but that might have more to do with sleeping for 12 hours than the alcohol I consumed.
No, I feel awful because what the hell was I thinking? My drunken speeches come back to me in pieces, but there’s one piece that sticks and holds: You need someone to love you, because having someone love you is incredible and I want that for you.
I feel panicky thinking about it as I shower and get ready for the day. That was just about the worst thing I could have said. Why didn’t I just hold up my secret phone and tell him I’m in a secret relationship? It would’ve been just as subtle! Mateo knows exactly who I was in my only relationship with, and he damn sure knows he never loved me.
I can’t believe I did this.
I shouldn’t have gone to his study last night. I definitely shouldn’t have had a drink with him. I’m lucky he didn’t latch on and push the issue right then.
My only possible saving grace is that I brought up Beth mere seconds before I said that. I didn’t only bring her up, I told him to get over her. Good God. He may have actually been in a rage fog, so maybe be wasn’t even really listening at that point.
Beth is Mateo’s kryptonite.
Here’s hoping I threw him enough by bringing her up and he didn’t realize what I said.
I don’t even get my Salvatore phone out today. Logically I realize it’s too late; if I made him suspicious enough to check, he already watched me texting him last night after I came back from the study.
I can’t believe I was so reckless.
I’m tempted to go see him before dinner, but illogically I feel like if I don’t see him, that means he doesn’t know anything. The longer I can avoid him, the less worried I have to be.
It doesn’t work though. I’m so anxious, the whole day is torture. When I finally meet Mia and Cherie in the kitchen for dinner, it’s all I can think about. I don’t want to stare at him through dinner, but I’m going to be so worried. He’ll feel it. He’s perceptive, so he’ll know I’m anxious. Will he think it’s because of the secret love I basically told him all about, or because I brought up Beth, and that’s a big no-no?
I’m so high-strung about all that could go wrong at dinner, when Cherie finally says she’s going to go to the study to do drinks, I volunteer to go in her stead.
My palms sweat as I make my way there. I press them against the fabric of my expensive dress, breathing in and out, coaching myself to be normal. I can’t walk in there with fear in my eyes. I can’t do anything else that might make him suspicious.
My gaze goes straight to him when I enter the room. He looks especially intimidating today in a sharp black suit, a snowy white shirt and the gold tie I got him for Christmas secured perfectly around his neck. My mind locks on the tie, my paranoia nearly matching his as I wonder if he wore it on purpose. His thoughts on my flub last night, on who I might’ve been texting in bed—he would see that I was texting, but I can’t imagine he would’ve been able to zoom in well enough to read them. His cameras are good, but they’re not that good. While thinking about me and my duplicity, perhaps he selected a tie I got him.
He flicks a glance at the door when he hears it open, but he expects to see Cherie so his gaze moves away in a practiced response before jumping back to me, faintly surprised.
I rarely do drinks. Probably another not so great idea, shaking it up like this, but I couldn’t stand the idea of waiting until dinner. I’ve been anxious about it for hours already.
I flash him a smile that verges on apologetic. I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for—my presence, last night, the secret he has already figured out I’m keeping from him? I don’t know, it’s just my natural inclination to go repentant when I know I’ve fucked up.
I go to the alcohol cart and fix him a drink first. When I deliver it to him at his desk, I don’t know whether to be relieved or further apprehensive when his lips curve up slightly and he asks, “None for you today?”
I roll my eyes, manufacturing a smile to give back. “I think I’m good for a few years.”
His low laughter reassures me as he looks down at the amber liquid in his glass. My heart beats double time as I head back to the alcohol cart, the first shot of premature relief coursing through my veins. Maybe he didn’t catch it.
He could be lulling me into a false sense of security, though. I fix drinks for Adrian and Alec next. Alec is in a fine mood, as usual, but Adrian is surly as hell. I hand him his drink and he throws back the entire glass, handing it back to me. I blink, then I go to get him some more.
I hand him his second drink and place a light hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He glances up at me, and the sadness in his eyes makes my heart hurt.
“Everything okay?” I ask quietly.
“Fantastic,” he mutters, taking a more reasonable sip.
I make a note to keep his glass full. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but clearly something is. He’s pretty gruff oftentimes, but not like this.
My heart feels heavy with new worries as I grab drinks for Vince and Joey.
I wish I could talk to Sal. I obviously can’t, but I need his energy to even out the weight of all the heaviness around this place today. Mateo’s not even in a bad mood today, so it’s not him this time. Usually it’s him. He’s pretty even-tempered for the most part, but I think he just bottles his feelings up, and then when the lid pops off, the whole house is affected.
I’m lucky I didn’t trigger bedlam last night by bringing up Beth. The longer I’m in the room keeping an eye on him, the less concerned I am.
Mateo comes over to the cart for a refill since I didn’t keep a good enough eye on his glass, and I use the pocket of privacy to ask, “What’s wrong with Adrian?”
Mateo rolls his eyes, grabbing his decanter and filling his own glass. “The talk with Elise didn’t go as well as he hoped.”
My eyes widen. “She said no?”
He replaces the decanter. “Doesn’t matter. I told him not to worry about it; he still has a few more months. He’ll get her eventually, just not today.”
“But if she doesn’t want to go…”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “I could sell condoms to a nun, Francesca; I can sell Elise on Adrian.”
“This is your fault, you know,” I remark. “You shouldn’t have let her have even a little bit of hope. She’s going to pass up a great guy to nurse a hopeless crush on you.”
His eyes twinkle with amusement as he meets mine. “Gee, thanks.”
“You have to fix this,” I tell him, seriously.
“I will,” he says, like it was already a foregone conclusion.
“I could talk to her,” I offer. “She knows how great Adrian is, but I could totally talk him up if you want me to.”
Mateo shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t bother. Scaring people off is my specialty; I really don’t need any assistance.”
At least he’s self-aware, I guess.
I spot Adrian’s empty glass again, so I grab the decanter and go over to fill it for him.
Adrian’s normally the easiest person during drinks—he frequently gets his own, because his mom was a maid and he doesn’t like women serving him. Not tonight, though. Tonight he doesn’t move from his chair and he runs my ass off keeping his glass full. I feel so bad, I want to hug him. He’s not really a hugger, so I don’t, but I want to.
Finally, I refill the last drink and head for the door. Dinner starts soon, and I need to get back and make sure Mia and Cherie have things running smoothly without me. I probably shouldn’t have left them to their own devices. Cherie knows how to handle dinner, but Mia’s still fairly new. I’m glad I did, though. I feel a lot less anxious about my own problems.
I make it out into the hallway, presumably in the clear, and then I hear Mateo call out behind me, “Francesca, one more thing.”
My heart stops.
All of a sudden sweat breaks out across my forehead. Mateo doesn’t chase people out into the hall. This cannot be good.
I swallow, then I slowly turn back to face him. “Yes?”
He glances back into the study, then pulls the door shut behind him, separating us from the people inside. Oh, God. He doesn’t want anyone to hear. This is going to be so bad. I’m so busted. He knows. What am I going to do?
Only he doesn’t drop the bomb I expect, maybe a smirk laced with malice as he casually tells me to tell Salvatore he says hi.
Instead he says, “Have Mia bring me my dinner tonight.”
It takes a few seconds for me to legitimately wrap my head around this order. What? Why? She’s Vince’s girl; she’s only supposed to serve Vince. This order doesn’t make any sense. My brain literally can’t process it.
“What about Vince?” I ask, my mind searching for purchase in this unfamiliar territory, but I just can’t. For 28 years I’ve been in this family, serving them on Sundays for over a decade, and I’ve never encountered a request like this one.
“She can serve him, too. She’ll serve both of us for now,” he says.
For now?
I’m still drowning in confusion, but the only possibilities I can reach are bad. Really bad. Dread rolls over me and I recall other words I spoke last night, about how he needs to move on. This is so not what I meant.
He doesn’t wait for me to argue with him though. He doesn’t explain himself, because he doesn’t have to. His order has been issued, so he takes a step back and opens the study door, dismissing me with a nod and going back to his command post.