Chapter Thirty Eight
Francesca
The burying of Matt Morelli is a formal, dry-eyed affair.
Morelli relatives from near and far attend, which makes things a little tense. Vince’s dad flies in from Vegas to bury his brother. They weren’t close, but that’s just what you do. His presence is made intensely awkward due to the fact that Vince never once acknowledges him—never so much as looks in his direction. Mia senses his obvious discomfort and gives up her ground for the length of the funeral and burial, holding onto Vince’s arm and leaning against him, lending her support. They look like a real couple today, and it makes me sad for them.
Mateo is there with Meg, which also makes me sad. He doesn’t need support to get him through the loss of a man he has no surviving feelings for, but he still looks solemn as our father is lowered into the ground.
Instead of leaning toward Meg, he leans to his other side and remarks lowly to me, “I wonder if this is what my funeral will be like.”
I frown, shaking my head at him. “Of course it won’t.”
He doesn’t remark further, straightening and turning his attention back to the gravesite.
Once Dad is buried, we head back to the house to receive everyone there. I’m sure this is the part Mateo absolutely loathes, letting people come in and out of his home, but at least no one brings us food. I can just picture Mateo lugging in a garbage can to drop all of it in right in front of them.
I am a little annoyed that he made Maria and Cherie put out the food, knowing Vince’s dad would be here. Ben doesn’t actually acknowledge Cherie as his offspring, but it’s still in bad taste.
“This sucks, I’m sorry,” I tell Sal, tucked in a quiet corner with him.
“Oh, mingling with Morellis? This is literally what I dream about at night.”
I smile as he secures his arms around my waist, tugging me close like we’re dancing. “Are they dressed as clowns and chasing you through the woods?”
“With chainsaws,” he verifies, nodding.
I lean up to brush my lips against his. “Thank you for coming to this with me. I’d be even more miserable without you here.”
“You’ll never have to fly solo to this shit again,” he assures me, kissing me again.
“Mm, that sounds good,” I tell him, closing my eyes and leaning my head on his shoulder.
Sal releases me and takes a step back, glancing up as someone approaches. “Hey, could you go grab us a couple drinks?”
I frown, because he’s talking to me, but it’s my brother approaching him—Dante, not Mateo. “You trying to get rid of me?” I tease.
“Nope, just thirsty,” he assures me, giving me a squeeze.
I hesitate to walk away, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek so I can remind him, “There are cameras.”
“I know,” he assures me.
I don’t feel great about it, but I leave him and Dante to it anyway and go get drinks. I feel a little sweaty, searching the room for Mateo to make sure he’s not watching. I find him with Meg and one of our long-distance cousins, playing the dutiful host.
Once I’m sure he’s occupied, I look back at Sal and Dante. I know Dante has enough sense not to say anything he shouldn’t in this house, but I didn’t even realize he and Sal were really acquainted, let alone enough that Sal would want to talk to him alone.
I hustle back with the drinks. Dante flicks a dark-eyed glance at me, nodding in acknowledgement. “Francesca.”
“Dante.” I force a smile, handing Sal his drink. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” he says, offering me a smile that feels normal. I hate the doubts that occasionally plague me. I know Sal, I know he’s sincere, I know he loves me, I know how important I am to him, and yet sometimes old doubts flicker to life. As much as I love Sal, it’s hard to trust him when it comes to my family. With everything else, I trust him unreservedly—with my heart, with my body, with my life. But my family? I’m at maybe 50 percent.
Apparently Dante is even less interested in my company than I am in his, because he shakes Sal’s hand and wanders away with an excuse about finding Colette.
I narrow my eyes at Sal once he’s gone, sipping my wine, but what can I really say?
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
Sal nods. “We’ve crossed paths.”
I lean in to hug him, so I can ask in his ear, “You’re not doing anything stupid, right?”
“I am not,” he verifies.
“I hope not. Things are good right now.”
“I know. I’m just making sure they stay that way.”
I frown, glancing the way Dante went. “He’s not…?”
“Everything is fine,” Sal assures me, taking a sip of his drink.
I drink a little more enthusiastically to try to assuage my own anxieties.
Three glasses of wine and what feels like three days later, people finally start to leave.
Our lawyer stays. Mateo wanders over, telling me we’re going to get the reading of the will out of the way since everyone is here. I guess that explains why Dante stayed.
I’m a bit tipsy, so not in the best shape to go to the reading of the will, but I don’t think I’m the only one. Mateo’s eyes have the gleam of not quite soberness, too. I didn’t think today would be hard on him in any respect, so I’m a little surprised. His words from the funeral earlier come back to me, and I wonder if he feels a little like he’s at his own funeral. I can’t imagine he thinks it would be the same. Even if he makes people hate him sometimes, he still makes us love him sometimes, too.
The will is mostly unsurprising—which is a surprise in and of itself. Dad was a real shit-starter, so we expected several landmines, but as the will is read, he simply doles out money to each one of his children—including me. I’m really pleased when I see how much I’m getting.
Grabbing Sal’s arm, I tell him, “I can buy our suburban oasis myself.”
Sal rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to use your inheritance to buy a house. I’ll buy our house.
The only person who hasn’t been left a dime so far is Mateo. He’s sitting behind his desk, drinking from his own decanter now, apparently enjoying the show.
Our lawyer is a great guy—he’s funny and smart, and if not for him being completely gay, I would’ve had a massive crush on him the first time I met him. But now he’s anxious, licking his lips and clearing his throat, glancing at Mateo as he eyeballs a portion of the will.
“Was I disinherited?” Mateo asks, good-naturedly.
The poor lawyer is so uncomfortable right now.
Since he’s a little drunk, he looks over at Meg and calls, “We might have to slightly downgrade our lifestyle.”
Meg shrugs. “For richer or poorer and all that jazz.”
I don’t really understand the joke. Mateo is the eldest Morelli male; there’s no question everything is his.
Our poor lawyer clears his throat again, frowning and adjusting his glasses as he reads over the portion of the will he’s clearly already read, trying to buy time.
He reads off a boring, technical sounding paragraph and the address of the mansion, then he stops and approaches Mateo’s desk.
“I don’t think this is how will readings usually work,” Sal remarks, leaning over to commiserate with me.
“Would you like to give Mateo bad news?”
“How bad could it possibly be? Your family’s all about tradition. This is in the bag, isn’t it?”
“I would think so.”
Mateo leans back in his chair and laughs harder than I’ve ever seen him laugh before. We all wait, completely confused, then he gestures with his hand and adds, “Go on, tell him.”
Then, inexplicably, the lawyer goes on to tell Adrian that subject to a DNA test the home and residuary estate will belong to him as the eldest Morelli heir. In that case, apparently, Mateo is completely disinherited.
“Bullshit,” Adrian blusters, slamming his own glass down and glaring at the lawyer, as if he’s been given bad news instead of a possible multi-million dollar estate. “Bullshit. I don’t want it.”
“I’m so confused,” I say, raising my hand like we’re in a classroom.
Sal reaches over and tugs my arm down, since he’s sober and I’m not.
Mateo is still laughing to himself, but now he turns his attention to me. “I forgot to tell you, Adrian might be our brother.”
Sal grimaces, leaning in to tell me, “That makes him being your first kiss slightly creepier.”
“This isn’t funny,” I say, wide-eyed. Our family is Mateo’s everything. I don’t even know who he’d be if not the head of this family.
The lawyer is scrambling in front of Adrian now, trying to explain that he’s perfectly capable of disclaiming his inheritance—if it is, in fact, his inheritance—and trying to calm him down, but Adrian is pissed.
Mateo’s still laughing, like it wouldn’t even matter if he lost literally everything.
Our lawyer is sure earning his retainer today.
Meg pushes up off the couch and heads over to Mateo’s chair, leaning behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck. Like him, she doesn’t seem terribly alarmed at the possibility of Mateo losing his place in the world. “Are we paupers now? I can budget, and I’m a pretty good waitress.”
He shakes his head, tipping his glass back and taking a big drink before answering. “I have enough of my own business interests, we’d be just fine.”
Adrian approaches the desk, glaring. “It’s your house, not mine. I don’t want anything from that man. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Told you we should’ve taken that test,” Mateo states.
Rolling his eyes, Adrian remarks, “Well, looks like you get your wish.”
Mateo grins. “I always do.”
Out of curiosity, I glance in Mia’s direction. She looks anxious, but Vince is right next to her looking like he’s barely holding back laughter. He would love if Mateo lost everything. I understand the karmic justice of this situation, but I still feel really bad.
Adrian bickers with the lawyer for a little while before finally agreeing to a “goddamn DNA test.” If Adrian isn’t the eldest male heir, Mateo is, and he gets everything like he should. Now it all comes down to a test Adrian doesn’t want to take.
Mateo is taking it all in stride, grinning at Adrian and asking, “Do you want me to move, Adrian? This is all yours now, so I guess I’m in your seat.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Adrian mutters.
“Is that an order?” Mateo asks, eyes flashing with mischief.
Adrian calms down first and sits with the lawyer to discuss the next steps. Mateo just sends Meg to refill his drink and remains where he’s at, propping his feet up on the desk and leaning back, clasping his hands together behind his head and looking every bit the bossy asshole he is.
Mia finally gets up. I can tell by the way she glances his way she wants to approach Mateo, but she approaches Meg instead, leaning in and murmuring.
“So, they’re actually friends?”
I glance over at Sal. He’s watching Mia and Meg, head cocked slightly to the side like he’s trying to put together an especially perplexing puzzle.
I nod. “Meg zeroed in on her right away. She knew Mateo used to be involved with her.”
“Why do we keep referring to it as a prior involvement? They were never actually together, right? Why does it feel so much like Mia is his ex?”
“They’re just complementary kinds of damaged,” I offer, shrugging.
“I bet she didn’t have a dad growing up,” Sal remarks.
“I don’t think she did, actually.” I’m distracted, though, watching Mateo eye her from behind his desk. She’s right by Meg, so I guess he could be eyeing Meg, but I don’t think so. Then Mia glances back at him over her shoulder to check on him and he narrows his eyes slightly, crooking his finger for her to come to him.
Mia glances all around her, then to Meg. She says something to Meg, then once Meg starts back toward the desk to deliver his drink, Mia cheerfully follows behind, flashing Mateo an innocent smile as she comes to stand beside his desk.
“Yes?”
He gives her a dry look, remarking, “Damn, forgot what I wanted to say.”
She bites back a smile, backing away and saying lightly, “Well, you know where to find me if you remember.”
Probably because he’s drunk, he doesn’t even attempt to hide his fondness as watches her walk away.
Sighing heavily, I tell Sal, “I can’t believe he knocked up the goddamn maid.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t a great move.”
“They’re so cute together.”
“I haven’t seen them together, but I’ll take your word for it.”
I turn to look at him, raising my eyebrows. “You didn’t see them just now? I want him to kiss her face.”
“Oh, boy.” Sal reaches over and takes away my glass of alcohol.
“If you ever knocked up a maid, I would be so pissed.”
“Mr. Fidelity, right here,” he says, indicating his own chest. “No chance of that ever happening.”
“I want to kiss your face,” I tell him, the only warning he gets before I loop my arm around his neck and plant one on him.
He laughs against my mouth, but kisses me back despite all the people in the room.
“I love your face,” I tell him, once I pull back. “It’s so very handsome.” I run my now-free hands down his arms, grabbing one and lifting it.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to see your cuff links.”
“I’m wearing the cuff links,” he assures me, tilting his hand so I can see.
“Oh, sharp. I like them.”
“Does he keep water in here? I want to grab you some water.”
“No,” I say, eyes widening. “Isn’t that the worst? He should definitely keep water in here. I should show you my bedroom. I could kiss your face all I want in there.”
“I would be more interested in that prospect if not for the cameras. I don’t feel like performing for an audience,” he says, smirking. “Why don’t we just go home?”
“Mm, home. I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, pulling me close so he can drop a kiss on my forehead. “Let’s get out of here then.”