Page 16 of Finding Love

“No offense, but I’m not in the mood for surprises.” I love the kid, although sometimes she has trouble taking a hint.

Her eyes twinkle despite my growing irritation. “Are you sure about that? Because I think you’ll like this one.” She practically skips off down the hall, heading toward the dining room. Once I’ve finished wondering how the hell she managed to skip in those shoes, I follow, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Ta-da!” My sister steps aside as soon as we enter the room, beaming as she waves her arms with a dramatic flourish. Emilia is sitting down at the table with Mama and having tea.

I’m a moth drawn to a flame, moving toward her before I’ve had time to think. “How are you feeling?” I ask as my eyes crawl over her, taking in every aspect of her down to the shy smile she offers.

Mama rises, arms outstretched. “Isn’t it nice?” she gushes after kissing both my cheeks. “We convinced her to join us for lunch today.”

“And I’m glad you did,” Emilia tells her before looking my way again. “I’m feeling better, thanks.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. She has a little bit of lost weight to make up for, and the sweater she’s wearing hangs on her. It doesn’t help that she pulls her hands into the sleeves and hunches her shoulders protectively when I touch one of them. “It’s nice being able to sit and talk,” she says as I take a seat beside her. “I’m trying to get my brain moving. Sitting alone isn’t going to help that.”

“How are you really feeling?” I ask in a quieter voice, my stomach growling once I’ve settled in. I had no desire to eat until this very minute. Knowing she’s all right has left room for other concerns to be addressed. I have to be better about that. I can’t fail her by losing track of myself. What good could I do if she needs protection and I’m too exhausted to be of any use?

“A little shaky,” she murmurs with a brave yet weak smile while Mama argues gently with Guilia over her taste in clothes. “But better, for sure.”

“That’s a relief.” What isn’t a relief is the way she continues to keep herself away from me, sitting straight and tall when she used to lean in like she couldn’t be without my touch for long. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stand it. She needs all of my patience and devotion now, though. I can’t let her down, no matter how much I want to overturn this entire fucking table.

“We have chicken cacciatore and pasta for lunch,” Mama informs us. “And a big salad. I hope you’re hungry.” She eyes Emilia with concern, something only I seem to notice.

She pats Emilia’s arm. “We need to put some meat back on those bones, cara mia. You’re going to disappear before my very eyes.”

“You’re so thoughtful.” I can tell she’s feeling overwhelmed but doing her best to cover it. It’s the way she fidgets, fingers picking at the tablecloth where only I can see. “I feel so bad not being able to remember you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to feel any guilt.” My mother takes her hands and holds them tight. There’s almost feverish intensity in her gaze as she stares at Emilia. “You must never apologize for that. It’s not your fault. All you have to do is take care of yourself now. We are all here for you.”

“Maybe it’s not all bad, her memory being lost.” Only I heard my sister’s soft whisper, and my head snaps around so I can glare at her.

“The hell are you talking about?” I demand as quietly as I can.

“I’m just saying she would never have come up to the house otherwise. She was always afraid of Dante.” Guilia’s big eyes are full of fear as she gulps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Don’t pay any attention to me,” I tell her, shaking my head at myself. “Look, I’m on the edge. Okay, sis?”

“Well! How nice.” I know my father well enough to recognize the effort he’s making at sounding pleasant and cheerful when he finds Emilia seated at his table. “It’s good to see you up and around.” He shows no surprise or shock at her condition, which has gone unseen by him until now. He’s kind enough to keep his reaction muted.

“Mr. Santoro, I have to thank you.” Emilia starts to rise, but he shakes his head before taking his customary seat at the opposite end of the table from where Mama sits.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he tells her, flashing a brief smile. “We are all happy you’re back with us.” Part of me believes him, but I’m not kidding myself. If he’s happy, it’s for my sake. She’s been a thorn in his side from the start.

As always, Dante enters the room on our father’s heels like the little dog he is. We might have come to a tentative understanding while Emilia was missing, and I am grateful for all the work he put into trying to locate her and the continuing work he’s doing to pin Alessandro down. That’s not enough to wash away the bad taste that always fills my mouth when I see my brother trailing behind Papa, practically touching his lips to the man’s ass. It’s pathetic, though of course, he doesn’t see it that way. I doubt he’s ever been honest enough with himself to recognize his pitiful ass-kissing for what it is.

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. The scowl he wears tells me what he’s thinking. The prick. At least he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut, something he doesn’t always do.

When Papa’s eyes bulge, my heart lodges itself in my throat. For the first time today, Emilia isn’t the only thing on my mind. “What’s the matter?” I’m already halfway out of my chair with my heart in my throat, prepared to call the doctor if need be when I finally notice what he’s staring at to generate this reaction.

“What the hell do you think you’re wearing?” he growls out at Guilia, who made the mistake of getting out of her chair to kiss him on the cheek. He wouldn’t have noticed if she had stayed in her chair—rookie mistake.

She steps back and looks down at herself, chewing her lip. “I just wanted to dress up a little. That’s all.” Her voice is small and full of apologies.

“Dress up?” he bellows. “You’re hardly dressed in the first place. No daughter of mine is going to walk around looking like a puttana so long as I’m the head of this family.” Poor Guilia flinches at his ugly language, and I hear Emilia’s sympathetic groan at my side.

“Mio amore,” Mama murmurs, clicking her tongue. “Do not upset yourself.” I notice she doesn’t defend Guilia. She knows better. It’s a safer tactic, urging him not to upset himself rather than asking him to ease up on the poor kid.

“I encouraged her to buy that skirt,” Emilia blurts out, much to my surprise. She’s usually too intimidated to say much in front of Papa, although she doesn’t remember how things started out here. The fact that he was seriously considering having her killed to the point where he hired an assassin, then put her life up to a vote after I foiled his plans. “I thought it looked nice on her. It’s my fault.”

Guilia’s mouth falls open as she slowly turns toward Emilia. “You remember that?” she asks, wide-eyed in awe.

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