Page 18 of Finding Love

I wanted him to do a lot more than that, in fact. An hour later, I can almost feel the furious buzzing that exploded in my core and radiated outward. The heavy veil hanging between us lifted for that split second and revealed something that might still exist deep down in my consciousness.

And I don’t know how to feel about it.

How to feel about me.

I should not want him.

I can’t want him.

Yet I do.

It sickens me.

I sicken me.

My heart lurches when my cell rings, though it startles me out of my self-loathing for a moment. Normally, I’d be glad to get a call from Mom at a time like this. I’m feeling about as low as I ever have, questioning everything about myself and what might have led me to this place.

It’s not like I can tell her anything about what’s going on. I should answer, though. I’ve kept her waiting long enough. I’ll have to fumble my way through it. And who knows? I might hear her voice and remember something important.

“Will wonders never cease?” she asks when I answer the phone. “I was starting to think I would never hear your voice again! Are you feeling better?”

She’s ever the pro when it comes to bombarding me with questions. Some things haven’t changed. It would be comforting if I weren’t so completely confused. “Feeling better?” I question. What a weird thing to say.

“Your friend told me you had a migraine when I called yesterday. I must’ve called six or seven times before he finally answered,” she informs me accusingly.

It’s like the floor shifts with her admission, leaving me fighting to keep my footing. “Oh. I didn’t know he answered. I must’ve been asleep,” I murmur. Do I sound like myself? I can’t let her know there’s a problem when I don’t have the first clue how I’d explain the situation.

“Who is he?” It’s obvious she’s been driving herself nuts since their conversation, dying to find out about him. I can almost see her pacing the house, wondering why I never told her about him, salivating as she anticipated this interrogation.

And here I am, wondering why he didn’t tell me he spoke with her. It might have been nice to get a heads-up.

“A friend.” She used that word, right? “He’s a friend of mine.”

“A friend who said he knew we were planning on having dinner together… whoops,” she adds with a light giggle. “I wasn’t supposed to mention that, though he said he’s looking forward to it. He sounds very cute, sweetheart. I want details.” Her voice practically drips with excitement.

Now, I wholeheartedly wish he had told me about their little chat. This is like one of those dreams where you find yourself in a final exam for a class you didn’t attend all semester. Only it’s genuine. “There isn’t very much to tell. You’ll meet him when we have dinner.” I could kill him for putting me on the spot like this.

“What’s his name?” she demands. It’s amazing how suddenly she switches from excitement to brittle irritation. “I don’t like this whole secretive thing you have going on lately. First, you can’t tell me what you’re doing at work. You make it sound like you’re on some undercover mission or whatever it’s called.”

I did? Maybe I was. I figured it had to be something like that, right?

“Then… you tell me you’re going away and we’ll get together when you’re back. Only you vanish off the face of the Earth for two weeks without a hint of your plans or even a quick text to let me know you’re still alive. You know your father and I have had our reservations in the past over your work and how much time you devote to it. I’m starting to think it’s becoming a real problem, Emilia.” Finally, she stops to take a breath after her tirade.

Laughing would be the worst possible reaction, which is the only reason I’m able to contain myself. Imagine complaining about me working too hard when, according to Luca, I no longer have a job. Or do I? Was I telling the truth about my undercover work? I find it hard to believe I would ever confide something like that, but I don’t know the first damn thing anymore. What’s harder to believe? Would I admit to an undercover assignment or fall in love with a mob man?

“Honey?” Mom’s voice is noticeably softer after several silent moments pass. “Are you there? I didn’t mean to upset you. I worry, is all, and you aren’t helping things by avoiding me.”

As it turns out, a head injury isn’t enough to help me avoid feeling like a terrible, negligent daughter. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, falling back against the sofa cushions with the throw pillow still clutched tight to my chest. “It’s all been so complicated. And I’m still feeling wrung-out and shaky after the migraine.”

“You didn’t sound so wrung out until this very second, young lady, so don’t think you’re going to hand me an excuse.” Of all times for her to pull the angry mom act on me, refusing to accept a weak excuse for the sake of keeping the peace.

My jaw is starting to ache from grinding my teeth. “I’m serious. I don’t feel well, and this isn’t helping.” It isn’t a lie, either. There’s a storm building in my head, one fueled by my mother’s incessant bitching and confusion over whether this whole thing with Luca was real or not. Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Neither does taking slow, deep breaths to calm my blood pressure before it soars to the point of no return.

“I haven’t felt well in weeks, thanks to my daughter treating me like a stranger,” she retorts. “We’re going to dinner this Saturday night. No excuses, no talking your way out of it. Your father will make a reservation at Luigi’s for the four of us.”

Her announcement makes me sit straight up. “I have a better idea. Luca will make the reservation for Saturday night.” Because I have no idea where we’ll be safe if there’s any such place in existence. “He’s, like, that sort of guy. I’m sure he’ll want to pay for everything too. Warn Dad in advance.”

She snickers, and I can tell she’s starting to come around a little. “That’s all we need. The two of them arguing over the check and causing a scene.”

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