Page 86 of Brutal Husband

“I’m so excited to hear your news,” Isabel enthuses as she kisses me on the cheek. We sit down at a table with a white linen tablecloth, and a waiter in a black waistcoat passes us menus.

“I have so much news I don’t know where to start,” I tell Isabel.

“I can tell from your face that it’s good news. We must order champagne.”

Isabel signals for the waiter, but I stop her with a shake of my head.

“None for me, thank you. I can’t.”

Isabel frowns, her expression puzzled. “You can’t? But why…” Her stare drifts from my face down to my stomach, and her eyes widen. “You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Rieta! That’s amazing news. I had completely given up hope for you.”

It’s not the unambiguously happy response I was hoping to get from my sister, but that’s Isabel. She’s always taken after Mom more than Mia and me, and there’s often a drop of poison in her words. Sometimes two or three drops.

“It’s been a long road, but things have a way of working out the way that they’re supposed to.” Secretly, I’m glad it took this long. I was supposed to get pregnant by my husband. Myrealhusband, not the man who was impersonating him.

“And the rest of your news? Is Nero back? Is he gone? I can never keep up with where that man is. I think I saw something about him in the news. Maybe I didn’t click on it.”

Only Isabel would see her brother-in-law mentioned in the news and scroll on by.

“He’s back, and we…” I trail off as I notice a familiar figure breeze in through the front door.

Mom puts on a show of talking to the host about a table. She glances around the restaurant and pretends to see us quite by accident. Sighing, I take a sip of my water and wait for Mom to finish her charade and come join us.

She strides toward us with a broad smile, her high heels clicking, and her arms spread as she calls, “My two most beautiful girls having lunch together. What a wonderful surprise.”

Heads turn in the restaurant to see who’s arrived, as Mom intended. Mom’s well connected and social, and she probably knows everyone in this room, one way or another.

“Hi, Mom. I knew the best way to ensure you came was to not invite you.”

Isabel looks apologetic. “I may have let it slip. You know how she is.”

For once, I’m not mad about it. In fact, I was counting on Mom finding out about lunch today.

I gesture to a chair. “Sit down. I was just telling Isabel my news. I’m pregnant, and Nero is home for good.” I say this without fanfare or trying to build anticipation. I learned long ago that if you try to shine even the smallest spotlight on yourself, Mom will find a way to turn it back on her—or make the bulb explode.

Mom gives me a small, polite smile that’s completely inadequate under the circumstances. Her middle child is pregnant after months of trying. She should be hugging me. “At last, darling. And Nero’s home for good? If you say so.” Mom turns to the waiter and orders a glass of Sancerre.

Isabel and I share a glance, and my sister rolls her eyes.

“Being pregnant makes me think about what kind of mother I’d like to be,” I start to say.

Mom laughs like we’re all sharing a friendly joke. “You’ll be far too soft, and your children will walk all over you. You’ve always been too soft.”

“I prefer to describe myself as forgiving, and maybe I’ve been too forgiving over the years. I’m only just learning where the line is.”

“Are you certain Nero is home for good?” Mom asks innocently, toying with the stem of her wine glass. “The police must have so many questions for him. Aren’t they the tiniest bit suspicious?”

There’s a hard, cruel gleam in Mom’s eyes. I clench my hands in my lap while keeping my expression serene.

She wants me to cry and scream, I remind myself.She wants to know I’m still her prisoner.

Mom must have taken those photos the morning after Nero saved me from the basement and grabbed her by the throat to make her apologize. Possibly she added to the marks herself. I don’t think she knew how or why she might need those photos at the time. Perhaps she sensed that it would be useful to have leverage over a man who was teaching her doormat of a daughter to grow a spine. That’s what I’ve been for most of my life. Her doormat. Which was why it was heartbreakingly easy for me to transition into being Luca’s doormat.

“I’m certain Nero is home for good,” I reply with a smile. “And this is the last time you and I will ever see each other. You’ll certainly never see your grandchild.”

---