Page 72 of Sins and Secrets

“Has Angie talked to you yet?” Nonna asks.

Ever a mom, Sheila asks, “Has he officially moved out?”

“Can I slice his tires? Her tires? Everyone’s tires?” Izzy demands.

While the other women yell profanities in Italian- even Sheila which impresses me to no end- Alana remains quiet. She glances over to my stepmom, who is taking off her earrings, ready to fight someone who isn’t here.

“Do you have a picture of the mother of the bride’s dress?” Alana asks, which instantly silences the others.

“Um, yeah.” I scroll through six months of chats until I find it. “Want me to text it to you?”

Alana nods, looks at the dress, frowns, and then turns to Sheila. “My apologies, but I need your measurements…” Then she shakes her head. “No, you’ll have to go to the studio to get fitted.” Then she types a few things and lifts the phone to her lips. “Luca, did you get it?”

A high pitched voice responds, “Why are you torturing me with this dumpster fire?”

“I need that dress with the following modifications: higher quality, more flattering, and two inches shorter and a lower neckline. The client will be heading over in two and half hours. I need the full look, hair, makeup, shoes and jewelry by Friday at 5:00 p.m. Understand?” Alana snaps a picture of Sheila and sends it over.

Luca sighs, “And what do I get?”

“Besides payment? Lena Goodlove will use three of your dresses during award season.” Alana picks at the tablecloth waiting for his squealing to stop. “I assume we have a deal?”

“Yes!”

Alana hangs up and dials another number. This one answers on the third ring and she launches right in, no hellos. “Adam’s mother called Waverly ‘gutter trash’, among other things. You’re going out to dinner on Friday. Sheila and Duncan will be at the table next to you. Take a couple of pictures with them.”

There’s a small laugh. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“Always and forever, Penny.”

Penny Olympian. Holy shit. She’s literally the most powerful woman in the world. Alana wrapped her into this little game. What the hell is going on? “What is happening?”

Alana lifts her wineglass to her curled lips. “The wedding is at noon on Saturday. By 11:30 a.m., Carol’s social media feeds will be filled with images of Sheila, dining with the rich and powerful, wearing HER dress. In fact, we’ll have Luca post how it’s a one of a kind and anything else is a sweatshop, fast-fashion knockoff. Those images will dominate all of Carol’s friends’ pages too. It won’t give Carol a chance to change and she’ll spend the day wondering how it happened. Social clout is all she cares about. Instantly, she’s a never-was.”

She takes a satisfied sip of her wine. “Anyway, I assume you didn’t call us here to only tell us about Adam’s bitch of a mom.”

“Um, no,” I confirm, and then take out my laptop and show the women my plan. “I want to buy this hotel. It's two years away from being considered a historical building. The bones are wonderful, it just needs some updating.”

I wait for them to tell me I’m insane.

Instead, Sheila squeals with delight. “I love this idea!”

Pride swells in my chest. “I have a list of ten different consultants to help with the reno and five more who can provide insight on the business elements. I’ll have help with everything I don’t fully understand.”

Nonna speaks. “The Four Families struggle finding event spaces that provide the level of security we need.”

I sheepishly look over at Alana. “So, I was thinking Mastodon could consult on the security features.” Then I clap. “Oh, and I can live on the property, which will make security even easier.” I point to the painting of the cottage. “That’s the owner’s home.”

Alana puts her wine glass on the table, her eyes focusing intently on the portrait. She leans forward a little and rises to walk closer to it. “Is this accurate?”

“Yes.” I scroll through the historical pictures from my laptop. “They even planted those flowers you like in the garden.”

She returns to the table and grabs her coat. “Take us for a tour.” We all do as she instructs, leaving our food behind. It’s a five-minute walk through the woods. Nonna complains about her shoes and her knees. She’s almost ninety and I don’t blame her. I feel guilty making her walk in the cold. But once we reach the clearing, she stops her complaints and whispers something in Italian.

Izzy agrees, “It is like magic.”

Sheila wraps her arms around me. “Your mother would be so proud.”

“Thank you,” I whisper into her neck. “I am a little worried about getting a loan. I don’t have enough collateral.”

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