Page 68 of The Devil's Deal

I suppress an exaggerated laugh, skimming my hand past my lips.

She removes the foil, tossing it in the trash before placing the dish into the microwave. “Mr. Smith doesn’t entertain women in the house. You must be someone special.”

“Oh, I’m special all right,” I mutter, more to myself.

Once it’s warm, she hands me the plate and returns to her tomatoes.

“I was thinking a steak salad with some sweet potato fries for lunch,” she says over her shoulder.

“That sounds…” The rest of the words are caught in my throat as an idea forms. A great idea if I can execute it properly.

“You know, I was thinking, how about you take the day off? I can make Brian lunch and dinner as a thank-you for everything he’s done for me.”

That rat bastard. Maybe I can poison him?

“What a wonderful idea!” she exclaims, turning to me as she wipes her hands on her white apron. “He’s such a lovely man. It’s so nice to see someone equally lovely in his life.”

“Oh, yes. He’s very lovely.”

If by lovely, she means insane, sure.

“How about we don’t tell him about this?” I throw in, a huge grin spreading from cheek to cheek. “I want it to be a nice surprise.”

“He will love it!” She looks genuinely excited, and I now feel bad for being a liar.

“Could you maybe give me some directions? I’m not really the best cook.” I twist my lips shyly as she laughs.

“Of course I can.”

She proceeds to give me step-by-step instructions, and I hope I can remember all of it.

“Can you also show me where the plates and things are? Then you can go have a spa day or something.”

“Me? Spa day? Oh, goodness, no.” She dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to go see my daughter and spend the day with my grandkids. She just had a baby a month ago, her third, and she could really use the help.”

Suddenly, tears prickle at the edge of my eyes.

“Are you okay, dear?” Her brows hunch over as she places her hand on top of mine.

A burning ache crawls up my body, centering in my chest. My mom and I will never have these moments. She’ll probably never meet my kids if I have any. She’ll never be there for me at all.

“Chiara?” Sonia asks again. “You’re crying.”

A broken laugh falls out of me. “I’m sorry.”

Wiping under my eyes, I try to fake it, but it’s no use. The tears douse my fingers.

“Don’t you be sorry.” She pats my hand with concern written over her kind eyes. “If you ever need an ear, I’m here. I may be old, but they still work.”

“I have no doubt,” I add. “Well, you have fun with your family. We’ll be fine here.”

“Those kids keep me on my old-lady toes, that’s for sure.” She removes her apron. “Let me throw this into the hamper, then show you where everything is.”

I follow her as she walks out to the laundry room, which I come to see is located behind a closed door in the same hallway where Brian had me up against the wall. She places the apron into an empty wicker basket, then closes the door. We tread back into the kitchen, and she shows me around before gathering her things to leave.

“Well, I’ll be going now. My phone number is on the fridge in case you need me.”

“Thank you,” I say politely before she heads for the foyer.

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