Page 29 of Shark Bait

Blue eyes refocus on my belly, and his hand stretches out for a feel of it. “So biiiiig.”

Alessio tsks. “Leone, manners.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” I cover his small hand with mine. “Inside is a baby boy.”

“Girl,” Shark corrects.

“My hundred dollars says boy. You wanna bet?” I ask Alessio.

“No, thank you.”

Heels clicking over the steps herald a woman wearing a classic beige flowy shirt over a pair of beige jogging pants. Her rich chestnut hair, piled messily on top of her head, bounces as she descends the steps. A thick gold chain with a single hollow heart hangs from her neck.

Her whole face lights up when she smiles, revealing the same dimples Alessio presented. She hugs Shark first and kisses him on the cheek, saying, “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Don’t I always?”

She nods and turns to me, her hand extended. “Valerina Angelini.”

I shake her hand and introduce myself. “I half expected Giulia Angelini since I saw the name at the airport.”

The woman swallows, and I can tell I said something wrong. “That was my sister.” She taps Leone’s head. “His mother.”

Was. She said was. Oh, now I’m a total ass. I drop my gaze, feeling really bad that I brought up the airport named after someone they lost, but Shark throws an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay to ask. Guilia’s accident happened a few years ago.”

“Last year, I named the airport after her,” Alessio says.

Alessio didn’t name the airport after his mother or aunt. He named it after his dead sister. “You must really miss her, huh?” I miss my brothers, particularly my oldest brother, Denver.

At least Alessio’s not like Peggy’s brother, who named his mule Pegs, then begged my dad to arrest his sister for trying to sell the animal. Yeah no, none of that over here on Angelini Paradise Island. I’ll call it that since I can’t remember the actual name.

“Come inside.” Valerina waves. “It’s really humid today.” Her English is perfect, her accent, almost as if she’s from upstate New York. Maybe she’s an Italian from New York or she’s spent time in New York. I don’t know, but I’d like to ask her sometime. I haven’t been in the company of another woman in months, and I missed it too.

I miss a lot of things I’m hoping I won’t be missing for much longer.

Before we go in the house, I glance behind me at Shark, who’s unloading my money from the carriage. Two men wearing jeans and white T-shirts arrive to greet Shark, giving me the impression he’ll catch up with them for a while. I’m apprehensive and maybe a little scared to part from him, but Valerina is a woman, and that makes me feel more at ease, eventhough it shouldn’t. Sometimes, women hurt other women more than men do.

But as Shark said, I have to integrate myself back into society, and that means forcing my legs to step over the threshold and into the foyer.

The mansion’s interior is done in black-and-white marble, consistent with the majestic exterior of the house. It’s also cool and, Valerina’s right, more pleasant than the humidity outside.

“Kitchen’s this way,” she says.

Huh. We’re going to the kitchen. I find it odd that she’s not having me sit in the living room, but what do I know of Italian customs? When I arrived in Italy, I saw only a little bit of it during the first week in Rome, and mostly, I walked around the hotel. I’ve never visited an Italian home.

Valerina pulls out a chair for me to sit at the pristine white granite top of the kitchen island. The sound of the chair scraping the floor helps draw me out of the memory.

It seems to me that while I was on the yacht, I had an easier time keeping the memories at bay. Since we left the yacht, I’ve been thinking about everything from the hotel a lot more.

I don’t want to think about my captivity. Not the part on the yacht, and most definitely not the time I spent in the hotel. Maybe I could just forget about it altogether? Not happening, but wishful thinking moves me forward. For all I know, I’ll be on a plane landing at JFK airport tomorrow.

I sit down in the chair. Bags of groceries on the island tell me Valerina’s in the middle of putting them away and preparing dinner.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she says, “but we’ve only just arrived from Rome, and our staff will be here on Monday.”

“Rome?”

“We live there. Have you ever been?”

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