Page 28 of A Game So Reckless

A whole pitcher of lemon water. Lucky me.

“Why does it matter?” I mutter. “Not like I have to fit into a wedding dress anytime soon.”

“Valentina!”

“Well, it’s true!” I say, rising to bring my plate to the sink. “Kind of pointless to bust my ass dropping dress sizes for a wedding that isn’t even happening.”

Morning sun streams in our massive kitchen’s large windows, sparkling on marble and stainless steel. I can tell Mamma’s gearing up to say something else, but she suddenly shifts her focus behind me. I look over my shoulder to see Papà entering the kitchen.

“Good,” he says, his eyes skating from Mamma and back to me. “You’re both up.”

“Cappuccino?” Mamma asks, offering him the drink she’s just made for herself, but he waves it away.

“I’m having coffee with Rocco this morning.”

I tense at the mention of my would-have-been father-in-law. The lie I told about what happened to Dario has begun to fester. It makes me feel nervous. And guilty.

And stupid. Stupid for lying to cover Darragh’s ass. For what? So he can corner me in dark fountains and taunt me before he disappears into the night?

It’s been one week since Dario’s funeral.

And three weeks since Darragh started seeping through my consciousness like some kind of sickness I can’t shake.

“I have business in Montréal,” Papà says. “Maybe Ottawa, too. We’ll see.” He tugs on the sleeves of his dress shirt, straightening the cuffs. “I want you two at the cottage.”

“The cottage? Why?”

Papà’s attention slices to me.

“Because things have been a fucking shitshow in this city lately, that’s fucking why,” he growls. “Elio’s wedding. The condo unveiling.” His eyes flash. “Girls falling into fountains after funerals.”

That’s what I told them after I dragged my sorry butt back to the restaurant dripping wet.

I fell.

He jumped.

Two lies in a row.

“I want the two of you to spend the rest of the month somewhere quiet.”

Quiet is one way of putting it. What we call the cottage is more like a sprawling lake house on the shores of Georgian Bay. The only neighbours we have up there are sweet little old people whose families have lived there for generations, or random rich folks from the US who leave their Canadian properties empty most of the time.

It’s beautiful up there, don’t get me wrong. But there’s basically nothing to do.

I guess that’s kind of the point.

“The two of us,” I say in clarification. “Just Mamma and me? Is Curse coming?”

“No. Carlotta, you’ll drive.”

Mamma nods and puts on a smile, but I can tell she’s even less thrilled about this exile to the cottage than I am. We’re both city girls, from our heads down to our professionally pedicured toes. Plus, she hates driving.

At least she knows how to drive. I’ve never been allowed to learn.

“How fun,” Mamma gushes with false sweetness, patting my arm. “A girls trip!”

It’s not often Mamma and I go anywhere alone together. Usually, we’re accompanied by Papà or Curse or a soldier. But outside of the city, there’s not nearly as much need for that sort of thing. The cottage is just about as safe and secluded as you can get. And since Mamma is obviously married, she’s chaperone enough for her unattached daughter in this situation.

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