Page 18 of Come Back to Me

“You sure? You don’t need to lie to me. To your mom either. She’ll get over it once she remembers that IVF exists for a reason.”

“IVF!” Because I can’t stab Tony’s hand anymore, I launch my fork into the pasta on my plate. “I’ve heard enough about that to last a lifetime. What with Zee thinking she was—” I brake to a verbal halt. “Never mind.”

She cackles. “I heard a rumor that her witch of a grandmother forced her back here. Didn’t believe it though. Not until now.”

I replicate how she twisted her two fingers together. “Like you said, don’t think IVF will be necessary anymore for them, do you?”

“No. Colton always was a handsome boy. Same with that Cody.”

“What do you bring him up for? He’s not handsome.”

(Not much.)

(I mean, he’s only a twenty.)

(Okay, who am I kidding?)

(He’s a hundred.)

“No?” She smirks at me, as knowing as ever. I’d swear she’s abrujatoo if our roots weren’t Italian. “I think he belongs on a book cover. What I’d do to him if I were twenty years younger.”

Shocked, I splutter, “Nonna! You’d be sixty-four!”

“And? The body is willing even if the joints aren’t,piccola.”

“Do we have to talk about your sex life?” I whine. “You already chased Anthony out of the house by discussing your relationship with Mr. Ravenly Sr.”

She jabs a finger at me. At least, I think it’s at me. Then, when she arches her brow again, I realize she’s looking behind me.

Twisting in my seat, I find…

The fuck?

Cody standing there.

Hovering outside the house like that’s normal.

But, my god, he’s gorgeous.

Freakin’ gorgeous, to be precise.

So gorgeous it’s obscene to be that beautifully, deliciously gorgeous.

Just glancing at his face makes my fingers twitch.

I don’t know whether I want to stroke him or make music?—

“You sure you don’t think he’s handsome,piccola? They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

I’m too used to the outlandish stuff my nonna says to gasp anymore.

Mostly, I’m freaking out about the fact that I want to make music.

I. Want. To. Make. Music.

Slapping a hand to my face, I mutter, “Oh, shit.”

“What is it? Don’t worry, your mom doesn’t know you have a crush on him. If she did, not only would she make your life hell if she thought you were living under the same roof because she wants to believe you’re still a virgin—” She snorts her disbelief of that.

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