Page 17 of The Woman at the Funeral

“You are her dead husband’s best friend,” Ronny said, chin lifting, not accustomed to being scolded. “She shouldn’t be walking around with her business all on—”

“Ronny,” Nico said, a little more bite in his words. “That’s enough,” he added, voice softer but still brooking no argument.

Ronny said nothing to that, just continued on to the door, mumbling under her breath about how she was just trying to teach a woman some manners.

I blinked the sting out of my eyes as I turned back to Nico. “I don’t usually greet company in my pajamas,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. Which only managed to make my breasts heave.

“This is your home,” Nico said. “You can wear whatever you want.”

“Thanks for… that,” I said, waving toward the door. “No one ever contradicts the Ferraro matriarch.”

“I’ll always call someone out when they’re in the wrong.”

“Even your mom?” I asked. There was a lot of hope in that question. Because I really wanted to believe there were men in the world who stood up to their own families if they were being rude—or outright cruel—to their wife.

“Well, my mom is dead. But, yeah. If someone was speaking out of turn, I would say something. No one is above reproach.”

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks. It was when I was a kid.”

“I never knew my mom.”

What? Why did I tell him that? It took me weeks to admit that to Matthew. We’d beenmarriedby then.

“Did she pass?”

“No. She popped me out, dropped me on my grandmother’s doorstep, then took off. We never heard from her again.” Or learned who my father was, for that matter.

“Is that your grandmother’s locket?” he asked, making me realize I was rubbing my finger across it again.

“Yeah.”

“When did you lose her?”

“My first year of college.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been devastating.”

It made me never want to get out of bed again. It made me fall into a hole of depression it took me years to claw my way back out of.

“It was. But she lives on. In my love of art. She was an amazing artist. She used to do watercolor floral cards for everyone for their birthdays or weddings. I, unfortunately, can’t draw a stick figure. But I love art because of her.”

“She’d be really proud of what you’ve accomplished with that love.”

Tears flooded my eyes before I could fight them off.

Nico placed his cup down with one hand and was reaching for me with the other.

Just as Danny came clomping down the hallway.

“Where’s the key to the spare room?”

A little whimper of helplessness escaped me at that as Nico’s hand dropped down.

“There’s nothing of Matthew’s in the spare room. It’s my office.”

“Still want to check and make sure.”

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