Page 80 of Tide of Treason
Viola excused herself to go scold a new customer for requesting acrylics, leaving me defenseless. Five seconds of silence ticked by before I cracked.
“Yes? Can I help you?” I asked, not looking up.
“Your heels are too tall,” she informed me succinctly.
I glanced at my red stilettos.
“I like my heels.” And when had Nonna turned into the fashion police? Usually she was content to critique my lack of a husband and the state of my virginity instead. Knowing her she’d probably prefer I followed in my mother’s footsteps.
Her gaze slid from my legs up to my face. The scowl deepened. “You’re showing your age around your eyes.”
“You’re showing your age in your hips. Have you fallen lately?”
Nonna sniffed. “This shop is for grandmothers.”
I raised my brows, amused. “This shop is for women. Last I checked, I was one.”
I left with a fresh set of almond-shaped claws and exactly two missed texts from Mamma.
Mamma:Tell me you’re coming to dinner.
Mamma:Kayla, answer me. I don’t care if you’re busy whoring around.
I leaned back, flexing my fingers, debating how much energy I had left for maternal guilt trips. My cousins and I had a running game called “How Many Dishes Will Kayla Skip,” and so far I held the record at eight. Eventually, I tapped out a reply.
Me:Busy. You’ll live.
I wasn’t busy.
Unless wandering through a Walgreens counted, where I’d just spent ten whole minutes staring at prenatal vitamins. Some of them had folic acid. Some had DHA. Some promised “advanced brain development,” which sounded fake as hell, but who was I to argue with corporate propaganda? In the end, I bought the most expensive one just to piss off my bank account, then, on a whim, chucked in a pack of peanut M&Ms. Maybe they’d cancel each other out. Folic acid and processed sugar. A balanced diet.
I had a few months, I figured, drumming my freshly manicured nails on the steering wheel. Three, maybe four, before the bump started showing and people stopped mistaking it for too much tiramisu. My breasts were already a generous handful, but they’d balloon soon enough. Probably to pornstar proportions, which might’ve been fun if it weren’t for the fact that the only man I wanted to suffocate with themwas the same one who’d put me in this situation to begin with.
The bag of M&M’s was half-empty by the time I reached the front door, crinkling between my teeth as I juggled my keys, my phone, and a bottle of overpriced prenatal vitamins that I still hadn’t decided if I was taking. With a sigh, I shoved my way in.
Empty Peroni bottles littered the coffee table, their labels peeling under the assault of condensation and sticky fingers. I flicked a glance at the TV just in time to watch a Juventus player get absolutely bodied by a defender. The living room dissolved into groans of sympathy. Elio mused that the ref’s mother polished strangers for loose lire, while Francesco lobbed an empty bottle that bounced off the bookcase instead of the television. I drifted past them on autopilot, eyes locking onto Sophia, who was curled up on the floor with a picture book. I tipped a few M&M’s into her palm without breaking stride.
“Grazie, Kay-Kay,” she chirped, popping one into her mouth.
Unfortunately, my moment of selfless charity was ruined by the slow, crawling sensation of being watched. My stomach dipped.
Mamma’s chef’s knife thumped the board.
Chop.
Garlic surrendered slice by slice, the decapitated clove rolling across the counter.
Across the island, Nonna dragged a whetstone down her cane—yes, the cane had a blade; no, I didn’t ask why. Themetallic rasp slid beneath my ribs like a cold needle, making me frown. How, exactly, had the old witch beaten me back? I’d just seen her at Viola’s. That was in Tribeca. Granted, I’d made a quick detour for vitamins and a mental breakdown in the Walgreens parking lot, but still . . . what kind of ancient sorcery was this?
Mamma’s eyes narrowed. “Sei malata?”Are you sick?
I peeled off my coat and flung it at a chair with more violence than nylon deserved. “Terminally.”
“Di cosa?”
“Being here.” Really, being with you.
A thin pulse of something dark rolled between us, slipping through the cracks like steam rising from a pot. Mamma let me rest against her, my chin pressed against the warmth of her shoulder as I stole her knife and corrected her chopping.
