Page 84 of Bitter Prince
He let out a sardonic breath. “I didn’t really know him for the majority of my life, but sometimes I wished I did.” His voice changed, got raspier, and I met his eyes. “There aren’t too many people I’m close to. Just my brother and my mother.”
He loves his mamma.My heart sped up, clinging to the thought and burning it into my heart. It didn’t surprise me to hear he and Dante were close, but not too many men admitted to being close to their mamma. It made me love him even more.
“How did your parents meet?” I asked curiously. If he loved his mamma, she had to be gentle and kind. Like mine. I never forgot his scary father, and I couldn’t fathom anyone falling for him easily.
Amon’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Through a mutual friend.”
“Oh.” It was vague, but maybe it wasn’t a great love story. “My mamma was driving and texting in New York City. She almost ran over Papà who was on his way to the airport to go back to Italy. He took one look at her and asked her out.” I smiled dreamily. “He missed his flight and married her a week later. The rest is history.”
“Romantic.” I knew it sounded corny, but I loved the story of how my parents fell in love.
“What’s your mamma like?” I asked curiously, determined to get anything and everything out of him.
“She’s quiet. Very reserved.”
“Did she grow up in Japan?” He nodded. “But she lives in Italy now?”
“Yes. Sometimes she visits me in Paris. Sometimes you remind me of her.”
“Reserved?”
A grimace pulled on his lips, watching me with amusement. “No, your love of pink.”
“It’s a happy color.” I bit my cheek to hold in a smile. “You should try wearing pink. It lifts your spirits.”
He let out a laugh, looking at the ceiling. “No chance I’ll be wearing pink in this lifetime.”
I bit my cheek to hold in a smile. “Well, challenge accepted. Now tell me something else about her.”
His heavy gaze met mine, and it grew more intense as we stared at each other. “My father never married her.”
I shrugged. “Well, in today’s day and age, that’s not really a big deal.”
“In the underworld it is.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think there are more ways to be committed to each other than by marriage.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? How?”
I detected a slight mock in his voice, but I ignored it. “By remaining faithful. Treating each other with love and respect. My grandma is on her fifth marriage. It doesn’t make it better than couples that forgo marriage licenses altogether.”
“My grandfather was very traditional. Her living out of wedlock worked against her. It made things difficult for her, but my mother’s very strong. Kind of like you.”
Letting the knowledge soak into every cell of me, I asked, “Do you visit your grandfather often?”
“He’s dead,” he said in a flat tone.
I brought my hand to his and interlocked our fingers, then squeezed it in comfort. “I’m sorry.”
“It happened several years ago.”
“It doesn’t make it easier,” I whispered. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. Not that it surprised me. Amon wasn’t exactly a chatty kind of guy. I didn’t know him to wear his emotions on his sleeve. “My mom died twelve years ago, and I still miss her.”
“I heard,” he rasped. “Your first visit to Italy.”
My gaze flicked to the window, memories of Mamma’s body in the tub tainted with her blood. I met Amon on our first day in Italy; I lost my mother on the last. I lost and gained someone in the same season.
I swallowed, giving my head a subtle shake. “I’m sorry I broke your mamma’s vase. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that before.”
