Page 53 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Ahh there we go, that makes more sense.” Shaking my head with a laugh, I move the book over to the bedside and stretch my legs in front of me, pulling on my toes until I feel a slight burn in my calves. She lies beside me, fluffing a pillow and propping her head on it so she can stare at the ceiling. “Where is everyone? When did you even get here?”

“Papá had a meeting to attend. Though, of course, he wouldn’t tell us anything, so he dragged us here and tossed us out, telling us that we could be your problem for the day. I’m not complaining, though. Have you seen that tall drink of water you live with? God, the things I’d do to that man.”

She sighs dreamily, her eyes glazing over as she thinks of Leonardo. For the last forty-eight hours, all she’s done in our group chat is comment about how attractive he is and all the things she wants to do with him.

I try not to be annoyed at her words—she’s my sister and he’s my nothing—but my mind whirls anyway, my hands itching to whack the image of him out of her head.

“I can’t say I’ve noticed.” The lie falls easily off my tongue, though it tastes bitter on my lips. She laughs incredulously, staring at me with pursed lips, but I shove off the bed and ignore her. “You do realise I have no clothes here, right?”

She huffs, jumping off the bed and stalking over to the wardrobe. Sliding it open, she waves a hand at the rails of clothes there, the ones I refuse to think about beyond whatever is left out for me in the morning.

I don’t know if Leonardo has any staff—or if he himself is picking my outfits—but it’s a nice change to not have to think about what I’m wearing daily, I suppose. Even if those clothes aren’t mine, which I don’t hesitate to tell Rosa.

“They’re all in your size and match your style perfectly,” she comments, wrinkling her brow as she stares down at the oversized Def Leppardshirt and leggings that were waiting for me when I got out of my shower this morning. “I don’t see anybody rocking old fogies on their shirts, do you?”

While she has a point, it makes little sense for Leonardo to have a wardrobe stocked up with clothing for me, so I don’t let myself consider that, even if the alternative makes me feel slightly murderous.

“This dress is perfect for you.” She lifts one of the many hangers, pulling out a beautiful black dress that drapes over one shoulder and opens into a slit on the thigh, falling all the way to the ground.

“Absolutely not,” I tell her, shaking my head ferociously. “My vagina will be on full display in that thing.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” she asks, raising a brow. She pushes the dress into my hands, turning back around and thumbing through the rails again before pulling out a short red bodycon dress. “And this one is for me. Elisa and Sofia can fend for themselves. No doubt they’ll dress like boring old biddies anyway. You know something, P?”

“What?” I ask, placing the dress on the bed.

“I’m so glad that you didn’t become boring when you got married,” she tells me, shaking her head lovingly as she thinks of our older sisters. “Elisa married and became a bore, and well, Sofia has always been a grandma in a young woman’s body. It’s a bloody travesty if you ask me. Thank God you still have your fun rebellious streak.”

If only she really knew how rebellious I’ve been lately, I doubt she’d be saying it with such amusement.

Hours later, we’re getting ready in the suite my family is staying in. Make-up lays haphazardly on the bathroom counter while hot hair tools are taking up the vanity in Rosa’s room.

My hair has been curled and pinned to within an inch of its life, and if it wasn’t for the tequila steadily working through my system, I’m sure I’d be much more annoyed about the dull ache on my skull where the pins sit.

“Don’t be so boring,” Rosa yells across the room. Rolling my eyes, I don’t look up from my phone—a direct replica of the phone I lost in the bomb that was left on my bed a couple of days ago. She’s been at it all afternoon with Elisa and Sofia. Funnily enough, that’s one thing I don’t miss about home. Even though it was only me that still lived with Papá, my sisters and I spent almost every day together, and the arguments were plentiful.

Built in best friends—but also each other’s worst enemies at times.

“Just because I don’t want to be sloppy drunk in a room full of men who are dangerous, does not make me boring, Rosa,” Sofia snaps, slapping her hand against the vanity. “It makes me a responsible adult, which is more than I can say about you.”

“God, you’re fucking infuriating.”

“You’re the infuriating one. Grow the fuck up.”

My head snaps up and wide eyes settle on Sofia. I can count on both hands the number of times I’ve heard a curse word from her mouth, and even then, it’s never been aimed at one of us.

Rosa is too lost in her own frustration to register that Sofia is seconds from breaking, so instead of stopping, she continues pushing. “What’s your damage, Sofia? Seriously, you bang on and on about how dangerous these men are, and yet never once have you told us why? Poor little Sofia, so scared of the big bad Mafia men, that even now in your thirties you fear them. I don’t think I’m the one that needs to grow up, Sof.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sofia whispers, her voice cracking on the words.

“Sofia—” I’m cut off when Rosa storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. We fall into silence, the tense air suffocating as Sofia drops onto the bed and cups her face with her hands. Elisa sticks her head out of the bathroom, a sad expression etched into her features as she looks at me with a raised brow.

I shake my head, lifting my shoulders. I haven’t a clue what just happened either.

“Sofia,” I repeat, moving over to sit next to her. Laying my arm over her shoulder, I rub circles into her bare arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She pulls in a breath, straightening her back before slapping her hands on her thigh and plastering a smile on her face. It’s fake, noticeable in her dull eyes.

When Sofia smiles for real, it lights up her face—not today.

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