Page 61 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“It sounds like enough to feed an army,” I said with a laugh, taking the apron the housekeeper offered me and tying it over my dress to protect the delicate fabric.

“The Neretti boys are an army,” she joked back. There was truth to that, though. She patted my cheek and gazed at me warmly. “You know, Antonella always enjoyed having you around. She thought of you like another daughter. She never approved of what the men were forcing you into.”

Words caught in my throat at her sentimental speech, and I felt a pang of grief that I’d never see Antonella again or say those kind words to me herself. I smiled and blinked rapidly to stave off tears.

“We’re here!” Romeo’s wife, Riona, breezed into the kitchen in her blue Sunday dress, followed by a small parade of women. Niccolò’s wife, Mia, who I’d seen sitting primly next to her husband in a pink floral dress at mass. Then came Dante’s aunt, in a classically cut maritime-inspired pants suit. I remembered her and her daughters from when I was younger and briefly from the wedding, but I couldn’t place their names.

“It’s so good to see you again, Olesya!” The older woman gushed, wrapping me in a tight hug. “You’ve turned into such a beautiful woman!”

I plastered a smile on my face and hoped for the best. “It’s good to see you again, too.”

“Valentina,” Mia leaned in and whispered as she passed. “And Gabriela and Olivia.”

“Thank you,” I murmured out the side of my mouth. It looked like I had at least one ally.

“When Ettore told us you were hosting Sunday dinner, we were so excited.” Valentina placed a hand over her heart and tapped dramatically. “There’s been enough sadness. It’s time there was joy in this house again.”

The younger of her two daughters, a woman with dark hair pulled into pigtail braids wearing a baggy black t-shirt tucked into torn black jeans and combat boots, rolled her black-lined eyes at her mother’s antics. She set a large bowl of salad on a free spot on the counter and stuck her hand out at me. “Olivia. You probably don’t remember me, and I barely remember you. I was like ten when you left. That’s my sister Gabriela.”

I turned to the woman with a dark pixie cut who looked like she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Gabriela answered, rolling up her sleeves and measuring flour straight onto the counter’s surface. I almost said something about health and safety codes, but none of the other women seemed fazed by the action.

The women moved around the kitchen like they were right at home. I still didn’t know where everything was located, and I lived in the house and sat in the kitchen every day. Rather than admit my inadequacy, I inserted myself where I was needed. Cooking wasn’t my strong suit, so I grabbed what ingredients I could, stirred the sauce, and washed the dishes as we cooked.

“You seem to be settling in well,” Riona observed as she leaned against the counter, snacking on a pastry.

I nodded. “I’m getting used to everything. I spent a long time with very few people in my life.”

“I bet it’s like culture shock,” she surmised with a grin. “I grew up with the O’Connor family. There was never a dull moment. It’s like that here, too.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” My lips tipped upward as I took in the bustling women moving about the kitchen, everything loud and chaotic but effective.

Mia reached around me to put another bowl in the sink. “It’s nice being around a big family. I came from a small family. My aunt and uncle raised me after my parents died.”

“I’m sorry,” I began, but Mia waved off my sympathy.

“It was a long time ago. They’ve all passed on now.” A flicker of sadness crossed her face, but then she smiled brilliantly. “I’ve got Niccolò now. And all the rest of you. We women have to stick together.”

Riona fist-bumped her and held her hand out to me, so I curled my fingers into a fist and tapped my knuckles against hers. She raised a brow. “We’re going to have to work on that. You’d break your thumb if you tried to punch like that.”

I looked down, where I had my thumb tucked under the rest of my fingers.

“Didn’t your brothers teach you how to fight?” Olivia butted in.

“Not really,” I answered, going back to the dishes. “I don’t think they found it necessary.”

“Niccolò taught me some moves I could share with you,” Mia offered. “But I bet Dante would be happy to give you a hand.”

“We all know what happens when men try to teach self-defense.” Riona rolled her eyes. “You end up flat on your back… and they make you tap out.”

Mia and Olivia giggled at Riona’s lewd gesture with one hand in an open circle and the index finger of her opposite hand thrusting through the opening. I shook my head and tried to resist, but soon I gave in to laughter. I enjoyed spending time with these women. They were much less serious than the Neretti men I spent most of my time with. I could see them becoming friends, eventually.

We joked for another hour until the food was arranged on large family-style platters. Everybody took turns removing aprons and washing up at the sink, then checking our hair in a little mirror inside the pantry door.

The men stood waiting by the dining table as we carried everything in, tumblers of whiskey in hand. I didn’t envy them spending hours in Ettore’s presence while the rest of us socialized in the kitchen.

Dante pulled out my chair, and I sat for the first time in hours, relieved to be off my feet. Everybody bowed their heads as Ettore said grace, and I dutifully crossed myself with the others.

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