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Ugh.
He still dazzles even under normal lighting, and how is it that he looks even more beautiful in his casual wear? Cashmere sweater and jeans, never mind if they're just as elegant and expensive as the tux he had worn last night, should have made Ezio look more human. But it's as if the simplicity of his clothes is meant to make him stand out more, and—-
"Buongiorno."
I know I should've expected that. A Marchetti is not a Marchetti without manners, and of course, I should have expected him to greet me first. But I didn't, and so hearing his honey-smooth voice address me in Italian almost makes me jump out of my skin.
I just really don't get it, God.
I know you don't make mistakes.
But how can someone like this man...and someone like me...make sense?
I square my shoulders.Remember your promise, Cat.And so I open my mouth and hear myself say in my best headmistress voice, "Buongiorne, signore." And then I actually find myself nodding to him like we're in our own version of the Cold War, and I'm already mentally banging my head against an imaginary wall as I turn and proceed downstairs ahead of him.
What the heck just happened, Cat?
I'm still berating myself when I make it to the dining room and join the Marchettis for breakfast. It's all part ofLa Stregawanting to annoy me, and I humor her...for the most part. It's only for special occasions like someone's birthday that I draw the line and insist on giving thefamigliaprivacy.
We'll just have to try again,I tell myself. Just likeLa Stregawas known to say in her first (and admittedly bloodiest) year reigning as monarch of Boston's underworld: if you miss your target with your first shot, all you need to do is get a bigger gun or one with scope or—-
Erase, erase, erase.
I don't think that's the kind of analogy that will get God on my side.
Just be yourself, Cat.
That's the key, isn't it?
Just ignore all the what-ifs that can distract me, and all the variables and background noise, and I should be okay.
Right?
Right.
I take my usual seat at the table, which I'm relieved to find is already occupied by the other Marchettis. Sarica and Ezio enter the dining room at the same time, and that's when I realize that one of the two remaining vacant seats is next to me.
Oh no.
I try not to talk and draw attention to myself when I'm with the Marchettis, but this is an emergency, and desperation overrules my inhibitions. But just as I open my mouth to call out to Sarica,La Stregahas already addressed Ezio, saying, "Go sit next to Cat,bambino.I'm sure you have much to talk about after what happened last night."
Words of concern and comfort pour out from every side as Ezio takes the seat next to me.
'I wanted to go to your room to check on you, but Signora Marchetti says we should let you rest.'
'And rightly so,' drawls Massimo.'You do not exactly have perfect bedside manners, Sarica.'
'You must take lessons on self-defense.
'I think you mean she's to take swimming lessons, Cesare,' Gazelle, La Strega's only granddaughter, corrects her older brother with a helpless. 'Not every accident is an attempt on our lives.'
'I take full responsibility for what happened, Cattleya. Rest assured that such lapses in our security have already been addressed and will not happen again.'
The apology, on the other hand, was from Giancarlo, whose usual gravitas makes me feel like I'm a lowly peasant being asked to pardon my king.
But you're okay now, right?
Should she not still be in bed, nonna?
