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Romance books?
“Let’s see. Where were we?” I hear Mrs. Accardi say.
Mrs. Falco replies, “Beau was on his way to tell Daisy he loved her.”
I stop right outside the door and listen as Mrs. Accardi reads, “I bring my truck to a screeching stop outside Daisy’s house, and jumping out, I run up the path to the front door. I knock, impatient for her to open.”
Mrs. Accardi pauses, then murmurs, “Oh, my heart.”
“What?” Mrs. Falco asks. “Don’t stop reading now!”
A smile curves my lips, and I lean my shoulder against the wall.
“When Daisy opens the front door, my hand flies up, and I grip her behind the neck. Yanking her toward me, my eyes lock with her startled gaze. ‘I love you, Daisy Adams. I’ve always loved you. Stay in Paradise with me. This is where you belong.’ I hold my breath while I wait for her to say something.”
“Aww,” Mrs. Falco coos. “Finally.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Accardi mutters.
Mrs. Falco gasps, “On no what?”
“Daisy pulls away from me, shaking her head. ‘No. You had years to tell me how you felt. Waiting until I’m leaving isn’t fair.’ My heart cracks down the middle when I see the anger in her beautiful gaze.”
“No, Daisy,” Mrs. Falco whispers, totally caught up in the story.
“Taking a step back, I shake my head. ‘Don’t do this to us, Daisy.’”
Mrs. Accardi pauses for a moment, and when she continues, emotion fills her voice.
“Her chin starts to tremble, then she says, ‘You did this to us.’ When she shuts the door, intense heartache bleeds through my soul.”
I hear a soft sob, and peeking into the sitting room, I see Mrs. Accardi and Mrs. Falco sniffling because of the sad scene.
Mrs. Accardi spots me and smiles through her tears. “Come join us, Gabriella.”
I quickly shake my head. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Oh, hush. Come take a seat.”
Stepping into the sitting room, I walk to one of the armchairs and take a seat.
“We love reading for an hour after dinner,” Mrs. Accardi explains. “Afterward, we watch an episode of a TV show. You’re welcome to join us at any time.”
“Thank you.”
“This book is too sad, and we’re already three-quarters through it. Let’s start a new one so Gabriella’s not lost,” Mrs. Falco says.
Mrs. Accardi stands up and walks to the bookshelf. While she’s perusing the books, she asks, “What do you feel like reading?” She glances at me. “Do you have a favorite genre?”
I shake my head. “Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to read romance books. I’m good with whatever you choose.”
“Caro Dio. I would die without my books,” Mrs. Accardi mutters. “What else weren’t you allowed to do?”
Crap.
“Ahhh…” I hesitate, but not being one to lie, I answer honestly, “My parents were very controlling. Especially my mother. She decided everything for me.” I let out an awkward-sounding chuckle. “When I started making money from my social media pages, I bought my own clothes. It made her angry.”
“Why?” Mrs. Accardi gasps. “I think your outfits are stylish.”
