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“You weren’t here a decade ago.” She’s two years my junior.
“Feels like it, though.” She whacks my thigh with a kitchen rag. “They ordered calamari. You want some?”
“Um, no, can I have my usual?”
“The kitchen is closed,” Honey throws over her shoulder as she returns to the kitchen.
I stare at the swinging kitchen doors. Frenchy’s kitchen is never closed. This should worry me, but having met Severio, I’m guessing he changes all the norms. I won’t eat my usual, but I’ll have whatever Honey is making for Severio.
I enter the alcove where my father celebrated most, if not all, of his birthdays. Severio sits at the long table with Frenchy. Both men raise their heads when I walk in. Surprise, surprise.
Severio gives me a once-over, stopping at my scarf where it’s covering his tattoo. I lift my chin a little higher.
Frenchy stands and spreads his long arms. “Cristina Mancini,” he says. “Come here, young lady.” He’s a nice elderly man with a receding hairline and a round belly on an otherwise lanky body. Tonight, he’s wearing a reddish-brown checkered suit paired with an equally outdated yellow tie.
We greet by kissing on both cheeks. He wears the same cologne my grandpa used to wear. Strong and woodsy. Granma kept it in the medicine cabinet after Grampa passed away, and after she passed away, I pushed it into the corner. Sometimes I sniff it. It reminds me of warm hugs and kisses and sneaking in a piece of candy before supper.
“You’re all dressed up,” I say. “That’s twice I’ve seen you in a suit in the same week. Once for my wedding and now again. What’s the occasion?”
“I’m the occasion,” Severio drawls.
“Severio,” I say with as much venom as I can gather. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Indeed.”
Confused, Frenchy looks between us. There’s bad blood, and he can smell it, but he’s polite and will try to mend our differences by feeding us pasta. It’s what we do on the island. We share meals with family and try to appear as if we all get along.
Frenchy’s still standing, looking at Severio, probably wondering what Severio will do about me showing up while they’re having a private meeting. It makes me wonder how many such meetings my dad held with Frenchy.
Severio joins his hands and then rests his chin on them, clearly considering what to do with me. Light hits a thick golden band wrapped around his wedding finger. A soft gasp escapes me, and I look away, then glance at it again just to be sure my eyes don’t deceive me. Oh my God. Severio is married?
Something inside me twists, coiling like a snake, and I feel sick to my stomach. My heart pounds in my chest, and my vision starts to blur. I grab the chair to steady myself.
Severio drops his hands to the table, and my gaze follows the ring.
“Cristina?” he asks, looking concerned.
I want to tell him he’s flirted with me, he’s had me in his bed, for Christ’s sake. In turn, this made me think about him, and I feel terrible thinking about him if he’s married, which now makes me feel like I’m the worst human on the planet for thinking about kissing someone else’s man. Not to mention, I was supposed to marry his uncle.
Adultery is terrible. I would never do it. And while I haven’t touched him in any way that might be considered inappropriate, I can’t say I haven’t thought about him in ways a single woman shouldn’t think about a married man. Oh no.
My nausea climbs up my body as the realization hits me. I like him. I like a married man.
“Cristina,” Severio repeats in a voice that makes me look at him. Concern is evident on his face as he rises to pull out a chair for me.
This is the new low of my life. It’s not enough that I basically sold my life to Gio, who then gave me up the moment Severio threatened to take his wealth. I also fell for a man I should hate the most for ruining my life.
Lightheaded, I sit down.
“Are you ill?” Severio sits as well.
“Are you married?” I ask him.
“I’ll get the calamari,” Frenchy says and leaves.
Severio slips the ring off his finger and hands it to me. “It’s my uncle’s wedding band. Take a look.”
I don’t touch it, but look down at the red serpent engraved into the band. It’s a snake eating its own tail. My relief in the form of an exhale is audible. “Is it an Order thing?”
