Fabien leans over and gives me a peck, eliciting an “Eww” from his sister.
He disappears, and I smile politely. “First family dinner. How am I doing?”
She frowns. “Okay, I guess, even though you don’t speak Italian.”
“Fair enough. Could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Where is the bathroom?” I try.
“Out that door and down the hallway.” Al points.
“Thanks. Be back in a minute.”
“Make sure to wash your hands for two minutes,” she corrects me.
“Two minutes,” I amend, trying not to laugh.
I follow her directions and enter the hallway, but the sound of Fabien’s voice flittering from a partially open door has me pausing.
“You’re not marrying a whore,” Fabien’s mother says with derision, and angry tears well in my eyes.
“She’s not a whore; where’d you even get that?” Fabien says hotly.
“A little birdie told me—”
“So Michele was the ‘urgent’ call? Since when does he report to you about family business?” Fabien’s words are punctuated with fury.
“You buying a whore isn’t family business; it’s a family embarrassment,” his mother snaps.
“Sienna’s not like that; she’s a student—”
“Did you or did you not pay five thousand dollars for her?”
“It’s not like that—”
“Let me speak to my son alone,” a frail male voice sounds.
“Of course, Vitto, my love.”
The sound of heels click-clacking has me ducking behind the wall.
Her words resound with the beating of my pulse between my ears.
Whore.
Whore.
Whore.
Whore.
A moment passes before I sneak around the corner.
“You heard your mama. But if you want to keep this girl as your goomah, that’s your business.”