Page 110 of The Don’s Omega

“Aww, thanks.” I grin. Not sucking takes a lot more effort. My shirt is soaked and my legs are burning, but I feel alive. Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I’ve been pretty lazy. I’ve spent every second I can with Marcello, but since he’s gone on his trip, there was no excuse not to do something physical today.

After playing tennis, we head to the veranda since it’s basically tradition at this point. The usual gang is there already. I’ve never seen them on the tennis courts, playing golf, or near the pool. I have to wonder if they ever do anything but come here to socialize and drink.

Pasquale has his feet propped on an empty chair as he tells the group about a horrible date he went on the night before. Costanza keeps interrupting to talk about a salsa dance lesson she had that went terribly wrong. They keep trying to one-up each other by embellishing their stories, and I can’t help laughing.

“What do you guys think about trying a raspberry margarita today?” Giulia suggests, looking at the drink menu. “I’m craving a fruity drink.”

Costanza smiles. “Sure, I’m up for that. Man cannot live on gin alone.”

“You sure about that?” Pasquale says, holding up his empty glass. “I feel pretty fucking alive.”

Everybody laughs.

Costanza has traded her enormous sunglasses for a wide-brimmed hat that makes her look like she’s about to tour a vineyard. Tullio is conspicuously absent, apparently at home with something he’s convinced is poison oak, but that Pasquale assures me is a mosquito bite.

“What do you think, Elio? Want to try a raspberry margarita?” Giulia asks.

“Just water for me,” I say, without thinking.

“Water?” Costanza looks at me like I’ve announced I’m joining a cult. “Are you ill?”

“No.” I should have come prepared with an excuse for why I’m not drinking. That was an oversight on my part. I’m not ready to tell everyone about the baby. I haven’t been able to tell Fabio yet, and it feels wrong to tell strangers before him. “I’m not in a drinking mood. I think it’s the heat.”

“It’s not even that hot,” Pasquale observes, narrowing his eyes.

“Water just seems more refreshing.” I avoid his gaze.

Pasquale snorts derisively. “Water is for fish and labradors, not people.”

“Leave him alone,” Giulia says. “If he doesn’t want to drink he doesn’t have to.” Despite her words, she does shoot me a curious look.

The drinks come and I sip my water as they all chat about life. The late afternoon is sultry, luckily the awning throws cool shade across the table. I feel a bit drowsy from the heat, and I startle when a familiar voice speaks from behind me.

“Room for one more?” Salvatore appears at the edge of the table, tanned, silver-haired, wearing a navy linen jacket today. Everyone greets him with easy affection. He settles into a chair across from me and orders his usual small glass of red.

“Good to see you again, Elio,” he says brightly. “You look well.”

“Things are good.” I smile. Things really are good. Almost too good. It makes me nervous because I’m not used to things going smoothly. It’ll take some time to let go of my pessimistic tendencies, but I’m trying.

“Marcello isn’t with you today?” He sits back, crossing one ankle over his knee, perfectly at ease.

“He’s in Philadelphia for a meeting. He left two days ago.”

“He’s in Philadelphia?” Salvatore frowns. “I could have sworn I saw him in town last night. He was at Adriatico’s having dinner with Sandro Lucchese.”

“Last night?” I blink at him in confusion. “That’s not possible.”

“If it wasn’t Marcello, it was his twin.” Salvatore laughs.

“I… I don’t see how it could have been Marcello.” Uneasiness flutters through, but he must be mistaken. Marcello wouldn’t lie about leaving town. Why would he? And he certainly wouldn’t sneak off to go be with Sandro, right?

Salvatore’s eyes flicker as he watches me and he says quickly, “No, of course it wasn’t Marcello. You said he left two days ago, so I must be wrong. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I’m an old man with old eyes.”

I frown at his sudden change of heart. “You seemed pretty sure it was Marcello.”

“But I must be wrong because he’s not in town.” He sips his wine, avoiding my gaze. “As I said, my eyesight isn’t very good these days.”

Costanza says something to Salvatore and he turns to her as they converse.