Page 10 of Unruly

A person can learn a lot from one’s mother.

Catherine Marcello Donati had learned almost everything she knew from hers. From how to wield a makeup brush, to how to thrust a knife under a clavicle bone without breaking it.

Catrina had been the woman who sat in a chaise, and taught Catherine how to sit just like royalty did. She had also taught her the best way to hurt a person without killing them was to cut them down with words and a cold smile.

Her mother had dried her tears as a child, and read her bedtime stories. She’d also bought Catherine the first pair of stiletto heels she ever wore, and the knife she currently had strapped to her inner thigh.

Catrina was a dichotomy.

Beautiful and dangerous.

Sweet and vicious.

Mother, and Queen Pin.

It was strange for Catherine in some ways to stare in the mirror, and see the reflection of her mother across the room. It was as though for a moment, she was looking at herself in a few years, even though Catherine was only thirty-one.

Even in her sixties, Catherine’s mother, Catrina, looked no older than forty, at the most. When the two went out together, it was common for people to mistake them as sisters, and not mother and daughter.

Catherine stared at her mother, taking in the heart-shaped face, full lips with a perfect Cupid’s bow, high cheekbones, and red hair. Other than the fact Catherine had taken her father’s dark brown hair and green eyes, the rest of her was every inch of Catrina Marcello.

The only thing that gave away her mother’s age was the few strands of silver starting to snake their way through Catrina’s deep ruby locks. And even then, that gray only made her mother distinguished. That was usually a description reserved for men, as they were the ones who usually became better-looking with age.

Yeah, well …

Catherine’s mother was fine wine.

She only got better with age, too.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Catrina asked.

Catherine’s gaze darted to her mother’s in the mirror as she fixed the gold rope of diamonds around her neck. “Thinking.”

“Indulge me with what, exactly.”

“You.”

Catrina lifted a single, perfectly manicured brow. “Me?”

“I was thinking that when I get to be your age, I can only hope to look half as good as you do.”

“Is that so?”

Catherine shrugged. “Yeah, Ma.”

Catrina winked, and reached down to lift the garment bag from the hotel bed. “You have my genes, Catty. I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

“Yes, and my father’s.”

“Have you seen your father’s mother lately? Cecelia Marcello is still very much alive, kicking, and looking quite well for her age, thank you. Be sure to let her know you think that the next time you see her.”

Point taken.

“You’re not nervous for this meeting, are you?” Catrina asked after a moment.

Catherine shrugged, and then waved at the back of her body-hugging, knee-length black dress. “Not a lot. Zip me up?”

Catrina stepped behind her daughter and pulled up the zipper, but didn’t move once she was done. Instead, she stared at her in the mirror. “You look lovely.”