Page 12 of Bad Husband

“Why don’t we go and have some food?” Angelo asked. “Meatballs and spaghetti with extra parmesan sauce, just what you like.”

It had been a long time since she had that meal. In fact, Rosemary had cooked it for her when she passed basic waitressing training without messing it up. At the beginning, Rosemary felt she was going to be too much of a walking disaster, but slowly, she got the other woman to warm up to her, and that was a welcome relief.

She didn’t want to eat food, and she was resolved to not back down. She already knew what she did and didn’t want. A free life was what she wanted. A life without Marco.

Linking arms with her father, they walked side by side. “You’re going to have to tell me everything you’ve been up to. You have no idea how hard it was not to follow you,” he said.

This made her smile. It was sweet of him.

“I’m a full-time waitress at a diner, and I live in a trailer, and I actually quite like my life. There’s a small library for me to be able to catch up on my reading, and that is what I do in my spare time.”

She didn’t own a television, and there were no other activities to do. Sometimes, she’d watch the kids, remembering there was a time she wanted to have a large family. That was never going to happen. Between witnessing the men with Heather, and Marco, she was done with men. She wanted to live a simple life with no threat of danger.

They walked into the dining room, and it looked like the food had already been placed there. The people that served them were rarely seen, unless absolutely necessary.

Angelo attempted to sit her at the head of the table, opposite Marco, but she did no more than pick her plate up and change her position to sit either side of her father. She could have sat right next to him, which would have put some distance between herself and Marco, but it felt rude to do that to her father. She didn’t want him to have to turn his head to see her.

“It’s really good to see you two in the same room,” Angelo said. Of course, her father was trying to play matchmaker.

Chiara didn’t comment, and instead lifted the lid off her plate of food, and it looked delicious. There was no point in denying it. She said a little prayer in her mind, which is what she always did, then picked up her fork and started to eat.

It was amazing, and she enjoyed it, but the strangest thing of all, it wasn’t Rosemary’s. This was just a meal a professional live-in chef had cooked for her, who was on hand at the drop of a hat, for whatever he or she was needed. Rosemary’s food had love. There was intention there. It just tasted differently as it was food she’d earned through hard work. It was crazy of her to think like that, she knew, but that was how she saw it, and there was no changing it.

There was no conversation. Her father asked her random questions about her time away, and she gave short and sweet answers.

“How were you able to survive?” he asked.

“I met a lovely woman who owns a diner, who was more than willing to help me get through. It’s where I work now.” She did call Rosemary and let her know she wasn’t going to be able to make it in the next couple of days.

“And the trailer?”

“It’s rented, but I cleaned it up, and it’s more than sufficient for what I need.”

“Sufficient?”

“It has a bathroom, bedroom, seating area that is also a dining room, a small kitchen. All a person needs.”

With each question, she realized in the past six months she and her father had drifted apart, and it was all because of her banishment.

By the time the food was finished, she was tired, and it was agreed she go and rest. Chiara wasn’t in the mood to deal with Henry or Gabrielle, so she excused herself before her father or Marco could get up.

It had been a long day, and an even longer six months, but now, she finally knew what she wanted.

Chapter Five

Marco and Angelo excused themselves to the sitting room, where he poured them both a scotch. It had been a long day, and during dinner was when Chiara spoke the most. He was used to conversation flowing naturally between them. Nothing had ever been this hard with her, or this complicated.

“Well, that was certainly ... eventful,” Angelo said, taking a seat and a long swig of his scotch.

“Yes,” Marco said.

“She’s different.”

“It was a risk.”

Angelo glared at him. “Yes, I know it was a risk, but I wasn’t going to let you kill my daughter.”

Marco raised a brow. “Do you think it would have been your decision?”