“Can we please talk about something else?” She takes a large gulp of water. “Like your potential…” She curves her hands over her stomach in a faux belly bump. “Have you had any symptoms?”
My hand drifts to my stomach. “Maybe? I’ve been tired. And emotional. But that could just be... everything else.”
“When was your last period?”
I scoff. “I’d have to ask Santo.”
Luna’s eyes widen. “He keeps track?”
“We’ve been planning and he keeps track of everything, it’s so nice not to have to think.”
“True,” Luna says softly, her fork stabbing at her pasta.
I smirk.“True?”
She freezes.
Then turns towards me “Test with me.”
“With you?Luna, do you think you’re—”
“I said test with me!”
“Okay, okay,” I nod unable to hide my giddiness. “Let’s go test!”
Chapter 5
Yuletide Tension
La Serenata smells like memory.
Garlic, saffron, sweet tomato, and warm bread, it lingers in the walls, in the polished wood, in the folds of the white linen napkins. The same playlist hums low through the speakers, old Italian ballads my mother used to sing while cooking. I close my eyes for a second, just to breathe it in. This place always brings her back to me.
Angelo taps his ring against his water glass, already scowling like the mere existence of December sunshine offends him.
“No snow,” he mutters. “Do you understand the severity of that?”
I arch a brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Florida. No snow. No coats. No peppermint-scented cold air. Just palm trees with tinsel and inflatable reindeer melting in the heat.” He picks up his wine like it personally betrayed him. “It’s sacrilege.”
I smirk. “You’re being dramatic.”
He glares. “The only thing getting me through this is knowing her mother’s going to make those empanadas again.”
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “Adriana’s mother’s empanadas are worth the trip.”
“Not in December.” Angelo reaches for the bread, tearing off a piece. “This was Adriana’s idea.‘I want to be warm for the holidays,’she said. Like Christmas is meant to be spent sweating.”
“Your wife’s happy, though.”
His expression softens slightly. “Yeah. She is. She’s worth the heat.”
I watch my brother, this man who spent his life believing love was a weakness, now willingly following his wife to Florida for Christmas. Marriage has changed him. Softened some edges while sharpening others.
It’s changed me too.
“How’s Tiny?” he asks about my wife.
