“I know what you’re doing,” Livia says quietly.
My face goes hot. “I’m sorry?”
“With Marco.” She crosses her arms. “I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. Think you’ve snagged yourself a billionaire, huh? Think you’re going to get a lot of money, huh?”
Fuck fuck fuck.
“Mrs. Caldarelli, I promise I’m just here to take care of Ben.” The lie tastes sour. “Nothing inappropriate is happening. And I don’t care about Marco’s money.” The latter part is true, at least.
Mostly.
“Nothing inappropriate...” Her voice is soft but there’s steel underneath. “My daughter hasn’t been gone three years and already there’s someone new warming his bed.”
The words hit like a slap.
I should defend myself. Should explain that Marco’s allowed to move on. That grief doesn’t have an expiration date but neither does it require permanent celibacy.
Instead I just say, “I respect your daughter’s memory. And I would never do anything to hurt Ben.”
“See that you don’t!” She stares angrily at me, and opens her mouth as if to say more, but then bites her lip. She turns to go, then pauses. Without looking at me, she says: “Employees should remember their places...”
And then she’s gone.
I make it back to the kitchen on shaky legs. Marco’s got Ben’s bag but as soon as I appear and he sees the expression on my face he makes a beeline toward me.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Never better,” I reply, risking a quick glance at Livia.
Yup, she’s glaring at me from the main entrance.
We head for that door. Enzo gives me another hug and presses a container of pastries into my hands.
“For the road,” he says kindly.
At least one of them doesn’t think I’m the devil.
We make it to the Range Rovers where Jag’s waiting. The engines of both vehicles are alreadyrunning. We go to the lead vehicle. Marco loads the bag while I buckle Ben into her seat.
“Jess?” She’s looking at me with those big brown eyes. “Why does Nonna hate you?”
Ouch.
“She doesn’t hate me, sweetie.” I adjust Frederick in her lap. “She’s just protective of you and your daddy. That’s her job as a nonna.”
“But you’re nice,” Ben insists. “You should tell her you’re nice.”
“I’ll work on that,” I promise.
Marco climbs into the back seat beside me instead of up front with Jag. His thigh presses against mine and suddenly the Range Rover feels very small and very warm.
Jag pulls away from the curb. The second Range Rover, driven by Felipe, follows behind us. I watch the brownstone disappear in the side mirror.
“I’m sorry about that,” Marco says quietly. Not looking at me. Looking straight ahead.
I smile sadly. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” he growls.
