“Yes, money is only money but family is everything.” She removes her hands from
Melanie and I watch as Melanie’s face morphed into a sad smile.
“Ya,” Sophia says, grabbing a breadstick from the middle of the table. “So hurry up and have one so she doesn’t start raiding my case.”
“Sophia, you better not bring me home a baby before marriage.”
My mom never got to marry the man she loved. That truth has clung to her for decades, like a ghost she can’t shake. So when she talks about having kids before marriage, it isn’t about propriety or child support—it’s about grief. About the ache of watching your dream slip through your fingers while you’re still holding the hand of the person who gave you that dream.
“Ya, Sophia, better hurry up and find a man before your eggs get old.”
Sophia launches a breadstick at my head. I dodge and laugh, a quick, nervous chuckle that breaks through the strange heaviness in the room.
“Niccolo, go put that toxic cancer stick out. It stinks.”
“Hey, when did I get ordered around in my own house?”
My mom doesn’t need words. She levels me with that stare—the one that froze me as a kid and still manages to cut through my spine now. The one that carries the weight of every sacrifice she’s ever made.
“Speaking of houses, when can we visit your parents in California? I’m dying to go there.” Sophia’s voice is light, but there’s an edge of envy tucked beneath it. “I bet your house is bigger than even Colt’s and Abigail’s. Mom—” She half-turns in her chair, leaning in toward our mother like she’s sharing a secret.
“Did you know Melanie’s stepdad was a film producer? I mean how freaking cool is that.” Then she pivots back to Melanie, lowering her voice to a whisper like it’s some kind of conspiracy. “Can you convince your wife to take me to Hollywood to meet her stepdad? Please.”
The room stills. Melanie doesn’t respond. Her silence isn’t loud, but it’s heavy. She’s sitting perfectly still, but I can feel the tremor beneath her skin. Most people wouldn’t notice. But I do. I always do. Especially when it comes to him. That man took something from her, something she doesn’t talk about, something she buries so deep I wonder if it’s killing her from the inside out. The past always lingers, doesn’t it? Even when it’s quiet.
“We’ll talk about it another time. I’m starving, let’s eat.”
I move to her, needing to do something—anything—to ground her. I wrap my arms around her waist, pull her into me, and press a kiss to the back of her head. Her scent—coconut and roses—wraps around me like a memory I never want to let go of. I feel her body ease, tension slowly bleeding away into me.
“Thanks for dinner, princess.”
She tilts her head, meets my eyes. Those ocean-colored eyes could wreck me with one look. And right now, they do. She’s radiant. Messy bun, flour smudged on her cheek, apron tied crookedly—but damn, I’ve never wanted her more. I wish everyone would vanish so I could bend her over the counter and lose myself in her.
Her smile blooms, shy and gorgeous, and her cheeks flush. I cradle her face with one hand, and for a moment, the whole worlddisappears. There’s no family, no stepdad, no pretending. Just her. Just us. Our eyes lock, dancing between laughter and longing. We see each other, not the roles, not the lies. Just the truth that exists between us.
Then Sophia, with perfect timing, rips us back to earth. “Get a room, you two.”
Melanie hides her face against my chest, laughter vibrating against me. And I laugh too. Because maybe we’ve gotten really damn good at pretending. Or maybe—just maybe—this moment is real. And maybe she feels it too.
31
MELANIE
Icouldn’t stomach the thought of the pasta going to waste—hours spent on sauce and spices, the garlic still clinging to my fingertips—so I called Abigail and Josh. Told them to invite whoever they wanted over. There was plenty of food for everyone. Colt was playing tonight, and it felt right to have everyone together, the house full and buzzing.
The low purr of Abigail’s new Mercedes glided into the driveway like a silent boast, gleaming under the porch light. Colt had bought it for her birthday, sleek and powerful—nothing like that beat-up thing her parents never lifted a finger to help her with.Good. She deserved better. And when she stepped out, her belly rounding beneath her coat, my chest swelled with something warm and unspoken.
“Oh my gosh, girl. Look at you,” I breathed, pushing open the screen door, the metal creaking under my hand as I stepped onto the porch.
She slammed the door with her hip and called back, “Yup. That’s what I get for having a baby with a football player.”
Josh chimed in as he followed behind, already grinning. “Thank God it’s a girl. If it was a boy, that pussy would get torn up.”
Nora’s purse slapped against his arm with a satisfying thwack. “Language, young man. Don’t talk about my granddaughter like that.”
Josh rubbed his arm, unfazed. “Like what? I didn’t say the baby was a fatso.”
Thwack. Other shoulder.
