He gave me nothing.
Like I wasn't even worth whatever we committed before.
"Emma?" a female voice booms through my unraveling. I turn around and see Carmela and Antonio, Ben and Mara's parents, sitting by their table alone for once.
I think she must have seen what happened because her eyes are searching.
"Come. Sit. Sit," she says, waving me over.
The thing is, with Mara you can argue once, and then do as she says. With Carmela? Forget it. Tiny woman, cathedral voice—you obey.
Antonio, her husband, mostly watches her silently with hands folded, smile soft, like she's the only show in the room.
They're adorable, older versions of Mara and Paul, but all I feel is the cage of anxiety cinching around my ribs.
I make it to them and sit down, smiling politely.
"Is everything alright? Where did Ben go?" she asks.
"I don't know," I say, swallowing the sigh.
She frowns, skeptical, but nods.
And then we start talking, and it's easy because they're warm people with a bit of Italian accent and stories that prove they lived life fully, and because we all love food and their children. She's telling me about Ben being a crazy bambino even in the womb before he grew hands and legs, and I'm managing aching laughs, wishing I could say it makes me feel better, but it doesn't.
At least, it seems like we're clicking. She even held my hand when I mentioned how sad I am to never have met Nonna and called metesoro.
Uncle Dino stumbles in then, tux crooked, eyes glassy, and he slurs, “Where’s Benito? I don't feel right."
Carmela exhales sharply through her nose. “He’s not here to clean up your mess, Dino. I told you, if you ruin this day for me, I’ll throw you out with the trash,capisci?”
Dino waves her off, wobbling, and turns to me. “You hear her? Always talking to me like I’m him.” He nods his chin toward Antonio.
They’re identical twins, except Dino’s hair’s gone thinner and his swagger thicker.
“Mara’s looking for him too,” Dino mutters.
My eyes shoot to Richard. He's buried in conversation with Lisa and Ben's friends, and for once I'm off the radar. Good.
I stand up. "I'll find him."
"Bene," Dino says. "Bambina's in her dressing room."
I slip between tables, dodging Richard's gaze like it's a laser aimed straight at my chest.Don't. Look. At. Him. Keep your head down. Just get to Ben.
I search through the corridor, the outside garden, heck, even the male toilets. Then I get to the far corner of the building, push the kitchen door and—finally.
Ben's half-hidden in the shadows, leaning against a steel counter, a half-empty bottle of grappa cradled in one hand while he speaks to the chef.
His shirt is wrinkled, bowtie loose, cheeks flushed.
"There you are," I exhale with palpable relief.
His head jerks up when he hears me and for one heartbeat, his face lights up, but then it dims and he says, "Emma," like even saying my name hurts.
"Mara needs you," I say.And so do I.
The chef reads the room, mutters something in Italian and slips away, leaving us swaddled in wine and the ache of everything that's broken between us.
