Ben's eyes spark in a second. "Yeah."
I blink at him, stunned. "Jesus. You already thought of something, didn't you?"
"Yeah." He nods, eyes dark. "Loser hands over their socials. Winner posts whatever they want."
I frown, shake my head. "Absolutely not. The last thing I need is one of my indecent selfies online."
"Are you insane? That's for me," he says, indignant, and points at himself to make it clear. "My hands. My eyes only. I'd shut down every server on earth before I let that happen. Poke some eyes out."
He sounds angry.Touché.
"Fine. Deal," I say, lifting my hand but he catches it and pulls me into a kiss just when Carmela walks in.
The second she sees her son's hand on my butt, she stops cold. Doesn't say anything, though.
I pull away from Ben, heat rushing to my face, but Ben hands me the plate calmly. His mouth is twitching toward me, though, so I scowl at him to stop it, otherwise I'm an idiot and I'll laugh.
"Join us for Scopa?" Carmela offers, forcing her tone to beneutral.
"Yeah, sure," I say, smiling.
The night stretches on, loud and rowdy.
By the time the dining room table has been cleared and turned into a casino, it's nearly midnight.
I've always been trash at cards. Lucky in love though, I guess, because across from me is my man, and every time I glance at him I think,yeah—no trade in the world.
Playing with his family is dangerous. I mean full-on yelling, card slamming, accusations flying. Mostly at Antonio, who barely says two words the whole night but somehow manages to win most rounds and shout "Scopa!" like it's a war cry. I swear it's suspicious, but I don't get the game enough to figure out how he's cheating.
Ben? Competitive as hell. His jaw's tight, his hands slap the cards like we're in Vegas, and every so often the table teeters toward an actual fight.
The rest of us are losing so badly that we keep getting bullied into drinking shots of the good grappa Dino smuggled in from the pantry.
Except Carmela, who isn't playing, Antonio, who can't drink because of his heart attack, and Mara, for hidden reasons. Paul though? Sloshed.
Game's ending, everyone's loud, and Paul leans into me, breath warm with alcohol. "I'm really happy for you guys. Don't break him again, Em," he says. It's not cruel. It's soft, weirdly sweet.
He presses a sloppy kiss into my hair, then downs anothershot, which means another shot for me, too.
So yeah, I'm drunk— the kind that gets into your cheeks and makes everything in the world seem easier for a moment.
Which is probably why I might have kissed Ben on the mouth, in front of everyone, when he won. Might have.
Carmela drops her gaze into her wine glass, face unreadable, and Dino does some Italian gesture that I think celebrates our love.
Ben smiles at me, all flushed and boyish, and then his eyes dart straight at Mara.
She's by the window, half-tuned out, scrolling her phone.
He swivels to her with grappa in hand, about to pour her some, when Mara—cool as ever—blocks the glass with her hand, attention on her socials.
"You know I don't drink hard liquor."
"Ben," I say, coming behind him, but his game's on. His smile is too smooth, laced with suspicion.
He sits on the armrest, watching her. "Whathaveyou been drinking?"
She bristles, staring him down. "Why do you care what I drink or cook? Mind your own business."
