“Massimo, you shouldn’t say such things about your papa.”
“Why not?” Massimo levels a stern look in his mother’s direction. “It’s the truth.”
“It’s family business, and you should not speak of these things in front of others.”
Massimo’s fork clangs to the table. “Catarina is mywife, Mother. She’sfamily. I won’t hide the truth from her. I may have to keep up a front in public, but in private, I will speak however I please about that asshole sperm donor.”
This moment cements it.
There is no way I am harming a hair on my husband’s head.
Which means I have to find a way to make peace with the fact I can’t harm Gabriele or his mother either.
She visibly flinches, seeming to cower into herself. “I don’t like to talk about it,” she whispers, and her hands shake around her knife and fork. “Please, Massimo.”
His anger evaporates as quickly as it came on. “I’m not here to upset you, Mama, but don’t ask me to hide things from my wife.”
“I don’t see what good could come of talking about the past,” she quietly says, putting her silverware down and clutching her flute in trembling hands. “Let’s just have a nice lunch and talk about other things.” She drains her champagne in one go, instantly reaching for the bottle to refill her glass.
Massimo’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and his fingers grip his silverware tight. I slide my hand under the table and squeeze his thigh. Lowering one hand, he threads his fingers in mine and holds me tight.
“You too seem closer than at the wedding,” she says, and I detect a hint of jealousy and some other emotion behind her words.
“We worked things out,” Massimo says, never taking his eyes from mine.
I kiss his cheek before withdrawing my hand and returning to my lunch. I eyeball his mother, pinning her with a pleasant smile as I say, “You were in an arranged marriage too. I’m sure you understand it’s challenging at the start.”
“My marriage was nothing like yours,” she hisses with a fire that has been lacking in her dialogue to date.
“Mother.” Massimo’s tone is firm. “Catarina was only making an observation.”
She gulps back more champagne, seeming to have abandoned her food. Judging how her clothes hang off her skeletal frame, I’m guessing she’s more accustomed to liquid lunches. “I apologize, Catarina,” she says, looking dutifully sorry. “I was married to Maximo at eighteen. He was considerably older than me, and he wasn’t kind.”
“I’m sorry.” I find I genuinely am. I could tell by their behavior that was the case, but I wasn’t sure if it had always been like that. She spent a lifetime married to that prick. I endured his perversions for a short period of time, and they still haunt me. It goes some way toward explaining her actions, but is it enough to excuse it?
“My first marriage was like that,” I explain, “and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I would not wish that on any other woman, but unfortunately it is all too common in our world. One of the reasons I wanted to become a donna was so I can help to change some of the archaic rules. Women should be free to marry who they want.”
“Yet you married for business not love.” She arches a brow as she drains her second glass of champagne. Massimo and I have only taken a few sips of our first glass. “That’s hardly a ringing endorsement for change.”
Massimo opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him with a pointed stare. I don’t need him to defend me, and I don’t want him to have to take sides.
“I can’t effect change unless I’m in a position to do it, and it was still my choice to marry your son. No one forced me into it. Our marriage was strategic, for both of us, but we genuinely like one another, and we are committed to making it work.”
“I wasn’t forced into it either, Mama.” Massimo slides his arm around the back of my chair. “Gabe asked me to do it, and I said no—until I met Catarina. This isn’t common knowledge, but we met before, and there was an immediate chemistry. I married her willingly, and I’m happy to call her my wife.” He leans in and kisses me, and I have never felt more cherished or more supported than I do in this moment.
“Well, that’s great,” she says, sounding like it’s anything but. “I’m pleased for you.” She offers us a tight smile before reaching for the champagne bottle again.
“Mama, don’t you think that’s enough?” Massimo levels her with a look. “You should eat. The salad is good.”
She immediately puts the bottle down and picks up her silverware. I eat my salad as an uncomfortable silence settles around us. After a few minutes, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
Massimo sighs when she is out of earshot, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
“Are you okay?” I ask, rubbing his thigh.
“I worry about her,” he supplies, finishing his champagne and reaching for the bottle of sparkling water. “I can only imagine what you must think of her,” he adds, looking into my eyes. “Don’t judge her too harshly. She has had a hard life. My father never loved her. She was a breeding machine, and the rest of the time, he abused her. He fed her a diet of alcohol and pills to keep her firmly under his control. After Maximo died, Gabe and I got her into rehab. She doesn’t take prescription meds anymore, but the drinking is still a bit of a problem.”
“Why don’t you ban all alcohol from the house and forbid the staff from buying any?”
