Matti stands with me, watching me with narrowed eyes.
“Wanna eat?” I grin.
3
Sophie
Istumble through the front door like a pack mule, three aluminum steam pans and a bag of pastries threatening to escape my grip and crash spectacularly to the ground. The hill leading up to this house is a cardio nightmare. My lungs are burning, my thighs screaming, and I’m sucking air like I just ran a marathon instead of walking 50 yards.
Siena’s squeal pierces through the low rumble of party conversation before I see her, and I barely manage to drop the steam pans onto the kitchen counter before she tackles me with a big pregnant hug.
“Girl! I invited you to comehang out at the party, notcaterthe party! What did you do?!”
She sounds like she’s scolding me, but she looks like a kid at Christmas. She’s already peeking under lids to see what food presents I brought her.
I open a container and rearrange bite-sized arancini and stuffed mushrooms. “Oh, you know I had to bring something.”
The truth is, it’s not just politeness when I bring food; it’s a form of social survival. Food is my armor, my reason for being here. Without it, I’m just Siena’s awkward cousin hovering in a corner, nursing a beer I don’t even want.
Siena plucks a piece of prosciutto off the antipasto plate and groans as she pops it in her mouth then looks behind me, expectant. “You didn’t bring that new sous chef from the restaurant you’re seeing? What’s his name? Rocco?”
My stomach drops, and I bite my bottom lip hard enough to hurt. This is thelastthing I want to talk about, especially with Siena, so glowingly pregnant and happy with Matti. “Uh, no. He wasn’t… interested.”
Saying it out loud is utterly humiliating. How do I tell my younger cousinagainthat I’m in another ‘relationship’ where the guy is more than happy to fuck me behind closed doors and eat my food, but has zero interest in actuallydatingme? Like I’m not good enough to be seen with in public.
Siena’s chewing slows. “Not interested in you or not interested in coming to a party? I thought you guys were fucking.”
I shrug, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere near pathetic. “We hooked up a couple of times, but I guess he’s not into dating. Or not into dating me, anyway.” I force out a laugh that sounds hollow even to me, and Siena’s face darkens.
“Sophie, you are fuckingamazing. Fuck him. He’s not good enough for you. I mean, his name isRocco.He sounds like a fucking douchebag.”
When I don’t say anything—because what is there to say?—her voice drops and she grips my arm. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Even though she’s being kind, her protective concern irritates me, especially coming from my younger cousin. But I get it. I’ve had so-called boyfriends, or ‘fuck friends’ or whatever euphemism makes it sound less sad, turn violent in the past. And it’s usually Siena who patches me up.
“No, nothing like that. He’s just… unavailable.”
“Unavailable, huh?” Siena leans on her elbows on the counter between us, picking her way through the trays.
I nod. “I’ve invited him to other things before, but he’s always busy. Tonight, he made it clear that he would always be busy.”
“Fuck him. He’s clearly an idiot. Any man would be lucky to have you, and he’s not it.” Her mouth is full of salami, garbling the words, and I can’t help but laugh as I scan the little crowd gathered in the house, trying to distract myself from the hollow ache I’m feeling.
I recognize most of the faces, the usual suspects who are often at Siena’s place. Siena’s man, Matti, and her soon-to-be brothers-in-law, Vin and Tommy, are holding court in the living room. Tommy’s wife, Giovanna, waves at me from her spot on his lap, her pregnant belly prominent even though she’s seated.
The Demonio brothers are usually so intimidating: stony faces, intense stares that feel like they know what underwear you’re wearing and are not impressed. Tommy rarely talks to anyone but his wife, and Matti—well, he’s the father of my little niece Emilia, due in just a few months, so he can do no wrong in my book.
And then there’s Vin Demonio.
I have to physically stop myself from sighing out loud like a lovesick teenager. Vincenzo Demonio is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my entire life, and I’m including every movie star, every model, every fantasy I’ve ever come up with.
For starters, he’shuge.I’m 5’3” and he’s probably a foot taller than me, muscular like a weight lifter, and his arms are almostbigger around than my thighs—and my thighs are thick, the kind of thick that make shopping for jeans a freaking nightmare.
His shoulders are wider across than my ass, which is saying something because my ass is huge, the kind of huge that most men swipe left on. His hands and forearms are veiny and strong like they could choke you or cradle you easily, depending on his mood.
With his dark hair that’s always slightly mussed like he just rolled out of someone’s bed, brown eyes that see straight into the deepest parts of your soul, olive skin, and an ever-present cocky smirk, he easily commands the attention of every woman in the room.
Including me.Especiallyme.
