He runs his fingers through his hair and paces. Despite my confusion about the scene outside, I have the urge to wrap my arms around him again, relieving the tension from carrying the weight of his familial drama on his shoulders.
I remember that Sutton didn’t flinch when Anita introduced her as his girlfriend. “Why is Sutton here?”
He sighs again and walks over to the collection of wine bottles on the kitchen counter, committing to our original purpose. “I assume my father brought her as some sort of peace offering. Or he meant to distract me with her so he could swoop in and manipulate my mother into taking him back.”
He picks out a white and works to open it with a corkscrew. “He messaged me two days ago ‘looking forward to seeing you, son’ with absolutely no other context. He sent Lucia something similar, so we knew something was up—shit!” He drives the corkscrew too deep, straight through the cork. He works to readjust it.
“And then my mother wasn’t responding to my messages all day, so Lucia decided to come downhere herself because we both had a bad feeling, and when she made it back to the house, she found our suspicions were right: He was sitting in the kitchen with my mother like nothing had ever happened.”
He finally gets the cork out of the bottle and pours a glass of wine. He hands it to me before pouring one for himself. I take a sip, digesting his words. “So he’s back for good?”
“Who knows what lies he’s told. I tried to talk some sense intoMammabut all she said wasfatti i cazzi tuoi.” He takes in the glass of wine like a shot.
“What does that mean?”
Benito laughs lightly. “It means mind your own fucking business.”
“Huh. Vincenzo hasn’t taught me that one.” I watch as Benito starts opening another bottle of wine. I lean casually against the counter. “And what about Sutton?”
He gets the cork out of the second bottle more easily. “She was in Milan on business and my father convinced her to come with him. He told her it was a business trip, and by the time she realized what he was up to, it was too late.”
I try to add it all up in my head. “But she answers to ‘Benito’s girlfriend.’”
“Yes, because we’re still pretending to be together.” He pours himself a fresh glass of wine as he waits for me to catch up.
“I know, but how did she know to commit to the ruse?”
Benito’s eyebrows narrow. “Because I told her. How could there be a ruse if she didn’t know?”
“Oh,” I say, bridging the gap of information. “She knows you’re lying to your family about the two of you still being together?”
“Of course. She works for my father, so if I hadn’t, the whole plan would fall apart.”
I nearly do a spit-take. “She works for your father?”
“Yes, for his family’s firm in London; that’s how we met.” He gestures toward the backyard. “We should get these out there.” He hands me one of the bottles of wine. “Did you not know that?”
I take the wine and follow him toward the outside door. “Um, no.”
The conversation is cut off by our return to the party. By now, everyone is seated at the dining table. We set the bottles in the center. There are two open seats next to Sutton. Benito sits next to her and I’m on the other side of him, with Anita and Raffaello at the heads of the table and Lucia and her husband across from us.
Anita brings out a tray ofcrostini,and even the heavenly first bite of her cooking isn’t enough to break the tension.
“Isabella,” Raffaello’s voice booms across the table, “I’m afraid to say your reputation precedes you.”
I cringe and brace for whatever interrogation is next. “Is that right?”
Benito stares his father down sternly. “Papà, don’t.”
Raffaello’s mouth widens into something that resembles a smile. “Relax. I only mean to say that Anita’s done nothing but rave about you.”
I do relax a little. “Oh. Yes. Well, she’s been a lovely hostess. Both her and Benito have.”
He nods approvingly. “I am sorry the town is in such a state for your stay.”
I take a long drink of wine, the coolness of the condensation on the glass a good reprieve from the heat of the day and the tension at the table. “What do you mean?”
Raffaello leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “You know, I have a vision of a better La Musa. A thriving city instead of a sleepy hollow.”
