“Con, we’ll catch up later.” She left the line and headed toward the terrace.
I moved around the kitchen and made my plate, trying to take a bit of everything because a home-cooked meal was rare to come by. In Rome, I was usually too busy to cook, so I ate out most of thetime, stopped by a little shop and got a slice of Roman pizza before I continued on my way.
Constantine and I found an empty table outside and took a seat. It was quickly filled by other people, and I was glad none of them was his sister. When I looked across the terrace, I saw her sitting with a woman her age, a young boy in her lap that I assumed was her son. The woman looked out of place with everyone there because of the way she sat, arms tight across her stomach, no food or drink in front of her, purposely staring straight ahead like she didn’t want to see anything else.
Maybe his sister didn’t dislike me. Maybe she was just occupied with this cousin or friend of hers. Maybe it had nothing to do with me.
“What do you think?” Constantine asked, arms on the table as he inhaled his food. When we went out to dinner, he executed better manners, but when he was at home, he let his guard down.
“Fucking delicious.”
He patted my thigh under the table as he stabbed his fork into another piece of fish. “Attagirl.”
When dinner was finished, I ventured into the house to use the restroom. I passed the kitchen on the way, and his mother’s words made me stop in my tracks.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” She didn’t bother to keep her voice down. She must have assumed everyone was on the terrace while she prepared the cannoli. The smile in her voice was so obvious I could picture it on her face.
“Stunning,” another woman said.
“And her hips. Did you see them?”
“Perfect for babies,” the other said. “Beautiful and tall ... she’s a dream.”
I couldn’t believe they were talking about me. I was certain no one had ever said so many nice things about me—ever.
“I’m happy for you, Sofia,” Aunt Chiara said. “It’s unfortunate what happened with Isabella.”
“Constantine is too smart for that,” his mother said. “He knows a good woman when he sees one. I trust his judgment. I’ll ask Pope Zephyrinus to pray for Constantine. He’s thirty-three. It’s time to slow down.”
She knew the pope?
“You know how men are in this new generation,” Aunt Chiara said. “Think they have all the time in the world ...” They changed the subject, talking about people I didn’t know, so I continued on to the bathroom.
I tidied up my hair and makeup and did my business. When I left the bathroom, I took the wrong hallway and ended up in the other wing of the house. It had its own terrace doors from a separate sitting area that no one occupied, so I didn’t think it would matter if I used it. The windows on either side were open to let the sea breeze inside, and I could hear conversations from everyone having a good time and drinking.
And then I heard Constantine. “We really have to do this here?” He spoke in a way I’d never heard him before. He didn’t raise his voice and yell, but his tone was fucking ice cold.
I stopped in my tracks and backed up a couple of steps, finding him talking with someone apart from the crowd. It was the woman I’d spotted with his sister at one of the other tables, and she looked as miserable now as she had then.
“I just think it’s disrespectful, Con.”
“Disrespectful?” he exclaimed. “This is my mother’s house. This is my family. I can do whatever I damn well please. I can bring whomever I want.”
“And you didn’t think of my feelings at all?”
“No.” The viciousness in his eyes was something he’d never shown to me. It reminded me of the way Enzo had looked at me toward the end of our relationship, like he wanted nothing to do with me. “Because your feelings aren’t my responsibility, Isabella. They aren’t my problem. The only feelings I care about are Aurelia’s, and the last thing I want isfor her to feel uncomfortable. Unless that’s what you’re hoping for? That she comes back from the bathroom, asks me about this conversation, and then I tell her about all this nonsense because you know I won’t lie to her, and then she walks away because she doesn’t want the headache.”
“So, this is serious?” She winced like he’d already given her the answer she didn’t want.
“No.”
“Then why would you bring her—”
“It’s not seriousyet. But it will be.”
Her head made a distinct jerk as she looked away. It was as if he’d slapped her with an invisible hand. “You’re an asshole.”
“Oh, I’m an asshole?”
