I had fallen asleep, only to wake up again at 3:30 in the morning. I went to the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth, washing my face, and applying lotion. I eyed the adjacent door, a Jack and Jill style, which Rocco had yet to use. It had been locked from the other side. I shut off the lights and contemplated getting back into bed, but instead, I went to search for him. Regardless of the response I got, I needed him to know that I was there for him. I turned the handle of his room, and it opened. The TV was on, and he sat shirtless on the bed with covers over his middle, holding a phone in his hand. When he saw me, he lowered his phone and looked at me.
“You need something?”
“I just. . .I wanted to check if you were okay,” I said, hating the meek lilt in my tone.
He glanced down at his phone again, ignoring me. I didn’t know if it was because we’d slept together or because he’d always been kind up until now, but something about his anger rattled me to my core. It was a quiet anger, the kind that festered until it exploded. I should have left the room and locked myself in mine as I waited for my brother. Instead, I took a step forward.
He looked up again briefly. “I’m fine, Lenora. Go back to bed.”
“You’re not fine.” I reached the edge of the bed, still leaving a good amount of distance between us.
“Go back to bed.” He sighed, going back to his phone.
I sat down at the edge of the bed. He ignored me and continued typing away to whomever he was texting. Maybe he was texting Dominic and acting this way so we could get used to not being near each other when he arrived. That was what I wanted to tell myself, but I knew there was more to this.
“Are you angry with me?” I bit the inside of my cheek and looked down at the white covers, forcing myself not to get emotional.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “No, Lenora, I’m not angry with you.”
I looked up, meeting his gaze, shivering slightly at the coolness I found in it. I wanted to pout and scream and ask why he was treating me this way — like a stranger — after we’d shared so much, but I decided against it. I wasn’t willing to let myself look as weak and helpless as I felt. I kept my eyes on his and searched his face for any sign of it softening. When it didn’t, I stood up and walked to the door.
“Good night, then.” I opened it, shut it behind me, and went to my bedroom.
I shut the door before diving into the bed. Only then did I let myself cry. After a moment, I took a few deep breaths and wiped my face. It felt good to let that out. Dad always said, “big girls don’t cry” and “save your tears for something worth crying over.” I’d stopped crying in front of him when I was eight. Crying was cathartic and healthy and something I enjoyed doing in private. I flipped over to my back and threw an arm over my face, laughing. I was ridiculous. How could I possibly think anything would change between us? I was still who I was and still engaged to be married. I don’t know why I thought last night would change things.
24
LENORA
I woke up at eight,got out of bed, and took a shower. After I brushed my teeth and put my wet hair into a braid, I walked back to the room to dress. My only clothing options in Naples were bikinis, shorts, short dresses used as cover-ups and crop tops, and one maxi dress I had left behind. I laid out my shorts, red bandana crop top, and one of the cover-up dresses, trying to figure out what to wear. In college, I had a friend named Marcy who would go to any lengths to get her crush's attention. If that meant walking around in a towel, she would do it. If I were like Marcy, I would have worn the maxi dress so Rocco could feast his eyes on me every time I bent over. The problem was threefold: I wasn't like Marcy, my brother would kill me, and Rocco was heartless.
I went with the safer choice — a crop top and shorts. Unlike Marcy, who ended up marrying that crush of hers, I had no future with Rocco, so it didn’t matter if I wore this or a bag over myself. I stood in front of the mirror and assessed myself. The pointy part of the bandana went to my navel, so only my shoulders, back, and sides were exposed, and my shorts weren’t scandalous. Because my time in the sun had turned my skin to burnt gold, I only needed to apply mascara and lip gloss. Giving myself a full once-over — my muscular legs, hips, small waist, size B boobs, and hair in a braid — I decided I looked fantastic. Honestly, fuck Rocco Marchetti. I wasn’t here to impress him anyway.
I found him in the kitchen, standing over the stove. I was so shocked by the sight that I froze. He’d laid out a full spread on the island counter: a bowl of mango, chopped-up avocado, toast, scrambled eggs, a bottle of syrup, and whatever he was making now. Pancakes, I guessed from the smell. I wish I hadn’t been as impressed as I was. Dad couldn’t cook to save his life. He didn’t even know how to boil an egg. My brothers cooked sometimes. Gabe’s food was usually burnt or undercooked, so he ordered out often. Dominic was better, but he had a meal delivery service. When he did make something, it was with Rosie’s help. Since I had no indication that he knew I was there, I leaned against the doorway and continued watching him. He was wearing a black shirt that molded to his broad back, so I could see his muscles tensing with every move. I saw his perfect profile when he turned to get something next to him. It wasn’t fair that he was this good-looking. I pushed off the doorway but remained glued there. I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to announce my arrival? There were two place settings, so I knew one of them was for me. Maybe he was over whatever he’d been angry about? Maybe he’d go back to the happy Rocco I knew. After all, he was the one who had told me that happiness was a choice he made every day.
“Take a seat,” he said, stacking whatever he was making onto a plate.
I walked forward and sat in the chair, staring at the spread. He switched off the stove, turned around, and set down a plate with french toast. My mouth watered at the sight of it. He couldn’t have known it was my favorite since I hadn’t told him, but it was a nice coincidence. He took a seat. The chairs were far apart enough to guarantee we wouldn't touch, which was good. The less interaction I had with him, the better. That was the decision I made last night after I cried myself to sleep. Today, and for the remainder of my time with him, I’d treat him the way I treated Dean, Gio, and Lorenzo. Like a brother and not the guy I’d had a crush on my entire life. And for now, I wouldn’t speak to him unless he spoke first. Did it suck? Yes. I was over it, though. Even when I felt his eyes on me, I refused to look. I stared at the avocado.
“Eat,” he said.
I jolted a little and picked up the mangos, serving some on the plate. What I really wanted was the french toast. He went for that first, setting three pieces on his plate. I took it from him when he offered and served myself the same amount. He put syrup on his. I put syrup on mine.
“Thank you,” I said before I started eating.
I had to break my no-speaking rule for that, because I couldn’t not thank him. He said nothing in return. I cut into the french toast and ate the first piece. I closed my eyes to savor it better as it hit my tongue. I was dying to groan at how freaking good it was, but I didn’t make a peep. I wanted to tell him so many things —I would be in heaven if you made this for me every morning. I can’t believe you know how to make it this good, this is the best french toast I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot. Of course, I remained quietly impressed. Not everyone knew how to make it the way I liked it. People either overcooked or undercooked it. I’d tried to make it once, and despite the simple steps, it was a disaster. How the heck did he do it?
“My mom’s recipe,” he said as if reading my mind. I nodded in acknowledgment and brought the napkin to wipe my mouth after chewing.
“It’s amazing.” I ate another piece.
Despite everything I wanted to ask and say, we ate the rest of the meal in silence. I wanted to ask about his mother and what else he’d learned from her. I knew she’d been killed in that awful massacre when they were teenagers. I was young, but I remembered the day my brothers moved in with us. Rocco and his father visited not too long after. It was a somber time. Out of respect, I’d never asked my brothers about their mother unless they spoke about her first. I did the same with Rosie, and I’d do the same with Rocco. It wasn’t like he was in a talkative mood anyway.
When we were finished, I picked up empty plates and bowls and took them to the sink to wash. This was another simple thing I would no longer do when I married Adriano. I should’ve been happy about it. I mean, who likes chores? But I’d rather have a pile of chores and freedom than live like an imprisoned queen. I kept my attention on the dishes I was washing. Rocco didn’t offer to help, but he did clean the kitchen, bringing something to the sink every so often. Each time he did, he stepped so close to me that I had to will myself to stay calm. The silence between us was consumed by weird energy: anger and lust. We hadn’t looked each other in the eye today, but it was there. I felt it deep in my belly, and when he brushed against me to drop a used spatula in the sink, I had to hold my breath not to gasp. The sound of an alarm nearly made me drop the plate in my hand.
“They’re here,” he said. “Grab onto something.”
I set the plate down, turned off the faucet, and gripped the edge of the white sink. He did the same, setting his hand right next to mine, our fingers touching. My heart started pounding, so I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent. I wasn’t sure what soap he used, but he always smelled so good. Clean. Sadness washed through me when I opened my eyes and stared down at our hands. The alarm stopped, and it was then that the house started to move up. Light poured in through the windows. It was so bright that I had to squint. I hadn’t realized how dark the house was until now. Maybe because Rocco had turned all the lights on. I couldn’t live here for too long. No amount of lights in a house could ever replace sunlight. The house stopped moving, so we let go of the sink. At the sound of the door unlocking, I brushed past him. When I slung myself into his arms, Dominic hadn’t even fully stepped in. The instant comfort it brought made me start crying. Here I was, running away from our dad to blackmail him, something I set out to do alone, and now I’d dragged them all into it. I wanted to apologize and thank them simultaneously, but I couldn’t speak.
