I contemplate what I should or even can tell Michelle. Mentioning what my new husband keeps holstered at the small of his back beneath the suits he wears into work? Or that he’s come home a few times with hints of dark red droplets on the cuffs of his white button-down shirts? Probably not the best course of action to assuage her concerns. It was easier trying to convince myself that Giulio was like any other normal businessman. This is America. Anyone can have a gun. The red drops on his clothes, though? The cuts and bruises on his knuckles? The way he always leaves the room when he gets a call in the middle of watching a movie together?
Face it, Daisy. You married a man in the mafia.Giulio La Rosa has probably killed people… and unfortunately, that’s not a deal-breaker for me. In fact, the thought of Giulio slamming his fist into one of my old foster parents’ faces makes shivers chase down my spine. I imagine Giulio repeating the action, over and over until his knuckles are covered in the blood of an asshole who thought feeding me meant he could touchme, too—in places no adult should touch a child. I bet Giulio wouldn’t even hesitate—and if a man covered in a pedophile’s blood as he takes them apart with his bare hands isn’t sexy, I don’t know what is.
“We haven’t had sex yet,” I finally say.
“Yet…”Michelle’s grin reaches her eyes.
Time to change topics.
“What about you?” I ask, leaning forward and crossing my arms over each other before resting them on the edge of the table. “Have you heard from Tony the Tool since we kicked him out?”
Michelle’s entire face molts into an expression more akin to a lemon sucking in on itself. “No,” she finally says. “That’s over.”
“It’s been over before,” I remind her.
Brown eyes roll. “It’s legit this time,” she snaps. “I’m done with douchebags. I think I’m ready to swear off men.”
“Time for girls then?” I ask, smiling.
She shrugs. “Why not? Girls at least know how to get me off.”
“What about the one who tried to move in on the first date?” I ask.
Michelle grimaces. “Okay, yeah, that one was a mistake,” she concedes, and then sighs. “Maybe it’s best if I just take time off from dating in general.”
“We’ll find you someone,” I assure her.
She shakes her head, the choppy blond waves surrounding her face falling forward a bit. “Nah, I’m serious,” she says. “You know what they say—it’ll come to you when you’re not looking. I think it’s time I stop looking.”
I sit back in my chair and look around. The sorrow in her face unnerves me, and I don’t know how to make it stop, so I do what I do best: I switch topics again and make her laugh.
“So, I’ve got some interesting news,” I say, grinning at the woman across from me as I unfold my arms and stroke a fingertip down the grain of the wood table. “Remember what we promised if one of us ever married rich?”
Michelle tilts her head to the side and frowns at me. “That we’d buy a compound and live together with our harems?”
A bubble of uncontrollable laughter escapes my lips. My shoulders shake, and I bend forward, trying to stifle it to no avail. Minutes later, I’m still wiping tears from beneath my eyes and repressing a few extra giggles. “Sort of,” I hedge, grinning. “We said we’d go have breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
Michelle’s eyes widen, and I reach into my little purse, removing the black Amex card Giulio gave me. “Well, guess it’s time for breakfast.”
Her jaw drops at the shiny material of the credit card, then her eyes switch from it to me and back again. “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit” is right, but instead of letting her see how freaked out I am by the heavy matte card in my hand, I twist it between my fingers and then slowly rise from my seat. “Come on,” I say, tucking the card back into my purse and holding my hand out to her. “Let’s go.”
Michelle is out of her seat with her hand in mine in a split second. She practically drags me out of the coffeehouse, my heels nearly tripping over the lip of the doorway as a few of the shop’s other customers stop to let us past, their lips flat and eyes annoyed. I laugh at that, too. Who cares? I’ve got my bestfriend back, and even if I still need to figure out the semantics of being married to a man who runs an organized crime family, that’s all I need.
There are no actual bakeries near or around Tiffany’s storefront, so I download a rideshare app I’ve never used before and use one of the cards Giulio gave me to call a car to take us to one that’s as close as we can get. Once we’ve got our scones and muffins, a new coffee and a chai, I call another to drop us off right in front of the jewelry store.
“It’s nothing like the movies,” Michelle comments as we hop out and I swipe to send the driver a hefty tip. Giulio wouldn’t have given me those cards if he didn’t want me to use them.
I look around as I shove my muffin up to my face and take a big bite. “It’s too crowded,” I complain around a mouthful. In the movie, there was no one else around when Audrey Hepburn stood in front of the glass windows, admiring the expensive diamonds and other gems. In reality, there are loads of people striding up and down the sidewalks, phones to their ears or eyes forward. No one stops. No one smiles. They all just move forward, caught up in the flow of the city’s rush. It’s different from where both Michelle and I grew up, but that’s why we came here. We wanted different.
After a disappointing half hour trying to enjoy ourselves as people thump past us, nearly shoving into our backs and sides, I give up and tell her we should go. “I can call another car,” I say, pulling out my phone when Michelle puts her hand over my screen and shakes her head. She points to a sign directing us to the subway.
“No need,” she says. “Let’s just use the station—I don’t want to get caught in traffic anyway.”
Considering how far Tiffany’s is from our apartment, she’s probably right. So, I type out a quick text, letting Giulio know that I’m fine as we head toward the station. Just as I hit send, Michelle calls for me at the bottom of the stairs, and I slip the cell into my purse to hurry after her.
13
