She’s fitting in really well though. All things considered, she seems pretty happy to be here. I expected her adjustment to take much longer, but Mia rolls with the punches—that’ll probably benefit her within this family, in the long run.
Though Mateo’s words from the other night flit through my mind—about her not sticking around. I hope he isn’t planning on hurting her. I understand she saw something she shouldn’t have and it could potentially put Vince and Adrian at risk, but I wish he’d let it go. I wish it wouldn’t have been Adrian with Vince that night—Mateo would probably let it go more easily if it would’ve only been Vince.
Blissfully unaware, Mia clasps her hand together and glances around the kitchen. “God, everything in this house is so big. You could have a party in here.”
I rake a brief glance over her. It’s her first Sunday night dinner, so she’s already dressed for one. Vince bought her a couple new dresses after Mateo pulled his shit, and she’s wearing one of them now. With her cute red cocktail dress and big, loose curls, she looks like she’s ready to play hostess.
“I love your shoes,” I remark, nodding at the black Christian Louboutins on her feet.
Her eyes widen and she steps forward, instantly finding common ground. “Aren’t they the most beautiful shoes you’ve ever seen? I hope Vince doesn’t hold a grudge against them for all the trouble they caused, because I’m going to wear them forever.”
Smiling faintly, I assure her, “Vince doesn’t notice that stuff. You could probably tell him it’s a pair he bought and he wouldn’t know the difference.”
Mia nods appreciatively. “Good note; thanks.”
She asks me what she should do to help with dinner, but to be honest, I’m not sure. I’m so accustomed to doing Sunday dinners on my own these days, I sort of have my own system. I tell her she can throw together the stuff for salads. That should be simple enough and keep her out of my way.
Cherie comes in next, flashing me a smile and heading to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“Hey, Mia,” she says brightly.
Mia musters a faint smile, but noticeably dims. “Hey, Cherie.”
That’s weird. I thought they were friendly. Cherie and I are pretty pro-Vince, so if Mia wants to align herself on the right side of things, she probably should be.
“Sorry I’m late,” Cherie tells me. “Mom and Elise were finishing up an intense game of Scrabble and I couldn’t leave until I knew who emerged the victor.”
“Who was it?”
“Mom. I think Elise lets her win sometimes,” Cherie states. “I know she used to play Adrian, and she had to have been better than she is with her little three letter words or he would’ve died of boredom.”
I can’t help smiling. “Maybe not. I’m sure he enjoyed playing with Elise, whether or not she was a worthy opponent.”
“Are we talking about scary Adrian?” Mia inquires.
Cherie rolls her eyes, grinning. “Adrian isn’t scary.”
Mia’s eyebrows rise. “Maybe we have different experiences with him.”
“He used to tutor me when I was a kid,” she informs Mia. “He’s actually a sweetheart; he just made the common mistake of getting pulled into Mateo’s bullshit.”
“Okay,” I say, shooting Cherie a warning look. Let’s not start ranting against Mateo when he’s still monitoring the new person in the house. I understand and agree with the need to warn Mia about him, but Cherie has a tendency to just be openly anti-Mateo. Cherie gets away with it, but Mia won’t, so I don’t want her to think that’s the way of things.
“How come Mateo’s daughter doesn’t come to family dinner?” Mia suddenly asks, glancing up from the grape tomatoes she’s slicing in half. “I mean, there’s literally no closer family than his daughter, right?”
“Kids never come,” I explain. “Nobody’s kids come unless it’s a holiday dinner. When they become teenagers, then they join us at the table.”
“But why? I can’t imagine me and my mom having dinner without my siblings every night. I would feel so mean.”
I offer a smile. “Isabella doesn’t know any other way, so she doesn’t think it’s mean. Mateo just likes certain things kept separate. It’s always been like that. When we were kids, we didn’t come to family dinners either. Until we were 12, we ate with our nanny.”
Mia shakes her head, looking a little dazed. “You guys with your nannies and maids.”
“Poor little rich kids,” I say lightly.
She gets me thinking a little about my childhood, though, which makes me start thinking about how different Sal’s was. I know it’s completely impossible, but I wish things were different. I wish Sal and I could have our own little kids someday, dark-haired, roguish beauties like their daddy. They could have dinner with us every night.
Glancing over at Cherie, then Mia, I see they’re both adequately busy. I turn around, stepping toward the pantry. “I’m going to check the wine stores.”