Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

I’ve never let us go to bed angry, but tonight when we climb into my bed, I can still feel a gulf between us. I knew Francesca hated liars right off the bat, so I knew she would ultimately not love if I ever had to lie to her. I just also knew I’d only ever lie to her if I absolutely had to.

I can’t sleep for shit all night. Francesca falls asleep after we lie there for a good half hour, side-by-side but not touching, not speaking. It’s fucking torture. After about an hour she rolls over in her sleep, making me look at her peaceful face while I stew. She’s so beautiful in so many ways. I love her heart. I love the way she looks out for everyone she loves. I try to convince myself that the way she was raised would benefit me, that even if I did tell her the truth and she was furious at me, it would blow over. It might not blow over fast, but it would still blow over. Only I don’t know if it would. Protecting Mateo is pretty much what she was raised to do.

I want all her loyalty for myself, but I don’t think I’ll ever have it. I can respect that. Loyalty to family is important, and once we get married I’ll be her family, too. The same unbreakable loyalty she has to Mateo, she will eventually have for me—but she’s not there yet, so if I come clean now, I stand a chance of losing her. I stand to lose even more, if she reacts badly enough. Mateo is sharp. If she broke our engagement, he would want to know why—especially because our wedding is linked to a public statement of peace between our families. Even if she didn’t want to tell him, he might figure it out.

I can also see the aggravating merit in one of the points I don’t think she meant to make: Mateo is wrong for tricking Meg into a life with him, because the man she wants to marry doesn’t exist. I don’t live in their house, I haven’t mingled with those people enough to have a full picture, but judging by what I’ve seen with my own eyes and what I’ve heard from Francesca, Meg is a firecracker. Surely she doesn’t know that Mateo clearly still has a vested interest in Mia. She doesn’t know he did the awful things that he did to her. He’s selling Meg a cleaned-up version of himself that just isn’t fucking real.

That’s wrong.

And I guess I’m doing that, too.

Maybe it’s unavoidable for guys like us. I’ve never come this far in a relationship before, and if I would’ve with anyone else, it would’ve been different. I would’ve always kept business separate from any woman I ended up with, but in this situation, business and personal bled into each other in a big way.

The sky begins to brighten again and I still haven’t slept. My eyes burn. Francesca is off today for my father’s funeral so at least her alarm isn’t blaring at me, but thinking of Dad’s funeral just makes it worse.

Everything about today is going to suck.

Every decision I’ve made in getting and keeping Francesca has come at a high cost to someone, and today I have to pay more debtors than I’m prepared to handle.

I give up on sleep and go out for a run. I’m hoping the physical activity will help clear my mind and give me a burst of energy, but the complete lack of sleep just makes my vision wonky. When I get back and take a shower, the exhaustion hits me. I’m never going to get through this day without any sleep.

Francesca is still asleep, so once I’m clean I climb back in bed with her. I’m tired and sad and frustrated now, and I want the comfort of the woman I love, so I drape an arm around her waist and pull her close. She shifts, half-asleep, and curls up close to me. It hurts and feels good at the same damn time.

When I wake up a couple hours later, Francesca isn’t in bed with me anymore. I managed to make myself feel even worse with two hours of sleep than I felt with none, so I feel like shit, peeling myself off the bed and checking the time. I should be up and getting ready. We have an hour to get to the funeral home, then there’s a church service immediately following before we go to the graveyard and deliver my father to his final resting place.

Final resting place. What a bullshit phrase. He’s not resting. He’s dead.

I don’t know if the roiling in my gut is from lack of sleep or the shit with my dad, but the breakfast I can smell cooking as soon as I open the bedroom door is the last thing I want.