Francesca stands at the island splitting food between two different plates. She’s already dressed in a solemn black dress, funeral-ready. Her head pops up when I come in, a tentative smile gracing those perfect lips of hers. I hate that tentativeness. I know it’s not a good day, and last night wasn’t a good night, but I don’t want anything weighing on her shoulders.
With that end in mind, I grab her around the waist and pull her in for a kiss to let her know whatever we’re supposed to be mad about, I’m not. She relaxes slightly when I pull back, resting her hand on my bare chest. Her ring catches her gaze since she’s not used to it being there, and she softens a little more.
“I made breakfast,” she tells me, unnecessarily.
“I see that. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but I figured you need nourishment to get through the day.”
I need alcohol to get through this day. Instead of saying so, I just walk over and open the cabinet where I keep my liquor and grab a bottle of whiskey. “I think I’m going to skip the orange juice,” I tell her, nodding at the glass she already poured.
Francesca goes to the cabinet and grabs another glass, handing it to me. She bites down on her lower lip uncertainly, leaning against the counter. “I don’t really know how to be supportive about this,” she admits. “I don’t know how you feel. When my dad died, I felt nothing.”
I nod, dumping some alcohol into the glass and screwing the cap back on. “That’s understandable; your dad was a monster.”
If she thinks mine was too, she refrains from saying so. I wouldn’t be able to defend him, so I’m glad. I can’t defend myself, either. Maybe we’re all our own kind of monsters in this life.
Dread weighs on me as I start to take a sip. I immediately correct and slam the whole thing back, then pour myself a little more.
Francesca rests a light hand on my shoulder. “You should probably eat.”
I pour myself a more generous serving this time so I can put the bottle away, then I join Francesca at the island to choke down the breakfast she made. She’s a good cook so I’m sure it’s delicious, but I feel like I’m swallowing soggy cardboard.
We’re the last of the family members to show up before the guests start arriving. Ma is not impressed. I haven’t told her I proposed to Francesca yet and that’s not what I want today to be about, but I also didn’t want to ask Francesca to take off her ring and hide the fact, so right now I’m just hoping for the best.
Maddie steps forward to hug me, then Francesca. Ma hugs me and refuses to so much as look at Francesca. My brother errs on the side of neutrality and settles on nodding at each of us.
“She doesn’t have to stand up here with us,” Ma states.
“Yes, she does.”
“The receiving line is for family.”
“Francesca is my family,” I state.
Ma stiffens like someone just shoved a splint down her spine. Her lips press together with anger, but she refrains from saying another word about it.
Leaning in my ear, Francesca whispers, “I don’t have to stand up here.”
“You don’t know anybody here,” I point out, glancing over at her. “You belong here next to me.”
“I know Mark. I could follow him around.”
“No.”
She doesn’t argue further.
Twenty minutes into receiving guests, I’m already drained. Ma is angry on top of being hurt, and some fucking woman named Betty catches sight of Francesca’s ring.
Turning surprised eyes to me, she says, “Oh, I hadn’t heard the news.” Then she clasps my hand between hers, patting the top. “I’m so glad you have someone to help you through this difficult time.”
Ma leans forward, frowning. Betty grabs Francesca’s hand to inspect the ring, and Ma turns so red, I don’t even know what to expect. I thought Francesca handled the news of Mateo’s engagement indelicately, but the look on Ma’s face as she glares daggers at Francesca makes that look like well-wishing.
Finally her gaze travels to me, her eyes dark with a mix of emotions I don’t even want to dig into. “You didn’t.”
Wrapping an arm around Ma’s shoulders, I give her a sideways hug. It’s stiff as hell, like hugging a tree trunk. “Ma, can we please talk about this later?”
She’s my mom so she doesn’t shrug my arm off her shoulder, but I think she wants to.
“I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make today easier on you. I want you to like Francesca. You will if you just give her a chance—she’s great.”
“She’s the reason we’re burying your father today,” Ma snaps, now shrugging my arm off her shoulder. “Her filthy family murders your father and you give her a ring. God forgive you, Salvatore. God forgive you.”