Sergio (Benedetti Brothers 3)

“Ignore him,” Sergio says.

“Dominic, thought you were bringing a girlfriend,” Salvatore goads his brother.

Dominic’s face hardens. “We can’t all be as lucky as Sergio, can we, Salvatore?”

The rivalry between the brothers is palpable.

Franco says something in Italian. Whatever it is has Dominic snort and Sergio tense. When Roman picks up the conversation, Sergio clears his throat. “Natalie doesn’t understand Italian. Why don’t we keep to English tonight?”

“It’s rude, Franco,” Mrs. Benedetti admonishes in a whisper.

I wish Sergio hadn’t said anything because it feels like everyone is staring at me.

The awkward silence drags on until I clear my throat and speak.

“So that wallpaper is interesting,” I say. It’s strange, actually. Alice in Wonderland. Not a version you’d find in a child’s room either. It’s too dark for that.

Mrs. Benedetti glances behind her then she and Franco look at each other. “Franco had that done for me. And he absolutely hates it.” She pats his back. He smiles and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of tenderness in his eyes.

But I don’t dwell on that because the smell of what the servers bring out next has me holding my breath. It’s fish. Salmon. I love salmon, but tonight, I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“You okay?” Sergio whispers. “You’re a little pale.”

The server comes to my side then, and the large serving dish is practically under my nose. “Oh, just a little. Please.” I don’t think I can refuse it. I’ll have to force it down.

“Hey,” Sergio presses.

I turn to him. I wonder if I’m coming down with a bug or something. This isn’t like me. “I’m fine.” I force a smile. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say, standing the instant the server steps away, touching my napkin to my mouth. “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask Sergio, who’s instantly on his feet.

He puts his hand on my low back. “Just go ahead,” he tells his family and walks me quickly away. Instead of taking me to a bathroom downstairs, he practically carries me to his room, and the moment I’m in the bathroom, I just make it to the toilet and drop to my knees to throw up.

Sergio’s beside me in a flash. I push my hair away as another wave comes. Sergio’s hands pull the thick braid back.

“Go away,” I groan, humiliated, sick to my stomach. “You don’t need to see this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Another wave and I think I’d rather die than puke. “I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching up to flush the toilet, sitting back. “I think it’s over.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I must be coming down with something. I’ve been feeling funny for a couple of days.”

“Come on, I’ll get you in bed.”

He’s about to pick me up but I wave him away, stumble out of my shoes. I go to the sink to splash water on my face and brush my teeth. I don’t do more than glance at my reflection.

Sergio hands me a towel. I take it, wipe my face. “Go back to your dinner. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re not ruining anything.” He ignores my protests and picks me up, carries me to the bed where he strips off the dress, slides the T-shirt he discarded earlier when he changed over my head and lays me beneath the covers.

The nausea is gone, but I let him take care of me.

“If it’s a bug or flu, I probably shouldn’t be around your mom.”

From the look on his face, he’s already thought about this. “We’ll figure it out.” He tucks me in and sits on the bed. “Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“Please tell them I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

He kisses my forehead. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Go back to dinner, Sergio. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m just going lie here.”

“Okay. I’ll be back to check on you.”

I watch him go, and shut my eyes, feeling so tired suddenly that all I can do is sleep.When I wake up, the room is bathed in bright sunlight. I remember where I am, remember the embarrassment of last night, and although the other side of the bed is empty, I can see that Sergio had slept there. I don’t even remember him coming back into the room.

It’s almost ten in the morning and I get up. I feel better. Maybe it was a twenty-four-hour thing. But when I stand up, that nausea returns and I run to the bathroom, but nothing comes. It’s just a dry heave, and it’s gone. I splash cold water on my face and look at my reflection. I’m pale as a ghost.

With a groan, I turn away, and switch on the shower, strip off the T-shirt and panties and step under the flow. I shampoo and condition my hair, but don’t spend too long in the shower. I feel better again, hungry even, so I get dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater and step out into the hallway.