“Uncle, you can’t be mean to sick people,” she told him, and he just stared down at her. “He’s family, Uncle. You have to love your family.”
Helen and Aunt Cora both laughed at him.
“It’s like young Ethan all over again,” Uncle Neal replied, shaking his head.
“Well, I’m not sick. I’ll do my best to be more grown up—if you promise to play with me and tell me all about your time in Italy,” Wyatt said.
Evelyn sighed before saying, “So that is all it took? And here I’ve been trying to get you to grow up for years.”
“I’m starting to feel picked on,” Wyatt pouted, causing all of us to roll our eyes.
“We can play next Saturday,” Giovanna said, and we all just looked at her.
“Why next Saturday?” Helen asked. “You don’t want to play when we come back?”
Giovanna frowned and shook her head. “Mommy is gonna say no, ‘cause I need to start school and training.”
Everyone froze at the word training. For a second, we’d forgotten. We’d forgotten how Callahan children were raised like we hadn’t all gone through it.
“What kind of training?” Wyatt asked softly, the usual joy and light-hearted mood in his voice gone.
Giovanna opened her mouth to speak; however, it wasn’t her we heard.
“You’ll just have to see tomorrow,” Calliope’s gentle voice spoke out from above us.
We all looked at the top of the stairs where she stood in a one-of-a-kind, custom, white, long-sleeved Sal Fallaci coat dress, made of the softest and most expensive material—prized
Vicuna wool. A normal coat or dress made of it would cost half a million, but it wasn’t a normal coat or dress. The inside of it was embroidered and lined with Mulberry silk. The buttons were made of authentic ancient Roman coins that had been hand-painted with gold. All this was why it was one of a kind and one of the most expensive pieces ever created by Sal Fallaci.
How did I know this? I knew because I had just tried to bid on it a few weeks ago, during Fashion Week, only to be told it had already been purchased. The owner allowed it to be displayed and not walked. I offered more money. They refused. I tried to find out who had bought it; they declined. She’d even customized it more; it was now pleated in the sides…which meant they added more material to it and a little bit above her knees, which meant they had cut it.
Oh…I didn’t know why I was so pissed. But I was. I loved that dress. I wanted it badly. How in the hell?
And as if she needed to stand out more, on the breast of it she had military medals and honors—she’d poked pins into the material—and it looked nice. She looked better than nice. Her long hair was down in waves over her shoulders. She wasn’t just beautiful or dignified but almost royal or something. It was only when Ethan stepped up beside her wearing a navy, slim-fit suit with a gray waistcoat, did I realize my mistake. It wasn’t like she was royal…they were.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said.
As she came down the stairs, I saw her white pumps, the bottom and heels of which were gold. She walked directly toward me and stood in front of my face, her gray eyes piercing mine, and just like that, the world fell silent, and that fear crept back slowly.
“I’m not one of those people who quietly accepts apologizes.” Translation, she wanted it here and now, in front of everyone.
I had to inhale to push the feelings back down my throat before I shook my head no and forced myself to smile. “You were right. I’m sorry about how I acted the other day. I was out of line, and it won’t happen again.”
A grin spread across her face, and it was not sweet or kind but mocking.
Kill me now.
“Apology accepted.” She nodded and turned from me, looking to O’Phelan, who came to her with a small tray of lily flowers without the stem. “Today is November 7th, also known as Giorno dell 'Unità Nazionale e Festa delle Forze Armate—the National Unity and Armed Forces Day. Those who did not serve show their respect by wearing the flower of Italy…the lily. We’ll be going to a church service for the fallen and then brunch today for the veterans,” she said.
Taking one of the flowers, she moved to Ethan, who watched her like a hungry hawk. She lifted his lapel without bothering to ask him, pinning the flower to it. O’Phelan passed around the flowers to the rest of us.
“What happened to your face?” Wyatt asked Ethan, pointing at a cut over his eyebrow.
“He slipped,” Calliope answered, clearly lying.
“Really? Like he somehow cut his hand shaving a few days ago?” Wyatt pressed, looking to between them both.
“Ethan, I think your brother thinks you are a victim of domestic violence,” Calliope grumbled.