Once I’m sure he’s occupied, I look back at Sal and Dante. I know Dante has enough sense not to say anything he shouldn’t in this house, but I didn’t even realize he and Sal were really acquainted, let alone enough that Sal would want to talk to him alone.
I hustle back with the drinks. Dante flicks a dark-eyed glance at me, nodding in acknowledgement. “Francesca.”
“Dante.” I force a smile, handing Sal his drink. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” he says, offering me a smile that feels normal. I hate the doubts that occasionally plague me. I know Sal, I know he’s sincere, I know he loves me, I know how important I am to him, and yet sometimes old doubts flicker to life. As much as I love Sal, it’s hard to trust him when it comes to my family. With everything else, I trust him unreservedly—with my heart, with my body, with my life. But my family? I’m at maybe 50 percent.
Apparently Dante is even less interested in my company than I am in his, because he shakes Sal’s hand and wanders away with an excuse about finding Colette.
I narrow my eyes at Sal once he’s gone, sipping my wine, but what can I really say?
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
Sal nods. “We’ve crossed paths.”
I lean in to hug him, so I can ask in his ear, “You’re not doing anything stupid, right?”
“I am not,” he verifies.
“I hope not. Things are good right now.”
“I know. I’m just making sure they stay that way.”
I frown, glancing the way Dante went. “He’s not…?”
“Everything is fine,” Sal assures me, taking a sip of his drink.
I drink a little more enthusiastically to try to assuage my own anxieties.
Three glasses of wine and what feels like three days later, people finally start to leave.
Our lawyer stays. Mateo wanders over, telling me we’re going to get the reading of the will out of the way since everyone is here. I guess that explains why Dante stayed.
I’m a bit tipsy, so not in the best shape to go to the reading of the will, but I don’t think I’m the only one. Mateo’s eyes have the gleam of not quite soberness, too. I didn’t think today would be hard on him in any respect, so I’m a little surprised. His words from the funeral earlier come back to me, and I wonder if he feels a little like he’s at his own funeral. I can’t imagine he thinks it would be the same. Even if he makes people hate him sometimes, he still makes us love him sometimes, too.
The will is mostly unsurprising—which is a surprise in and of itself. Dad was a real shit-starter, so we expected several landmines, but as the will is read, he simply doles out money to each one of his children—including me. I’m really pleased when I see how much I’m getting.
Grabbing Sal’s arm, I tell him, “I can buy our suburban oasis myself.”
Sal rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to use your inheritance to buy a house. I’ll buy our house.
The only person who hasn’t been left a dime so far is Mateo. He’s sitting behind his desk, drinking from his own decanter now, apparently enjoying the show.
Our lawyer is a great guy—he’s funny and smart, and if not for him being completely gay, I would’ve had a massive crush on him the first time I met him. But now he’s anxious, licking his lips and clearing his throat, glancing at Mateo as he eyeballs a portion of the will.
“Was I disinherited?” Mateo asks, good-naturedly.
The poor lawyer is so uncomfortable right now.
Since he’s a little drunk, he looks over at Meg and calls, “We might have to slightly downgrade our lifestyle.”
Meg shrugs. “For richer or poorer and all that jazz.”
I don’t really understand the joke. Mateo is the eldest Morelli male; there’s no question everything is his.
Our poor lawyer clears his throat again, frowning and adjusting his glasses as he reads over the portion of the will he’s clearly already read, trying to buy time.
He reads off a boring, technical sounding paragraph and the address of the mansion, then he stops and approaches Mateo’s desk.
“I don’t think this is how will readings usually work,” Sal remarks, leaning over to commiserate with me.
“Would you like to give Mateo bad news?”
“How bad could it possibly be? Your family’s all about tradition. This is in the bag, isn’t it?”
“I would think so.”
Mateo leans back in his chair and laughs harder than I’ve ever seen him laugh before. We all wait, completely confused, then he gestures with his hand and adds, “Go on, tell him.”
Then, inexplicably, the lawyer goes on to tell Adrian that subject to a DNA test the home and residuary estate will belong to him as the eldest Morelli heir. In that case, apparently, Mateo is completely disinherited.