Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“I stole your fiancé,” I state, staring at her point-blank.

Turning back to me with a sigh, she grabs my shoulders to stare me down. “Firstly, let’s be real here, he was yours first. You guys started your whole weird-ass thing before I swept in with all my awesomeness and turned his head for a minute. Secondly, you didn’t steal him, I gave him up voluntarily. It wasn’t fun anymore and I would’ve ended up getting myself killed if I didn’t bow out. Trust me, selfish reasons. Even if you would’ve stolen him, why in god’s name would I want a man who can be stolen? No thanks. Thirdly, we had a good run and I didn’t exactly emerge from this relationship with nothing. I have beautiful babies and my very own business. Not bad for four years of cushy living. Adrian had to do a lot worse for even longer, and all he got was Elise.”

She releases me and I offer a nod, but I still don’t see how she’s okay with being here. If the roles were reversed and I was the one who gave him up, I would not be able to go dress shopping with her, no matter how much I wanted to. Even my best brave face couldn’t cover up that pain; I would completely ruin the experience for her.

“Mateo’s really going to let you run the piano bar?” I ask, drifting over to a fitted white gown, running my fingers over the lace.

She beams, nodding her head. “He’s giving it to me, free and clear. I’ll own it, I’ll run it—all mine. I’m gonna build my own legitimate empire, just in case your hubby ever gets nailed and my kids aren’t filthy rich anymore. Your assets will freeze; mine won’t. Maybe I’ll even feed your shoe addiction if you ask real nice,” she jokes, winking at me.

I shake my head, marveling at how freaking resilient this woman is. “I would be literally shattered right now. Like, sobbing alone in my room with a half-empty wine bottle in my hand, convinced that half of my soul had been ripped away from me. You’re crazy. I admire you, but I don’t understand you.”

Meg’s eyebrows rise as if in response to a joke I’m not in on. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

I shake my head at her. “I want to cry for you, so you have to be holding something back. Don’t put on a brave face for me if this is hurting you. I can ask Francesca to come to stuff like this with me if I need a girl.”

“This is not my brave face; this is my every day face. Remember, I buried my husband with dry eyes, too,” she says casually. Then, tapping her chest, she adds, “I’ve got a block of ice in here, I swear to god.”

“Your next love is a lucky man,” I remark, lightly.

“Jesus, Mia, I’ve been single for like five minutes. A new man is the last thing on my mind.”

Stealing a glance at her for reaction, I toss out, “You seemed to like Rafe.”

With a patient nod, she says, “Sure, I was attracted to Rafe; he’s hot and I have eyeballs. He’s in Vegas though, and I don’t think I’d want to keep him, anyway. He oozes dominance. I don’t want another dominant man. If I do get involved with someone down the road, I want a docile little puppy-dog man who will follow my lead and never challenge me.”

“That sounds boring as hell.”

Shrugging, she says, “Kickass single mom owner of the piano bar it is, then.”

“We should tell the bridal consultant I’m here to pick out a dress for my wedding to your baby daddy.”

Snapping her fingers, she says, “I should’ve brought a half-empty beer can and a cigarette. We could’ve really sold it.”

I smile, shaking my head at this crazy lady. “Well, I’m really relieved you’re being so cool about this. I felt horrible. I mean, out of my mind with happiness, but then when I wasn’t feeling that, totally horrible.”

Meg smiles faintly, reaching out and running her hand down the bodice of another gown. “I can’t believe he proposed with shoes.”

“Um, he’s a genius.”

“You’re such a shoe whore.”

“You saw the shoes, right? Your lack of emotional reaction to my gorgeous, fairy tale wedding shoes tells me more than anything else you have no soul.”

“I sold it a long time ago. Turns out the devil gives refunds, though. You just have to dangle a pretty enough prize in front of his face.”

I roll my eyes as we move along to the wall of bagged gowns. “Yeah, I’m a real prize.”

“The Morelli men seem to think so. I think you should look at off-the-shoulder.”

My thoughts returning briefly to my time in Vegas. “Vince’s dad sure didn’t. He didn’t like me at all.”