Until then, all I can do is exert as much influence as possible.
It helps that my brother’s afraid of me.
“I want final approval about this Irishman. I’ll tell Lili for you, but if I don’t like him, the deal is off.”
Gianni runs his tongue over his teeth. He’s probably counting silently to ten in his head or cursing, wishing he had a sister more like his best friend Leo’s. A docile, dim bulb of a girl with no opinions about anything except what her father and brother tell her to have.
Instead, he’s got me.
A woman with a bad reputation, a chip on her shoulder, and a sword for a tongue.
“Agreed?” I prod.
“You won’t think anyone is good enough for her,” he counters. “We’ll be having this same conversation over and over again for the next twenty years.”
“Untrue. I can be reasonable.”
He lifts a brow.
“Don’t make that face. I simply want to make sure he’s not a monster.”
“I assure you, he’s not a monster.”
“This would be a good time to point out that you liked Enzo, too.”
Gianni winces. “Enzo was a sociopath. They’re very good at pretending to be charming.”
“Exactly. Which is why I need to have the final word. If anyone can spot a psycho a mile away, it’s me.”
He doesn’t have an argument for that. How could he? It’s the truth.
I earned my monster radar the hard way.
Gianni gazes at me with an unreadable expression for so long, I think I’ve lost. But then he surprises me by saying, “Fine. If you don’t like the Irishman, the marriage is off.”
Relief floods my body. I exhale, nodding.
“But you still have to tell Lili.”
At the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel of the circular driveway outside, Gianni and I turn to the windows. Sounding amused, he says, “And I think you better do it quick.”
My ears burn with anger. “You’re a shitty father, Gi.”
He shrugs. “It runs in the family.”
I turn and walk out before I grab the letter opener off his desk and do something I’ll regret.
I take the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. At the landing, I make a sharp left and head down another corridor, the opposite direction from my bedroom. Grim ancestral oil portraits framed in gold glower down at me as I pass.
Ignoring the hand-painted frescoes on the walls, Venetian glass chandeliers sparkling overheard, and a startled housekeeper dusting the leaves of a potted palm, I stride quickly toward the room at the end.
I don’t have any time to waste.
I stop in front of the heavy oak door and pound my fist on it. “Lili? It’s me. Can I come in? I have to talk to you.”
“Just a second, zia! I’ll…I’ll be right there!”
From behind the door, Lili’s voice sounds faint. And panicked.
Maybe she already knows. She’s very clever for someone who’s been sheltered her entire life.
I hear some scuffling noises, then an odd thud. Concerned, I lean closer to the door. “Lili? You okay?”
A few long, silent moments later, my niece pulls open the door.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her long dark hair is disheveled. The white T-shirt she’s wearing is wrinkled and untucked on one side from a pair of black yoga pants. She’s barefoot and looks disoriented, as if she just woke up.
Which would be strange, considering it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.
“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”
“Um…working out.” She points over her shoulder to the television on the wall on the opposite side of the room. On the screen, a woman in hot pink spandex is doing jumping jacks. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.”
She’s about to close the door, but I push past her into the room. “This can’t wait.”
Like the rest of the house, her bedroom is overdecorated. There’s not a spare inch of space where the gaze can rest that isn’t bedeviled with velvet, gilt, mirrors, ornate wallpaper, elaborately carved wood, or stained glass.
At least in here, the colors are muted pinks and greens. My bedroom is all black, burgundy, and gold. It looks like a bordello inside the Vatican.
Gianni’s late wife was big on the Catholic church school of interior design. She died giving birth to Lili, but her unique taste in décor lives on.
I grab the remote control from the top of the dresser, click a button to mute the TV, then turn back to Lili. She stands in the same spot, looking nervous.
“What’s up, zia?”
“There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” When she starts to wring her hands, I add, “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Oh God. Who died? Is it Nonna?”
“Your grandmother’s fine. She made a deal with the devil to live long enough to annoy the rest of us to death first. Now listen, we don’t have much time.” I walk closer to her, take her hands in mine, and look her in the eye. “I’m going to tell you something. You won’t like it.”
Her face pales. “Oh shit.”
“Yes. And you know how I feel about you cursing.”
“Judging by the look on your face, I’m going to be cursing a lot more in the next few minutes.”
“You make a good point.”
“Plus, you curse all the time.”
“I don’t want you to turn out like me.”
“Why not? You’re a bad bitch.”
“Exactly.”
“No, zia, being a bad bitch is good.”
“Oh. Thank you. I think. Back to what I need to tell you. Are you ready?”
“No. Tell me anyway.”
I give her hands a reassuring squeeze before letting her have it. “Your father negotiated a marriage contract for you. You’re meeting the man today. As in right now. His car just pulled up.”
Lili falls still. She swallows. Other than that, she has no reaction.
“You took that better than I expected. Brave girl. So that’s the bad news. The good news is that if I don’t approve of his choice, the contract will be canceled.”
She closes her eyes, exhales, and says faintly, “Holy fucking buckets of cat shit.”
“Very creative. Anything else?”
She opens her eyes and stares at me in panic, clutching my hands so hard, it hurts. “I don’t want to get married, zia.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re sane.”
Her voice rises. “No, I mean, I can’t get married!”
She pulls away from me, crossing the room to stand defiantly in front of the big wooden wardrobe near her bed.
The thing is huge, a floor-to-ceiling antique made of shiny carved mahogany. It’s always reminded me of the magical wardrobe from The Chronicles of Narnia that can transport a person to a land of talking animals and mythical creatures.
She props her hands on her hips and declares passionately, “I’d rather die than marry a man I don’t love!”
From inside the wardrobe comes a distinct thud, as if a body just fell to the floor.
Afterward, there’s silence.
I stare at my niece. She stares right back at me, her normally sweet brown eyes on fire with defiance.