“No, she’s a Romano, silly. She’s staying alone.” Mom dragged out her last word for extra emphasis. “You’re staying in the guest room with Alessandro.”
“Like hell I am,” I grumbled, feeling like a teenager again being back in this house.
“I put bunk beds in there, you know, in case anyone ever gives me grandkids one day.” For whatever reason, Mom’s Italian accent always became ten times thicker whenever talking about babies.
“Good luck with that, Ma.” Izzy suppressed a chuckle with the back of her hand, and Mom elbowed her in the side.
“Well, there will certainly be no baby making happening while we’re all in this house the next few days, which is why Pablo, whenever he gets here, is staying out in the pool house,” Mom went on, pointing a finger Izzy’s way while closing an eye.
“Pablo?” I held up a hand, shooting my sister a confused look. “Like, as in Picasso?” I couldn’t help but tease.
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Don’t start. Alessandro has already spent an hour giving me hell, and Constantine’s been abnormally silent, even for him, which speaks volumes. So not you, too.” She looked at Maria as if she’d assist her in the boyfriend department. “He is an artist, though.”
“Oh, fuck me. This is too good.” I slapped a hand to my chest, not realizing how much I needed the comic relief with so much shit going on.
“Watch your mouth. I’ll still wash it out with soap,” Mom warned, holding her finger in front of my face, brows stitched together, but there was humor in her eyes and a tremble of laughter she fought back.
“Yeah,” Izzy said, eyes on Maria. “She totally did that. And God help us if we took the Lord’s name in vain as kids.”
Mom snatched Maria’s bag from the floor. “Why don’t I show you to your room now. Give you a chance to freshen up. Although, I have to say, you look rosy and quite fresh already.”
I snuck a look at Maria, my tongue peeking between my lips at why this woman was probably so “fresh.” My tongue and the orgasm I gave her.
Maria blushed, reading my thoughts, then gave my mom her attention. “Thank you again for having me. I needed to get away, and I guess Enzo did, too.” Ah, her voice faltered there a bit, and her “I guess” had Mom peering at me.
I surrendered my palms in the air, doing my best to give her my puppy dog eyes, since I was her youngest son and Alessandro claimed she always had a soft spot for me.
“And you’re just friends?” Mom asked, eyes sharp on me as she attempted to channel my thoughts.
I wished more than anything we were in New York for any other reason than we were, but facts were facts.
“Of course,” I lied before Maria could, because I was much better at it than she was.
Mom had her back to Maria as she mouthed, “Romano,” to me, as if I needed the reminder that my parents made some sort of “protection” and “no breaking hearts” deal with Maria’s parents that included none of us Costas going near Maria or Natalia.
“Oh, one more thing you should know before I walk Maria to her room,” Mom said, her eyes narrowing on me as if she were about to level me with something heavy. “I finally redid Bianca’s bedroom. I turned it into a library. Wall-to-wall books. The french doors open to the water. She’d love it.” She half smiled. “They’re all of her books, too.”
Maria’s hand went to her heart, and her eyes fell to the marble floors beneath us. Yeah, I was on the same agonizing page.
And for some reason, I only just now realized Izzy was wearing a shirt Bianca would’ve loved that said: BOOKMARKS ARE FOR QUITTERS in glittery metallic lettering. Izzy lowered her gaze to her shirt and, based on the hint of red on her bronzed cheeks, I had to wonder if it’d been Bianca’s top. It looked like it’d been washed a hundred times already. But given my sister’s ripped high-waisted jeans, hair in a messy bun, and unlaced Doc Martens, maybe “messy” was trendy? Hell if I knew what was in style.
“Well, how about we go to your room now,” Mom suggested to Maria, as if realizing Izzy and I needed a second to catch up alone. “Shall we?”
Unsure how to process pretty much anything, I gave Maria a stupid wave before shoving my hands into my slacks’ pockets.
“How long have you two been sleeping together?” Izzy asked once it was just us, and she folded her arms and scrutinized me with a hard look. “She’s too young for you.”