Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Love at first sight,” Dario goes on. “It’s a wonderful thing.”
“It would be.”
Dario takes a sip of his whiskey. “True.”
We sit in the dining room, Dario and I facing each other, Rosa to my left and Emma to my right. When Emma brings a spoonful of soup to her mouth and blows on it, I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose. Does she know how beautiful she looks with her lips pursed? She is so sexy when her cleavage shifts as she leans over her bowl. How cute with her curly hair tucked behind her ear, making me want to stroke it with my hand and tuck more of her hair away.
“This is delicious,” she says. “Thank you, and please thank the chef for me, too.”
“I will,” I say huskily, forcing myself to look away.
We haven’t made eye contact yet. I intend to keep it like that. I couldn’t handle looking into her eyes and seeing doubt there—judgment for pushing us so fast.
“So, Dad, you have to give us your opinion of Emma.”
Dario drops his spoon into his soup. My mind flashes back to when he was a kid, dropping his plastic baby spoon in his food bowl, Mom laughing and beaming at Dad.
“Dammit,” Dario mutters, wiping at his shirt.
“So clumsy, Uncle Dee.”
“Butter fingers, that’s me.”
“So?” Rosa says, turning back to me.
“My opinion?” I whisper, my heart pounding.
My daughter is forcing me to lie to her, but that’s unfair. She’s not forcing anything.
I’ve made the decision now to tell her. I’ve decided to keep hungering for her friend.
“Her accounting work,” Rosa goes on.
“She’s excellent,” I say quickly. “Very good. Very clever. She’s going places.”
Dario shakes his head subtly at me. Too much, bro.
Rosa beams, smiling at Emma. “Hear that? What an endorsement.”
Emma smiles, but there’s a shakiness to it. I wish we were alone, so I had a chance to read her. If we were alone, I couldn’t stop myself from doing everything else. I’d bend her over again, strip her, and reveal that round, juicy-as-fuck ass. I’d spank her repeatedly so that her thickness ripples for me in that captivating fashion, drawing me in, making it impossible to experience guilt, at least while we’re together. Then I’d kiss her, tasting those perfect lips. The texture of them, the desire.
“Dad?” Rosa is saying.
“Hmm?” I reply.
“I was saying when the stuff is over.”
I’m pretty sure stuff means war.
“We can take a trip, all of us. Somewhere nice.”
“That would be great.”
It really would, I reflect as we eat. It would be great if Rosa, Dario, Emma, and I could go away together. Rosa would know about Emma and me, somehow condoning it and approving or maybe more encouraging and supporting. She’d also be eagerly anticipating the day Emma gets pregnant. She’d want to experience that love.
“How’s work, anyway?” Rosa asks.
Dario looks at me, subtly shaking his head again. He doesn’t want to mention the showdown with Fyodor, the attempted assassination. The gunman is in custody, either pretending to be or is insane. He’s telling the police he tried to kill Dario because the barking of his dead dog told him to. I doubt the cops will get anything. Fyodor only sacrifices men he can afford to lose.
“Fine,” I say. “What about you? How’s college?”
“Good. I get to write a poem for my next assignment. I was thinking of doing one about Mom.”
Dario’s hand trembles as he pours himself another drink. He’s been slugging them back tonight, but he was almost murdered. I should give the kid a break.
“That’s an excellent idea,” I say, forcing warmth into my voice, but not too much. I never want Emma to think she has to compare herself to Angelica. I never want her to believe she’s lesser somehow.
“Would you read the first draft, Dad?” Rosa asks. “Let me know what you think?”
I’ve done a terrible thing, letting this go on for so long. I don’t understand how I can explain to my daughter that I never loved her mother. I’ve got a goddamn shrine in my house. I thought it was good for Rosa. It was another way to cherish her mother’s memory, and there was the mob business. Initially, I could use Angelica’s death as a tool to gain power. They assassinated my wife, the mother of my child.
Dario pushes back in his chair, his face pale. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “E-excuse me.” He runs from the room.
Rosa frowns, watching him go. “Do you think we should check on him?”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say.
“Dad, he might be ill. I’m going to check.”
Oh, God, no. This is the worst thing she could do. She stands and leaves the room, her footsteps receding to the other side of the apartment. I look at Emma, and she looks at me. We devour each other in the space of seconds, silently.