by Sam Mariano
“I was,” I say, doing my best not to look as awkward as I feel.
“I wanted to ask you how your first week at the bakery was. I have some business to attend to with Adrian first, but we’ll catch up at dinner.” His eyes rake over me one last time, then he turns and ushers Adrian into his office.
Drooping as I roll my eyes at myself, I make a note to order a cover-up before I go to the pool again.
---
“You can take out the bread.”
I grab both bread baskets and make my way for the dining room. It’s Sunday, so the table is at capacity tonight with family members I’ve met, but still don’t know. At least half the time I’m not involved with the conversation anyway, so it doesn’t matter. As Cherie told it to me, I was concerned the family would be more chauvinistic, but as it is, Sunday night dinners just seem like a nostalgic callback to old traditions. I won’t begrudge them that.
When I get back to the kitchen, I grab Vince’s salad. Before I make it out the door, Cherie calls, “Take Mateo’s, too.”
With an “oh” of surprise, I turn back. “I haven’t the last two weeks,” I point out.
She’s stirring with impressive focus, but her gaze flits to mine, wary. “His request.”
Frowning slightly, I ask, “Am I bringing him dinner, too?”
“Yep.”
That’s odd, but I don’t argue. While the women do the cooking and serving, the “married” women only serve their own husbands. At least, that’s how it’s been the last two weeks. The unmarried women deliver the food to the unattached men, usually Francesca since she’s quickest. While I’m obviously not married to Vince, for the past two weeks, I have been considered his spouse in that respect.
It probably doesn’t matter. Less work for Francesca if I pitch in—I thought that at the beginning anyway. I guess I get the logic of only serving one “master,” but… oh, who am I kidding? It’s stupid.
I give up the thought, sprinkling some croutons over a second plate and resuming my path to the dining room. Once I get there and see both men assembled at the table, flanking me, since I’m still in the same seat I sat in that first night, I wonder if order matters. I guess since Vince is mine he should get served first? But Mateo is the head of the family…. I need an informational pamphlet on the etiquette of this shit if they’re going to complicate things.
I go to Vince first, placing his salad down and dropping a little kiss on his cheek. He smiles up at me, until he sees the second plate. A little crease forms between his eyebrows as I step over to drop off Mateo’s.
“Thank you, Mia,” Mateo says.
“Yep.”
Before I can move away, he catches me by the wrist, just a light grasp to get my attention. “Can you bring out dried cranberries for mine?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry,” I say, off-handedly.
“It’s okay,” he says easily, dropping my wrist and picking up his fork. “Now you’ll know for next time.”
I blink, at a loss. I glance at Vince, seeing all the light has drained from his face. “She’s serving you now?”
“And you,” Mateo says, like it’s a favor.
“Good thing I have two hands,” I say lightly, not wanting this to be a whole thing.
Mateo smirks, but doesn’t comment.
Skittering back to the kitchen, I enter with a pronounced, “Ugh.” I have to locate the cranberries for Mateo’s salad, and I’m not looking forward to Vince being in a pissy mood.
Deciding to get confirmation, I say to Francesca, “It doesn’t matter that I’m serving both of them, right?”
Appearing not to know what I’m talking about, she murmurs, “Huh?”
“The stupid dinner thing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “They’ve only had me serve Vince before, but now Mateo’s requested I serve him, too. Vince seems annoyed, but it doesn’t matter, right?”
Looking tired, she sighs. “Mateo’s stirring the pot. Just stay focused on Vince. Quietly reassure him, you’ll be fine.”
I’d been hoping for simple agreement, so that’s annoying. “I mean, you serve half the table; what’s the difference?”
“The difference is I’m not spoken for.”
I roll my eyes, in this instance inconvenienced by their eccentricities. Cherie comes up beside me, handing me a little dish of dried cranberries.
“You forgot these for Mateo’s salad,” she informs me.
“I had no idea he wanted them,” I point out, taking the cranberries.
“Francesca took out the last batch, so you can take out your salad and have a seat now.”
When I make it back to the table, Vince still seems surly and Mateo, as usual, is utterly unconcerned. He does make a point to catch up with me, as he said he would, asking how I’m liking the bakery, if I get along with the other employees. I assure him everything is fine, but by the time the salads are finished, I realize Mateo and I have been talking to each other exclusively, and Vince has moved on from wine to something stronger. I was supposed to be the one getting his drink, and I realize I didn’t even notice he’d gotten up.
Shit.
Before I get up to clear our plates away, I offer Vince a private little smile and lightly squeeze his thigh.
He ignores me completely.
Unsettled, I stand and collect the plates from my place, Vince’s and Mateo’s, making a point not to actually interact with Mateo. I’m the first woman back in the kitchen, aside from Cherie, who doesn’t eat dinner with the family.
“Don’t make me go back out there,” I whine, turning on the faucet to rinse off the dishes before setting them in the sink.
“Vince mad?” she guesses.
I nod, rolling my eyes. “Like it’s worth getting mad over.”
Instead of agreeing with me, she shrugs. “Mateo doesn’t have a reputation for keeping his hands to himself.”
That’s a little insulting, and I can’t help my response being a little short. “Well, I do. I’ve never given Vince a reason not to trust me. He shouldn’t let Mateo get to him like that. He makes it so easy. All the man has to do is smile at me, and Vince goes cold.”
Still not taking my side, Cherie shakes her head. “You don’t know Mateo, Mia. Vince does. I understand that you think it’s annoying, but you’re not the one he doesn’t trust.”
“Sure seems that way. It takes two to tango, Cherie.”
Looking at me more seriously than I expect, she responds, “No, it doesn’t.”
I don’t understand that logic and I feel a little hollow inside in regards to this conversation—it’s pointless and insulting. Serving the man dinner—and not even because I want to—is not a legitimate reason for anyone to think Mateo is… what, interested in me? Or that I would even be open to his attentions, if he offered them. Sure, from a physical standpoint he’s an attractive man, and his unchecked power is… interesting. But he’s far too old for me, and Vince’s cousin. And also? I have Vince.
Since Cherie isn’t the ally I expected, I drop it and start dishing out three plates of food. “Does Mateo have any main dish special requests?” I ask, a touch sarcastically.
“Just make sure he has parmesan,” she says, her back to me.
Chapter Nineteen
Vince is peeling off his dress shirt from dinner when I come in.
My first instinct is to duck back out of the bedroom to give him privacy, but I guess that’s dumb. We’re having sex, we’re living in the same space—we’re past that.
I subtly clear my throat anyway, just so he knows I’m here.
He glances back over his shoulder just long enough to acknowledge me, then goes to his closet and moves a few hangers before settling on a T-shirt.
“We should watch a movie,” I tell him. “I’m too stuffed for popcorn, but I think a movie night could be just what the doctor ordered.”
His stony silence stretches on, indicating he isn’t going to answer me.
I slip my shoes off, using my foot to scoot them
over beside the bedside table. “Or we could do something else, if you want.”
“You can do whatever you want,” he finally says, brushing invisible lint off his sleeve. “I’m going to Joey’s.”
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I consider for a moment before I say, “You know I didn’t do anything wrong, right? He told Cherie he wanted me to bring him his food. It’s not like I could say no to him.”
Spinning on his heel to point at me, he says, “Exactly.”
Shrugging helplessly, I say, “That’s what you’re mad about? That I had no choice so I did this stupid little thing that doesn’t matter to anyone? It’s crazy. This is an insane thing to care about.”
My logic does nothing to calm him. “It’s not about the dinner. You’re not that naïve, Mia, come on.”
Scowling, I push up off the bed and walk around the bed so I’m closer to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not here all the time,” he says, eyebrows rising. “How do I know what’s going on when I’m not here?”
My mouth opens and closes four different times, but I’m fucking flabbergasted, and nothing will come out.
Finally I throw my hands up in the air. “You’re being crazy!”
“I’m being realistic,” he mutters. “He’ll come between us, just watch.”
“That’s so stupid,” I state. “And even if he wanted to, which, I want to reiterate, is insane, he can’t come between us if we don’t let him. Period. It’s impossible. He’s not God, he can’t make us stop caring about each other.”
With a bitter, knowing nod, he says, “No?”
I take a breath, telling myself to simmer down. Yes, Vince is being unreasonable, but escalating the situation won’t make it any better. After a moment, I manage calmly, “There is nothing going on when you’re not here. It’s insulting that you would even wonder.”
“Then why are you giving him his dinner?”
Throwing my arms in the air again, I walk past him to the dresser. Grabbing a hair clip, I yank the fancy pins out and toss my hair up instead. “Okay. We’re back to this. Your cousin is not interested in me, Vince. And I’m damn sure not interested in him.”
“You see the way he looks at you,” Vince counters.
“Like he wants to piss you off? Yeah, I see those looks. I think he likes to piss everyone off.”
“Adrian asked me about it,” Vince states, like he’s caught me.
I consider the moment earlier when I was in my bikini and Mateo was looking me over in front of him. I wouldn’t have thought that was worth reporting back to Vince—any man would’ve looked, it didn’t mean anything. Maybe I like Adrian a little less.
All I can do is shake my head. “Whatever. I’m not going to keep defending myself. I think this is stupid, I don’t know why you’re being so weird about all this, but I wish you’d stop. Stop giving him so much power over you. If he didn’t get such a rise out of you every time, he’d probably stop doing stupid little shit to piss you off.”
“It’d be nice if you were on my side about this,” he states.
“If your side and mine were the same, I would be, but it kind of feels like I’m being blamed for something, and I haven’t done anything wrong. If you’re accusing me of any sort of impropriety with Mateo, you’re completely mistaken. I’ve barely spoken to the man. Yes, I try to play nice, when he was friendly at dinner, I talked to him—I have this weird feeling that pissing him off for no reason isn’t the best idea.”
Shaking his head, Vince says, “Mateo isn’t friendly, Mia. He’s manipulative. I still don’t think you get it.”
“I’m really tired of being warned about him.”
“And I’m really tired of you not getting it,” Vince states.
“I must be impossibly naïve,” I return, fed up with this conversation. “Since he said he wouldn’t hurt me and you and I could be together, he hasn’t hurt me and we have been together. He gave my mother thousands of dollars and moved me into a mansion with my boyfriend. He’s been so atrocious to me that he bought me some things to help me fit in, and has conversations with me sometimes at the dinner table. Holy shit, what a monster.”
Making a face somewhere between anger and disgust, he says, “Whatever, I’m out of here.”
I sigh, turning toward him as he heads for the door. “Are you coming home tonight?”
“Why do you care?” he tosses back.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I say, but he’s already slamming the door shut behind him.
---
Since I’m on my own with no homework and no company, I make my way to the library. It’s still kind of crazy to me that there’s an actual library in this house, but there is, it’s huge, and there’s this comfy couch that really tops off the whole experience.
I can’t find anything to read though. You wouldn’t think more choices would be a bad thing, but there are too many and I can’t decide.
The door creaks open as I peruse a shelf, so I glance back to see who’s there.
Mateo ducks his head in, not seeing me. “Anyone in here?”
Clearing my throat, I take a step toward him. “Yeah, I am.”
“Oh, okay. I was just going to shut the light off, thought someone left it on.”
“Nope,” I say, offering a slight smile. “Just looking for something to read.”
He nods, stepping inside. “Vince go to bed already?”
I shake my head, glancing at the floor. “He left. Went with Joey or something.”
Gesturing to the area near me, he says, “Mind if I come in for a minute?”
“Not at all,” I say, stepping back to make room, which is absurd, since there’s nothing but room. I just feel a little awkward after everything with Vince, and I’ve never actually been alone with Mateo, but I think I’ve been warned against it 850 times.
Nodding toward the book in my hand as he approaches, he asks, “What are you reading?”
“Oh, nothing yet,” I say, glancing down at the old, illustrated copy of Pinocchio. “I was just looking. You have some really cool books in here.”
“Yeah, I think there’s a little bit of everything,” he agrees, glancing around at the walls of bookshelves.
“Well, not everything, but pretty much.”
“What’s missing?” he asks, frowning slightly.
I blush, feeling a bit stupid. “Uh, I was looking to see if you had any graphic novels. There aren’t any.”
Now amusement dances in his eyes. “Graphic novels? Like, comic books? Heroes and villains? Good winning out over evil?”
I shrug. “They’re fun. Maybe not great literature, but I got sort of hooked on them last summer. The air wasn’t working at our house and we didn’t have any money to do anything, so I’d take the kids to the library. They could pick out books to read, there was a little play area, and I just sort of stumbled upon the graphic novels. They’re quicker to read than a book, less wordy, so it was a nice way to pass a little time. Some of them are really interesting. You shouldn’t knock them until you try them,” I advise him.
“My apologies to the graphic novel community,” he says solemnly. “Which one’s your favorite?”
“Oh, I couldn’t choose,” I say, shaking my head.
“Well, why don’t you make me a list. I’ll order some for you—you know, to rectify this gross oversight in my library.”
I can’t help smiling. “I will. Then you can read them, and decide for yourself whether or not they’re stupid.”
“I do enjoy a good hero versus villain showdown,” he says, winking.
“So do I,” I admit. “In books, not so much… life, but…”
“Hey, now you’ve got firsthand experience, maybe you can write your own graphic novel,” he jokes.
“Oh, no, I’m not a writer. It takes me like 23 years to write a 3 page paper, double spaced. Also, I’m not sure dressing up for dinners and lounging by the pool in a 28,000 square foot mansion nec
essarily qualifies me to…you know, show the ugly underbelly of humanity.”
His eyes dance with amusement, and I wonder how I ever thought them cold. There’s definitely warmth there. “Give it time; you’re still new to the family.”
“Oh, I know, I’m always being warned about the horrors that await me,” I say unthinkingly, rolling my eyes. “What next, will I be forced to go on a cruise to the Bahamas?”
He maintains his smile, but glances down. “By whom?”
I look back at him, raising my eyebrows questioningly. “By whom will I be forced to go on the cruise?”
“By whom are you warned?” he specifies.
“Oh.” I pause, flushing, realizing that had been a dumb thing to say, given all the warnings have been about him. “Uh, I mean… I didn’t mean specifically, just…” I trail off awkwardly, hoping he’ll save me here, but he just watches me scramble. “Cherie was telling me how you guys—this family—the—how, like, you’re pretty traditional, and not, you know, feminist-friendly.”
I’m already feeling like an assbag for offering up her name, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to throw Vince under the bus, and I couldn’t really say, “Well, everybody. Everybody says that.”
Nodding his head, he said, “Cherie’s not a big fan of my family. I don’t blame her, her father certainly isn’t the best example, and given that, I’m sure her mother feels the same way, but I wouldn’t take her opinion to heart. We are traditional, but tradition isn’t always a bad thing.”
“Her father?” I ask, interest piqued. As long as I’ve wondered about Cherie, I still don’t know much about her. “I haven’t met him. Does he live here, too?”
“Ben?” he asks, eyebrows rising. “No. No, he moved to Vegas years ago, when Vince’s mom died.”
“Vince’s mom?”
“His wife?”
I give up and frown. “What? Sorry, I’m not following. I don’t know anything about Vince’s dad either.”
“Oh, Vince and Cherie have the same father,” he explains.
My jaw drops open. “They’re… siblings?”