Sal nods. “We’re too afraid to test out the theory that she’s wrong.”
“She’d probably die just out of spite,” Francesca states.
My eyebrows rose a couple conversation points ago. “Jump back to that baby part. Are you pregnant?”
Francesca flushes, but shakes her head. “Not yet, but we’re thinking soon.”
Sal points his fork at me. “Your fault. Dom has given her some fierce baby fever.”
“He’s so cute I could die,” Francesca states.
Carly nods her understanding. “He really is. We’re biased, but he is.”
Cherie frowns, confused. “Wait, how is that Vince’s fault? Mateo’s son, Dom?”
I grimace at the realization that Cherie doesn’t know Dom is mine. I guess that makes sense. Mia said when I took her last year that she and Cherie didn’t talk much anymore. She told me Cherie moved out of the mansion to get away from Mateo after he fake-killed me. I assumed Maria kept her up-to-speed with the goings on, but I guess she didn’t tell her this one.
Great. Not looking forward to that conversation. How do I explain to my sister, a product of rape, that I did the same thing as the bastard father she’s always hated?
Carly bails me out, brightly telling Cherie, “We’re going to get a big house with a couple guest bedrooms so you and Laurel can both come for holidays if you want. You should bring your mom.”
Cherie rolls her eyes. “My mom doesn’t get holidays.”
“What? That’s crazy. Why not?”
“Mateo,” Cherie says, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
“She also doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” I tell her. “Next year if we have a house and we invite them, maybe he’ll let her.”
Carly nods, looking up at Mia. “I’m gonna ask Mia.”
“Mia doesn’t make the rules, she just slavishly follows Mateo’s,” Cherie states.
“I don’t think it’s that simple. I’m not going to say much about it though; last time I called him on his shit on camera, he ruined my life,” Carly replies.
Chapter Thirty One
Vince
We all eat until we’re stuffed, then get double dessert since it’s Easter. Mia gets up and helps serve, handing out dove-shaped Easter cake to this side of the table while Maria serves the other side. The other maid follows, refilling all the wine glasses so we can all continue to tolerate one another.
“I can’t possibly eat another bite,” Laurel states, looking down at her sweet bread.
Carly leans forward and looks over at her. “I know, I want to desperately, but my stomach is too full. I think this is what failure feels like.”
I smirk over at Carly. “They haven’t even served the chocolate eggs yet.”
“Not more chocolate eggs,” Sal says, groaning. “Easter with both families is too much.”
Francesca accepts her plate with a big grin. “Speak for yourself. Give me all the dessert.”
Some of us know our limits and give up, while others attempt dessert at the risk of feeling utterly miserable. On this side of the table, we all finish our wine.
Once the meal is over, we all retire to one of the larger sitting rooms. There’s more alcohol, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not. Those of us who dislike one another may start to get ornery. On the other hand, those of us who do like each other may start liking each other a little too much.
Carly stopped obsessing over Rafe and Laurel so much once her plan backfired earlier, but with the alcohol flowing through their veins, Laurel is cuddly and Rafe keeps her close. He sits on the couch with Mateo so they can talk and Mia sits in the floor at Mateo’s feet, playing with Dom and Roman.
Meg is into the wine. I consider going over and talking to her. I still have to tell Mateo what she did either way, but I’d like to see if she still seems open to causing trouble for Mia.
Patting Carly’s leg, I tell her, “I’ll be back.”
This is the first time in years I’ve seen Meg not pregnant. She sips her wine and surveys the room, pausing when her gaze lands on mine and she sees me approaching.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Meg remarks.
I smirk faintly. “Having a good Easter?”
“Best yet,” she offers, brightly. Her gaze flickers past me toward where Mateo is sitting, next to Rafe. I don’t know whether she doesn’t want to be caught talking to me, or she shares my struggle and sometimes can’t control where her gaze goes.
She feels off, but it could just be that we haven’t seen each other in so long. “Don’t want to be caught talking to me?”
Meg scoffs, bringing her gaze back to me. “Just talk loudly so Mateo can listen to it later and make sure we’re not up to anything sinister.” She turns left then right, looking everywhere she expects a camera to be. “Innocent conversation. Just saying hi.”