Page 23 of Ruthless Sin
Nonna Rosa comes through the arched doorway carrying a hot plate.
Mila’s plate. The gravy is fresh, still steaming.
She doesn’t look at Mila’s eyes. She walks behind my chair, leans across my shoulder, and sets the china down in front of her as though this has always been her seat.
Nonna’s rough hand brushes my shoulder on her way back to the kitchen.
“Bene fatto, cher.” Well done.
She keeps walking.
Mila doesn’t pick up her fork.
Her fingers stay locked into my linen.
Renzo looks across at Marco. “What time were you home last night.”
“Three.”
“Three from where.”
“You don’t want to know.”
Renzo’s mouth twitches at the corner. “It’s Linda again, isn’t it.”
“It is not Linda.”
“It’s Linda.”
Izzy laughs. Cassia joins her. Giada lets her shoulders drop the inch they have been holding up since the front door opened. Dante drinks his wine, his eyes tracking the room.
The conversation is moving.
Mila doesn’t laugh.
Her eyes stay on her plate. She is using her left hand finally, picking up the bread slowly and tearing off a piece.
She hides each piece behind her fingers before she takes a bite.
Her right hand does not shift from my sleeve.
The fabric of my shirt is thin. Her pulse comes straight through the linen.
The muscle at her throat moves.
So does mine.
Her breath is slow and steady.
She picks up the meat with her fork, takes a bite, and chews. Takes another.
She has put weight back on. The cheekbone that used to cut like a blade is softer. The wrist locked onto my sleeve is not the frail bone that came out of the basement.
Until tonight, I have been counting those inches as her recovery.
That is not what I am counting them as right now.
Don’t.
