Page 322 of Mario

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One of Victoria's private internet searches. That my son and brother saw. What could it possibly have been to put this look on their faces?

I wait.

The pause lasts so long, I almost snap at them again.

“About pregnancy,” Ricardo finally says.

No one moves. No one breathes.

For one long moment, there is nothing in the room but that word.

Pregnancy.

My son’s eyes shift to me.

My brother’s expression changes as he begins to understand.

I hold their gazes, one after the other.

“Yes,” I say.

Matteo stills.

Ricardo exhales through his nose.

Again, the kitchen is completely silent.

Then Ricardo leans back in his chair, his face shifting from calculation to something much more human.

“Mario.”

Matteo is still looking at me. The color has drained from his face a little, but his eyes are bright in a way that makes my chest tighten.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“She hasn't been to a doctor yet, but yes.”

Very quietly, he says, “Papà.”

It is not an accusation, as I had feared.

It is wonder.

And fear.

And the beginning of something none of us has had time to understand.

Ricardo scrubs a hand over his mouth and looks down at the table.

“Cristo,” he mutters. “A baby.”

I do not answer.

Because if I try to speak too quickly, I do not know what will come out.

Matteo looks toward the stairs, toward the floor above us where Victoria is sleeping.

“Is she all right?”

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