Page 87 of Mafia King
“I thought you were in Monaco,” I say.
“Ugh! Don’t get me started on my father’s business.”
Anette comes up to us, clapping her phone closed. “Are you coming? I have to go today or the ribbon won’t be here in time. Is that Armando?” She waves him over.
I never wanted or needed party supplies. The birthday dinner will be like any other except for a cake, which isn’t a big deal, but why is Anette in such a rush for a wedding that may not happen?
“How long will the ribbon take?” I ask to make conversation.
“Paola’s giving me agita. Now-now-now. Everything now. She called me at two this morning—from her lunch.”
I’m getting the feeling the wedding isn’t being called off at all. My heart pounds like a drum. I want to run to my husband and choke him first and ask questions later, but I can’t. I have to breathe. I don’t have the whole story.
“Do you have time for coffee?” I ask Scarlett.
“Well, duh. Yeah.”
“Lorenzo closes at four,” Anette says.
“Oh, I’m so rude. Aunt Anette, this is my friend Scarlett from school. Scarlett, you met Santino. This is his aunt.”
They exchange greetings, and I realize the pregnancy test is at the bottom of the bag, totally visible pressing against the thin white plastic.
I have to get out of here.
“So tell Lorenzo I’d love to come by another time, okay?” I kiss Anette before she has a moment to object.
I pull Scarlett into the street, toward the Leaky Bean, sure Armando’s hot on our heels, trying to look inconspicuous.
“Who’s the hot guy following us?” Scarlett whispers.
“He’s really nice. But no.”
“Is he your bodyguard or something?”
“Kind of.”
“I knew it!”
We enter the coffee shop, where a duet of acoustic guitarists strum a song with unremarkable lyrics, and I go right for the counter and order for Scarlett first.
“Green tea, and double espresso shot with lemon.”
The cashier blinks once, tilts her head just enough for one red braid to slip behind her shoulder, and smiles. “We don’t have lemon.”
Of course they don’t. I’m on the wrong side of the river to drink lemon with my espresso.
“That’s fine.” I catch sight of Armando at the door. “Make it two.”
She gives me a number on a stick, and Scarlett and I sit at a table with the number between us.
“Don’t think I didn’t see it,” she says. “You’re knocked up?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need the test.” I put the bag on my lap and shift the box to the middle.
“Are you excited? Or… too soon?”
Normal question in the normal world. No one else will ask me that.
