by Nicole Fox
She glances up at me with surprise. “Are you upset?” she asks hollowly.
I force back the frustration. “No,” I say. “I’m not upset.”
“I see.” She glances around. “You have guests waiting for you.”
She’s the one person in the world who gets to talk to me that way. The subtle art of dismissal. A trait she picked up from my father.
I just sigh and head for the door. When I check back over my shoulder, she’s still standing by the window. The same distant look in her eyes.
I leave her there and make my way towards the boisterous conversation coming from the main living room that overlooks the lawn.
I’m passing the staircase when I hear a little squeak. I look up in time to see Evie dart back up the stairs, her blonde hair flying behind her.
“Evie!” I call. “I see you.”
Her face pops to the side.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just playing,” she says.
“Where’s Charlotte?”
“Umm… nowhere.”
But she looks behind her when she speaks, giving away Charlotte’s location.
I roll my eyes. “Charlotte, come down here.”
I hear an audible sigh and then she emerges at the top of the staircase. I try to keep my expression blank as she floats down the stairs towards me.
She’s made an effort tonight. I’m used to seeing her in jeans, shorts and t-shirts. Tonight, she’s wearing a simple white dress with thin straps.
It’s got a fitted bodice and a skirt that ends just above her knee. It’s by no means sexy, but somehow, that’s exactly how she looks.
“You called, Master?” she asks sarcastically.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
She’s standing on the second step, which puts her at my eye level. Her blue eyes are bright under the lights, and her expression is a mix of coquettishness and uncertainty.
We’ve both been doing a convoluted fucking dance the last few days, ever since… what happened. It’s easier to just stay out of each other’s way.
“Do I need to curtsy when I meet the guests?” she snips. “Do they prefer ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Grace’?”
“You need to be quiet and watch Evie,” I tell her. “That’s all.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s what I do anyway.”
“You’re not so good at the ‘being quiet’ part.”
She glowers at me. Over her shoulder, Evie’s blonde head is peeping out from around the corner.
“Evie,” I say. “Are you coming down?”
“Do I have to?” she asks.
“Yes, you have to,” I reply, even though a part of me knows it’d just be easier to keep her hidden away.
But I can’t do that and still claim I’m not like my father.
“But… I’m scared,” she admits, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she joins Charlotte on the second step.
“Of what?”
“Of all the people.”
“These people are my family,” I tell her.
I stop short of saying that they’re her family, too. I don’t want to freak the kid out any more than necessary.
Charlotte steps down onto the last step. She leans in a little. “If you’re trying to make her feel at ease, I don’t think that’s the way to do it.”
She follows up that backhanded advice with an impish grin.
“Evie,” I continue, “you have nothing to worry about. I’ll be there the whole time.”
“Again—”
“Stai zitta,” I snap in Italian. The meaning is clear, even if Charlotte doesn’t know the language.
Shut up.
Charlotte grins but she does fall silent. Still, I take her point.
“Charlotte will be with you, too,” I reassure Evie. “The whole time.”
That seems to make an impact. My daughter looks at me as though measuring the strength of my words. Then she glances up at Charlotte.
“Okay,” she finally concedes.
I nod, satisfied. “Good. Now come on.”
I head into the main living room. Three of my aunts are present. Pia and Angela are accompanied by their husbands, Armando and Emesto. Zia Elenora has been flying solo since she lost her husband to cancer a year ago.
My uncle Fabio stands in a corner, nursing a huge mug of beer and being generally anti-social, as per usual.
The cousins are bunched together in various groups.
The younger ones—Dante, Gian, and Alberto—are sprawled and laughing on the lounge chairs. The older crowd—Marcelle, Nicola, Orlando, and Regina—are sitting around the white grand piano with dour expressions.
The French doors are open. Through them, I spy another contingent of cousins chatting out on the patio, along with some of their spouses and children.
Aunt Pia is the first one to notice me as I stride back into the room.
She’s the oldest in the family. Pushing seventy-five now, but her hair is still jet black and her eyes are as sharp and alert as ever.
“Lucio,” she says, gesturing me over. “We’re all waiting to meet the newest addition to the family. Where is she?”
I glance behind my shoulder but Charlotte and Evie are nowhere in sight.
“They’ll be here soon,” I say.
“They?”
“Evie and Charlotte,” I say. “Evie’s nanny.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Pia croons. “Did she come highly recommended? Because you can never be too careful with outside help.”
I have to fight the urge to smirk. “In a manner of speaking,” I say with a private chuckle.
“I must say, Lucio,” Emesto interrupts, coming forward, “we were surprised to hear you’d taken the girl in.”
I favor him with a cursory glance. “And why is that?”
He shrugs. “You don’t seem the type.”
Angela gives her husband a glare and turns to me. “What he means is that you’re so busy all the time,” she explains diplomatically. “We didn’t think you’d have room in your life for a child.”
“Room?” Marcelle interjects, walking forward to join the conversation. “He hasn’t made ‘room.’ He hired a nanny. He probably only sees the kid for half an hour every other day. Am I right, bro?”
Marcelle has always been my least favorite cousin, and for good reason. He’s already on his third wife, and he barely sees the six kids he has. Each of the three businesses he’s launched has burned up Mazzeo Family money—my money—like it’s jet fuel and failed almost instantly.
He is, in other words, a complete leech and a piece of shit.
“I see her every day,” I reply. “And I make as much time for her as I can.”
Not strictly true. But they don’t need to know the particulars.
“You know, there are so many other options you could have explored,” Marcelle blathers on.
“Oh? Like what?” I ask, knowing I’m going to regret asking at all.
“There are tons of rich couples looking to adopt,” he tells me. “You could have placed the kid with one of them.”
“Are you fucking high?” comes another voice.
Everyone turns as Nicola joins the growing circle. The smaller conversations are breaking off and everyone seems to be turning their attention to me.
Apparently, I underestimated their interest in Evie.
“It’s a serious suggestion,” Marcelle replies in a hard voice.
“That makes it worse,” Nicola snaps.
Nicola is only a few months younger than me. We were close as teenagers, but the stresses and structure of my life as the Mazzeo don drove a wedge between us over the years.
Still, I’ve always liked her.
“He’s the fucking don!” Marcelle growls. “A strong don would have packed the kid off somewhere better suited.”
My jaw clenches as I struggle to keep my cool.
“‘A strong don’?” I repeat.
“Are you insinuating something, cousin?”
Marcelle meets my eyes for a second. Then he shrugs. “Do you know how many bastards showed up on your father’s doorstep? And yet, you have no brothers or sisters. Funny how that works.”
“I am not my father,” I say coldly.
“Clearly.”
I draw myself up to my full height and glower down at him.
“Say that again,” I order. “Say it.”
For a second, I wonder if he’s idiotic enough to keep picking this fight. Family or not, I’ll string the motherfucker up by his heels if he pushes me too far.
Eventually, he sighs and turns away. “Never mind,” he mutters.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Now, boys,” Pia says, shooting her son a glare. “I think we all just need to meet the girl.”
“She’ll be here soon,” I snap, turning from all of them.
I move to the bar and pour myself a strong drink. I feel someone at my back, and when I turn, I’m relieved to see it’s Nicola.
She sits down next to me, and pours herself a drink, too.
“Still drinking whiskey?” I say with a quick glance at her glass.
“Reminds me of my dad,” she admits, taking a sip. “Call me sentimental.”
“It’s been a while since we talked,” I say. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy,” she replies. “The magazine has a wider readership now, but I’m looking to expand.”
“Need an investor?”
She smiles. “That’s generous of you, but no.”
“No, as in, you don’t need an investor?”
“No, as in, I don’t want you investing,” she says bluntly.
I chuckle. “Fuck, and I thought you liked me.”
She smiles with amusement. “I love you,” she says, punching me playfully on the arm. “But I want to do this on my own.”
I snort. “I wish everyone in the family shared that sentiment.”
“Has someone already hit you up for money?” Nicola asks, scanning the room. “Let me guess: Marcelle?”
“Please,” I scoff. “He’s an asshole, but even he’s not that stupid. Not this close on the heels of his last misadventure.”
“True,” Nicola agrees. “Can’t believe that genitalia-flavored vape pens didn’t take off. Who woulda thunk it, right?”
We both laugh at that. Of all Marcelle’s idiotic ideas, Pussy Pens might’ve been the worst.
“He isn’t always an asshole, though,” she adds softly.
I raise my eyebrows. “Fuck off.”
Nicola laughs. “I’m serious. He just resents you. He’s never gotten over the fact that you’re don and he’s not.”
“He should’ve picked better parents.”
She laughs, bright and carefree. “He would have made an awful don,” she tells me. “He can’t do what you do. He’s never been a leader. If he’d been don, he would have been like –”
“My father,” I finish for her.
Nicola looks at me with a careful expression. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Maybe something like that.”
She sighs and raises her glass.
“To the new generation,” she says tactfully.
I touch the rim of my glass to hers in silent agreement.
We both nurse our drinks for a quiet moment. It’s good to sit here with someone who understands the burdens on my shoulders.
“So…” she says after a minute or two has passed. “You’re a papa.”
I sigh. “Who the fuck knows what I am?”
“Have you spent time with the kid?”
“Not much,” I reply, knowing I can rely on Nicola not to judge. “I just… I don’t think I have what it takes to be a father.”
“Nonsense,” Nicola says, with a wave of her hand. “You just need to give it time. It’s not like you had nine months to prepare for her arrival.”
I nod begrudgingly. She’s got a point.
“What’s she into?” Nicola presses.
“She likes being outside,” I say vaguely. “She loves Australia.”
“Australia?”
“Yeah. She’s into the wildlife,” I say. “Carries around this plush toy that’s meant to be a platypus. It’s kinda growing on me, though, ugly little bastard that it is.”
Nicola smiles. “Y’know, cuzzo, I don’t think you’re doing as bad as you seem to believe you are.”
Before I can acknowledge that, I notice everyone’s eyes swivel towards the entrance of the room.
I see Charlotte first.
Then Evie steps in from behind her.
They’re holding hands, and both look extremely self-conscious.
Charlotte hides it well, but my daughter simply looks lost and intimidated.
I abandon my drink and head over to the two of them. “Everyone,” I announce. “This is Evie. And her nanny, Charlotte.”
Charlottes merely nods at everyone, while Evie buries her face in Charlotte’s skirt.
Nicola pushes past everyone and extends her hand out to Charlotte. “Nice to meet you,” she says warmly. “I’m Nicola.”
Then she squats down in front of Evie. “Hi, Evie. I like your dress!”
Evie peers out from behind Charlotte’s skirt. She takes in Nicola for a moment and then offers her a tentative smile.
“You know,” Nicola continues, “I haven’t been here in a while. I could really use a tour of the garden. Would you mind showing me around? I heard you know where all the cool stuff is.”
Evie’s face lights up immediately. She nods excitedly, then drops Charlotte’s hand and takes Nicola’s instead. They head out through the French doors towards the garden.
Charlotte moves to follow them, but she’s blocked by Pia.
“So you’re the babysitter?” my aunt says, looking at Charlotte with naked appraisal. “I must admit, I expected someone older.”
Pia glances at me accusingly as she finishes her sentence.
“How old are you?” she continues, turning her focus back on Charlotte.
“Twenty-one,” Charlotte replies.
“Hmm,” Pia says, pursing up her lips. “How much experience can a twenty-one-year old have raising children?”
I see the spart of fire burst into Charlotte’s eyes as she frowns at my aunt.
“It seems to me that raising a child is up to the parent,” she argues coolly. “I’m just looking after her while Lucio is… working.”
Pia eyes Charlotte skeptically. “Do you work for an agency?” she asks. “Is that where Lucio found you?”
“Lucio found me—”
“Through a personal contact.” I step in with the lie. “Charlotte had two years of experience with another family. They migrated to Canada a few months ago, leaving her free to come and take care of Evie.”
Charlotte glances at me, but her expression gives nothing away.
“Hmm. Two years of experience,” Pia continues. “Am I right in assuming you have no formal education in childcare?”
“I have common sense and empathy,” Charlotte replies curtly. “Degrees don’t teach you everything.”
One of Pia’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rises.
But before she can shoot off with another question, Dante pushes past me. The smile on his face is telling.
“It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte,” he says, offering her his hand. “I’m Dante. Lucio’s best-looking cousin, as you can probably already tell.”
A bubble of laughter bursts from Charlotte’s lips.
It pisses me the fuck off.
But I just grit my teeth and stay silent.
“You’ll have to forgive my aunts,” Dante says, glancing at the ring of older women who are studying Charlotte with a mixture of interest and suspicion. “They’re protective of who’s let into the family.”
“Understandably,” Charlotte acknowledges with grace.
“Let me ask the important question,” Dante continues. “Are you single?”
That g
ets another shy smile from her.
Meanwhile, I have the sudden urge to grab Dante by the scruff of his collar and kick him out on his ass.
Thankfully for him, I have excellent impulse control.
“I am definitely single,” Charlotte agrees, drawing out “definitely” in a way that feels like a barb aimed straight for me.
“That’s great news!” he crows. “Surprising, but great. I can’t imagine a woman like you being single for long.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “If I’m lucky, it’ll stay that way,” she says.
“Sounds like you’ve been burned,” Regina says, jumping into the conversation.
Charlotte nods without embarrassment. If she notices how transparently they’re fishing for gossip, she chooses to ignore it.
“My boyfriend and I broke up almost a year ago. But it was a good thing.”
Zia Elenora steps past me. “Will you all give the girl some room to breathe?” she reprimands. “Charlotte, what are you drinking?”
It’s odd that this question is the one that stumps Charlotte.
“Oh, uh… nothing for me, thank you.”
“Nonsense,” Elenora says. “You have to drink something.”
“Then just water, please.”
“Water?” Elenora looks at her in surprise. “You wouldn’t rather have a cocktail? Wine? Something harder?”
Charlotte hesitates. “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Is that so?” Pia asks, reverting back into interrogation mode. “And why’s that?”
Charlotte shrugs. “I grew up poor. Didn’t have money to splurge on booze. In any case, I prefer to avoid it.”
Three seconds of stunned silence follow that answer. Italians don’t understand how someone can live without wine. It’s like Charlotte is saying she prefers to avoid oxygen. Or gravity.
“Is that why you never completed your education?” Pia pokes.
Jesus, this woman.
“Pia,” I interrupt. “I never went to college. You have five children and none of them went to college, either. It’s hardly a prerequisite for being a worthwhile human being.”
She bristles a little, clearly discomfited by being called out in front of Charlotte.
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Charlotte jabs. “Because your children grew up rich?”
That actually manages to render Pia speechless. Everyone else in the room is hiding laughter behind their drinks—me most of all.
