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“Carmen.” Nemma gives her a warning look, but Carmen doesn’t take her eyes off me. Several of the women pick up the tension and conversation lowers as they look toward us.
“Maybe you should ask him about it yourself. Regardless of how he feels, as his fiancée, you should know every part of him. If he can’t trust you, why marry you, right?”
“Carmen, that is enough.”
Nemma’s tone is fierce, and Carmen’s lips pull into a tight line like she has to force herself not to say more.
She doesn’t like me. That much is pretty clear, and it has my defensiveness coming out, but also, she has a point. I’m playing a part right now, and I’m failing. The fact that his father is dead was something I should’ve come into this knowing.
“You’re right,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put either of you on the spot. I’ll ask him myself.”
“Ask him what?”
My body goes rigid, and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I stand perfectly still as Lorenzo appears from behind me. He strolls over to Carmen and props an elbow on the island. He goes to grab an olive out of a jar and Nemma swats his hand.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the kitchen?”
“I suspected you ladies were having a far more interesting conversation. If I have to listen to Settimo talk one more time about his golf swing I’m going to off myself.”
“Watch your tongue,” Nemma chastises. The three dark-haired women leaning against the cabinets must grow bored with eavesdropping because the kitchen starts to get louder with their conversation again.
I glance at everyone, certain I’ll see at least discomfort written on their faces at Lorenzo’s presence, but the three in the back don’t seem to notice he’s here and Carmen’s demeanor ismorerelaxed than it was moments ago. She hides a smile at Nemma’s disapproval.
“Come on, Nemma. Enzo’s one of us.”
He gazes at Nemma and pouts, and Nemma rolls her eyes. “Oh, all right. But if you’re going to spoil our girl talk, at least make yourself useful. Here,” Nemma pulls a knife from a wooden block and hands it to him. “Get the bread ready.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, tipping the knife with expert hands. A shiver runs down my spine.
He glances over at me as he takes a loaf of French bread from a brown paper bag on the island and begins slicing it. “You never answered my question. What are you going to ask… Colter, I assume?”
Nemma huffs. “That’s none of your business, Lorenzo, and strike one. Three strikes and you’re out of the kitchen.”
He raises his hands in surrender and gives Nemma a small smile. “Sorry, Ma.”
“I taught you better than to pry.”
“Of course you did.” His smile widens, and she rolls her eyes again, although this time it seems more like she’s amused by him than annoyed. Meanwhile, I stand here trying not to suffocate.
Ma?
Thisis the woman who raised him? I assumed she was also Lorenzo’s aunt, but I guess it makes the most sense that she’d be his mother. I just don’t see how the hell that’s possible. Nemma seems so… nice. Loving. Far from dangerous.
“Is Anthony here yet?”
Lorenzo shrugs. “I haven’t seen him.”
Nemma shakes her head and her face reddens. “I swear, if your brother is lateagain, he is going to hear it from your father. It’s completely inexcusable, and…”
I zone out a minute while staring at Lorenzo’s relaxed expression. Another brother? There’s more of these people?
Lorenzo meets my eyes, and I quickly look away. When I move my gaze back to him to see if he’s staring, he gives me a wink, sending my gut hurling to the floor. Nemma doesn’t seem to notice.
“Would you call him, please?”
“What?” Lorenzo asks Nemma. Apparently, I’m not the only one who had stopped listening to her rant.
She huffs. “Your brother, will you call him?”