Page 90 of A Love Most Fatal
“How did he talk about his ex?” Willa asks.
“Said she was a wonderful woman and hoped she was happy with the man she left him for. Said he would kill him if he laid a hand on her.”
“Holy shit,” Willa breathes, and I have to agree.
“Is he still in love with her?” I ask. A pining husband wouldn’t be the worst thing until he decides to leave me for his old fling. Mortifying.
“I don’t think so,” Nate says. “Said he wouldn’t dare cheat, not after what it did to his own mother.”
“No fucking way,” Mary says while Willa says, “Is he lying?”
“He seemed legit,” Leo says, and Nate agrees, though it looks like it pains him to do so.
I stare at Nate’s face, the five o’clock shadow and swatches of gray under his eyes showing his own tiredness, maybe just from today, maybe from all of this—the interviews, the crime, the weeks ofjust tonight. When I catch my mom’s eye, she is looking intently at me, communicating in her wordless way so much love and patience, but hard truths too. I need to stop doing this to him before he breaks. Before I do.
I stand from the couch.
“Invite him to dinner,” I say. “Tomorrow.”
Everyone istense while we wait for the Russian. Or at least, I think everyone is tense, but it’s more likely that they all can sense how tense I am and it’s making them antsy. I’ve snipped at Willa three times in the last hour, twice while she was just trying to make my hair look nice (nothing I did would make it lay right, nothing, and I was admittedly getting intensely angry about it) and then once just now when she told everyone to pretend to be normal.
I don’t want her kids to have to pretend not to be their fun selves, I don’t want any of us to have to be dressed in our nice dinner outfits getting to know a mob boss who wants to enter into the economic agreement that is marriage. I want to take off these fucking heels and have spaghetti and watch that asinine Mario movie that Angel and Artie want to watch for the ninetieth time and be as weird as we all want.
It’s not Willa’s fault, and she knows that. I shoot her a look that I hope tells how sorry I feel about all of it, and she squeezes my hand. We’re eating outside again tonight, the patio warm and wonderful looking over at the pool and the lush garden. Nate is running around in the grass with the kids and Ranger, who is barking and bouncing around with the weight of our combined frantic energy. There’s a growing ache in my chest at the sound of the kids’ laughs mingling with Nate’s.
Leo hears something from his earpiece and nods at me across the table before retreating into the house to lead our visitor out to meet us. Everyone gets quiet, the kids even milling towards their seats in preparation for Maxim Orlov. Objectively, it looks like we are waiting for a funeral.
I smooth my palms down my dress, adjust the clasp of my necklace, then fix my posture. Nate’s wearing a pea green button up that makes his eyes look like bright emeralds, especially in the sun. I try to look anywhere else.
“Everyone laugh,” Willa says and after a moment of confusion, we all fall into an unnatural round of laughter, Angel laughing the loudest, until we are all laughing for real at the absurdity of it. It’s just a moment of levity, but it does the trick as Leo exits the house, a tall man behind him carrying a bouquet of tiny roses and greenery.
“Morelli family,” Leo begins, “Maxim Orlov.”
Maxim makes his way around the circle, shaking hands with first my mother, then Sean, Willa, and the kids before finally stopping at me. He takes a longer moment to shake my hand, his warm and engulfing my own palm.
We’ve all met before, but now the circumstances are different.
He hands me the roses, which I accept with a smile before handing them off to Willa like they’re my bridal bouquet and I’m at the end of the aisle.
“Welcome to our home,” I say.
Mary clears her throat to my left, waiting for her own handshake of respect. Maxim startles, his eyes falling on Mary with an intensity that was absent for me. It’s so brief; there, then gone in an instant. He shakes her hand and then moves on to Nate, who he greets like an old friend.
He’s got two guards, big guys who dress sharp. Maxim introduces them by name, but they stay back, just observing.
“Let’s eat,” I say and gesture at the spread on the table. Sean grilled steaks and chicken; Leo made two salads. I did nothing to prepare the meal because, again, my hair was all wrong.
The small talk that ensues puts me on edge. Mom is every bit the social butterfly, a skill honed from being by my dad’s side for so many years. Willa, too, is a pro at this, but I’ve never been so good at pleasantries in these settings. If I’m too pleasant, I may be seen as weak, and if I’m not pleasant enough, I’m a shrew bitch. A bulldog.
I suppose I’d rather be a bitch than a floor mat.
I tune in as Maxim tells what must be a charming story based on the mooning expressions of half of the table. He’s got Willa and Sean wrapped around his finger, and my mother too looks well pleased. The table chuckles at the end of his story and I clear my throat instead of joining in.
“The man had many enemies,” Maxim says, I guess about his father. “It’s been a trial mending those relationships.”
“How many years has it been?” I ask. “Since he died.”
Since you came into powerwould be too intense for a family dinner.