Page 21 of Always Meant To Be
She’s quiet for a few moments, allowing my words to sink in, before she whispers with hurt, “You hate me, don’t you?”
I debate lying, to tell her how much I hate her, knowing she deserves to be hurt, but a part of me just can’t, because even though she was hard on me, she’s still my mother.
“I don’t hate you, Mama. I love you, but a part of me resents you.” I look at the door toward the kitchen before sighing. “You sold me for your eldest. You resented me for not being born a boy. You’ve always treated me different than her?—”
She cuts me off, “And look how you turned out. You’ve got a career, one a Bratva princess can never have.”
I look down. “Yet you still sold me, Mama, to a man who was promised to my older sister, a man you have told me several times over the years deserves to be with her and not me. You told me to get pregnant so she can finally have him.”
“Elena—” she starts, but I cut her off once more, “Mama, I can’t keep talking about this. It’s in the past. If Papa is punishing you for your treatment of me, then play him at his own game.”I hear a bang coming from the kitchen, then a few curses confusing me, and I say, "Look, Mama, I have to go.”
She sighs. “Fine. Elena…you have a year to get pregnant or you lose your career. I know what you’ve been doing these past few years, and what you’re trying to do now. Don’t be sillydoch….”
With that said, she hangs up, and I flinch.
Of course, my mother knows why I haven’t gotten pregnant. Trust her to be more in tune with me after I moved out.
Shaking my head, I open the door, and the scent of lasagna instantly fills my nostrils, making my stomach grumble and my mouth water.
I guess Romeo called Chef Luigi back in. Dammit, it’s his thirtieth wedding anniversary today.
Grumbling to myself, I walk toward the dining area where Romeo must be but halt in the kitchen when someone clears their throat, making me look up. My eyes widen a little, seeing the man of the hour sitting on the stool at the breakfast bar, two plates in front of him, dressed in a black dress shirt that is half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and slacks.
Damn, he looks good enough to eat; maybe I could unbutton some more….
“I learned something interesting today,” he says, snapping me out of my lust filled head, making me look up as he fills a glass with red wine and holds it out to me. My heart pounds, and panic hits.
Does he know about the contraception?
He raises a brow, and I reluctantly walk over, willing for my palms not to sweat with panic, and sit beside him, putting my briefcase on the counter. He passes me the glass and continues, “Turns out you cook for me every night.”
Physically, my body relaxes, and I quickly take a large gulp of the wine to hide my relief before admitting, “I like to cook,I always have. Papa hated it because it meant I spent most of my time cooking for myself and not joining the family at dinner time. Besides, today is Luigi’s thirtieth wedding anniversary, and he deserves a few nights off.”
He hums. “But, by the sound of things, he takes every evening off, and I also learned you clean our room and the library.”
I shrug, acting like it’s no big deal that he’s looked into what I do in the evenings. I grab my fork, replying reluctantly, “I like to do it. Having staff was my mother's and sister's kind of thing.”
He nods, and I take a bite of the food. The flavors instantly melt in my mouth, making me moan. “Oh, wow, this is good.”
Romeo chuckles, sending goosebumps over my arms. He admits, “I’m glad you like it,farfalla. I thought I may have messed up when it started to burn around the edges.”
I look his way in shock and ask, “You cooked this?”
He smirks. “I did, even burnt myself getting it out of the oven." He shows me the nasty red mark, making my eyes widen. He smiles. “I thought because you always cook for me, that I’d cook for you for once. Working with kids can’t be easy; I’m just hoping no one tried to burn your class down today.”
Damn you, Romeo….
There goes the traitorous heart of mine. He does one nice thing out of many screwed-up things, and my heart flutters.
I clear my throat and say, “Thank you; I appreciate it,” before taking another bite, the flavors instantly filling me.
Who knew Mister Big Bad Mafia Don can cook, huh….
A thought hits me, and I still…how many times has he done this for my sister?
And there goes my appetite.
I sigh and start playing with my food, and he whispers, “Eat up,farfalla. Don’t let the first time I’ve cooked go to waste.”