Page 111 of Mafia And Maid
“You should join our story time,” Ethan announces.
“I, uh...”
“P-please?” But Ethan’s single word is hesitant. Almost as if he’s not sure if he’s overstepped or misspoken and will be admonished for it. Memories of Grayden snapping at him for bothering him before bed, for just wanting a scrap of attention from his father, flash before my eyes, and my fingers tighten around the book in my grasp.
Camillo’s eyes land on mine in a silent question of permission.
“Only if you want to,” I say softly.
And Camillo instantly nods. In two long strides, he’s beside the bed on the other side of Ethan.
Ethan pats the open spot on his left. “You can sit here, Uncle Millo.”
“There’s not a lot of room for me on your bed, Ethan.”
I suck in a sharp breath. It’s not meant as a dig at me. Iknowthis. And I know I take up more space than I should. Even the king-size bed Grayden and I shared seemed too small with me in it—something Grayden always pointed out.
The conversation around me fades to the background as my mind tumbles over and over, the darker thoughts being dredged up by something so innocent.
“How about this?” Camillo murmurs.
I blink back into the room. Despite being a twin-sized bed, Camillo’s maneuvered the mountain of stuffed animals—more gifts that he and his brothers insisted that Ethan needed—so that all of us somehow fit. His back is braced against the footboard, one leg on the ground while Ethan fits into the crook of his body.
Our legs brush, and Camillo gives me a knowing smile. “Okay?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Now, where were we?”
“Can Uncle Millo read, Momma?”
“Oh, I’m not sure if he has time...”
Ethan, his brown eyes wide, tilts his face up toward Camillo. “Will you read, please, Uncle Millo?”
Camillo looks uncomfortable, shifting on the bed, his body rigid. I open my mouth to gently tell Ethan not to push, but Camillo clears his throat and nods. “Sure. But no making fun of me, okay? I’m not going to be nearly as good as your mom.”
I know he means it as a joke, but the way he says it, I can’t help but wonder. Did someone used to mock him for not being good enough? Is that why he understands Ethan so well? Is that why he sees me? Why he silently understands how Ethan and I are so lacking in confidence and trust?
Ethan’s small hand slips into Camillo’s much larger one. “I’m not very good at it either,” he says in a small voice. “But if you try your best, then you can be proud of yourself, and I’ll be proud of you too, Uncle Millo.”
The strained smile on Camillo’s face melts, and a genuine one takes its place. My chest grows tight at the sight. I love watching them play in the pool or listening to the gentle conversations they have while I clean or do chores. It’s just…perfect.
No, I know that it’s more than that.It’s love.
I’ve even been able to eat more lately, and not in that binge and fast cycle I was in before. I’m trying to sit down properly at mealtimes, although I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t still a struggle.
“Alright. What happened before this?”
Ethan’s expectant expression swings to me, and my expression quickly turns into another soft smile as I recount the previous happenings in the story to Camillo. The way he looks at me, though...
I feel seen.
I feel…wanted.
I tear my gaze away with a flush as he turns the page and picks up the story from where I left off.
These last few weeks have done nothing to slow the pounding of my heart when he’s around. To calm the uneasy attachment I feel when it comes to him. And now, is he really reading my son a bedtime story? It’s too good to be true.
As I listen to the story, Camillo’s deep voice washes over me, sending waves of pleasure rolling through me. It’s soothing—but it shouldn’t be. It’s a slippery slope, and I’m not sure I can stop myself. With anyone else, I don’t think I could let go like this—open myself up.