Page 55 of Mafioso's Muse
‘Before I walked, according to Mum.’ She drew her legs up beside her. ‘She enrolled me in classes when I was six, completely unaware that once I got a proper taste of ballet, it would take over our lives. I wore through every pair of socks she ever bought me and broke many plates and bowls while doing turns in the kitchen.’ She reached for two carrot sticks, dipping them into the hummus and offering one to him.
He took it and ate.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
He swallowed his mouthful. ‘And you thought my mother was heavy-handed with the garlic.’
She laughed at that, and he committed every detail of it to memory.
‘It’s possible I was a little heavy-handed,’ she said. ‘But we are heading into cold season soon.’
He loved how her cheeks flooded with colour when she laughed. ‘It’s delicious, though.’
She held her glass with both hands. ‘My turn for a question.’
‘I never agreed to taking turns.’
‘I want to know about your larger family.’
He exhaled. ‘Willow?—’
‘Not about the business. Not the private things, just how it works in terms of your obligations.’ She took a quick drink. ‘Like, if you got a phone call right now from… a boss person, would you leave?’
It was clear she really wanted to understand what being with a man like him would look like. He already knew. It would look like a disaster—for both of them. She would resent him, and eventually he would grow to resent himself.
He drew a breath before responding. ‘If a “boss person” phoned’—his lips twitched—‘and needed me, then yes, I would leave.’
‘Because youhaveto?’
‘Because it would be the right thing to do.’
‘Right for them or you?’
‘Both. Family should benefit everyone who’s a part of it.’ He watched her face carefully as she processed his response. ‘And you would hate me for leaving, for always putting the family first. Maybe not straight away, but eventually. Every time my phone rang, there would be this instant tension. It’s not a relationship you want.’
Her eyes moved between his. ‘Who said anything about a relationship?’
Touché. He reached for the platter and held it out to her. She took a fig and slowly ate it.
‘Sinceyoubrought it up,’ she said, brushing her hair to one side, ‘tell me the other reasons why I wouldn’t want this relationship.’
He leaned back, leg pressing against hers. ‘I think you know all the reasons. You’ve likely thought each one through—just like I have. You’re just not willing to accept who I am.’
She drank, watching him over the rim of her glass. ‘Maybe I see you differently to how you see yourself.’
‘Those kinds of naive sentiments only strengthen my resolve.’ He leaned towards her. ‘You look at the bruises on my face and assume I’m the victim.’
She swallowed, then looked down at her drink. ‘Do you ever wish you could leave?’
Her questions were painfully predictable. ‘Leave what? My life?’
She shrugged. ‘Parts of it, maybe.’
‘It’s not some job I can just resign from. Haven’t you ever heard the saying “you can’t choose your family”?’
‘That’s not true.’ She sat up a little. ‘I chose Lili.’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘And you chose well.’