The louder voices overtake our talk. We turn our heads.
“Youse been making toasts all fuckin’ night.”
“I don’t see you making any.”
“Because youse been doin’ ‘em all!”
“Statazitt’!” many guys yell, telling them to shut up.
The corners of my mouth almost rise. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I uncross my arms and grab my cell.
One of my uncles squeezes through and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Why aren’t youse drinking? Your girl brought over an expensive bottle of wine.” Plus flowers for my mom, stepmom, and grandma. My grandma pinched Jane’s cheeks and hugged her for a full minute, and I’m sure it’ll be longer when we leave.
Banks answers, “He doesn’t want to drink for a while.”
“For the job,” I add. For her protection. I unlock my phone and read a text from the Alpha lead—my stern demeanor darkens. Eyes narrowing like barrels of a gun.
We have an official breakup date. Op ends the day after Halloween. The reason will be she didn’t get along with your family. Leave the dinner in separate vehicles. Farrow is picking her up. – Price
They want me to put my family on fucking blast in the media. To be a fucking scapegoat in order to end the fake dating op.
No.
Hell no.
I rake my hand across my hardened jaw. Hardly blinking. Just cussing a hundred times over in my head. Until my brain is fucking overloaded with fucks and goddammits and mannaggias.
I text back: using my family as the reason for the breakup will endanger them.
He responds fast.
We’ve discussed this with a publicist. They said it’s minimal blowback. Your family will be safe. – Price
I’m yelling at the top of my lungs internally. But really I’m stoic. Painfully still. Silent. Veins bulge in my tensed neck.
Banks comes close, ripping my phone out of my fist.
He reads the text.
I lower my voice so only he can hear. “They fucked me.” My nose flares. “Or maybe I fucked me.” I’m the one who made the request to bring Jane to meet my family. Full well knowing it’d be for the op.
A public ploy. Paparazzi asked Jane where she was going before we left. She said, “To meet my boyfriend’s family.”
I just never imagined security would push further and use this for the breakup.
I have to tell Jane.
This is going to hurt her—and I don’t want to follow through with this fucking order. For too many reasons.
Banks is pissed. Less pissed than me, but still fucking pissed. “They couldn’t have told us at the last meeting before you brought her here?”
It feels like Price and Sinclair are punishing me. Akara couldn’t have known. He warned me that he had a bad feeling and that those two were leaving him out of some discussions.
My family here can sense that I’m upset. The men start looking over in concern, and Uncle Joe is the one who approaches.
Banks slips my phone in my pocket and backs up. Uncle Joe puts an arm around my strict shoulders. He’s the only one as tall as us.
His hoarse voice is consoling as he says, “Whadda you so angry about, huh?”
Losing her. This way. I shake my head, the movement stiff and short.
He cups the side of my face. “Fuhgeddabout it. Come have a drink.”
I take a shot with my uncles, and after many pats on my shoulder, I push out of the kitchen and into the dining room.
I hang in the archway, not interrupting my rosy-cheeked grandma who’s in the middle of a story for Jane. One about how her mom immigrated to America alone at twelve-years-old.
“…she sewed jewelry into her panties so no one would steal ‘em, and she had to wear the same pair from Italy all the way to Ellis Island.” Italy sounds like it-ly.
All the women smile and laugh. Jane has her chin on her knuckles, enrapt. As soon as she sees my hardened expression, her face begins to fall and her arm drops to the table.
My mom frowns at me. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to leave soon,” I announce, and I come around to Jane’s chair next to my mom.
I bend down behind Jane, curving my arm over her collarbones, and I whisper against her ear, “Farrow is going to pick you up and take you home.”
“What?” Her voice pitches.
Staying behind her, I cup my phone in front of Jane. Letting her read the text. Careful not to angle the screen. Only Jane can see.
I press my lips to the top of her head in a kiss. She reads quickly. I feel her breastbone collapse beneath my forearm.
“Confirm,” I whisper, pocketing my phone.
She tilts her head back to meet my eyes. I clasp her soft cheek, my large hand almost engulfing her. Jane blinks back pained emotion, inhaling a breath in preparation for what needs to be done. “Yes,” she whispers. “I understand.”
We’ve been pretending that she’s an ordinary girl coming to break bread with my family. But she’s an American princess who is internationally recognizable.
I’m her bodyguard.
That hasn’t changed. It can’t change.
Her safety comes first.
But for Jane, I’m positive she’s agreeing to this order just to protect my career.
I straighten to a stance, my hands on her shoulders, and Jane looks forward again.
My mom places a hand on Jane’s. “Everything alright with your family?”
“You can’t ask her that,” an aunt snaps. “The Cobalts are celebrities , Gloria.”
“You think I’m dumb? I know whatta celebrity is.” My mom clutches Jane’s arm. “This is my son’s girlfriend.” My mom smiles up at me, almost teasingly.
Mustering cheerfulness, Jane manages to say, “My family is well. I’m just sad I have to go so soon.”
My mom nods. “Come back around. We’ll take you to Sunday mass before the next dinner.” We all go to an LGBT-friendly Catholic church and consider ourselves cafeteria Catholics: practicing, but we dissent from less progressive teachings.
I cut in, “We’re busy next Sunday, ma, and you haven’t gone to mass since Easter.”
Everyone laughs.
My mom makes a face at me, a smile creeping. “Busy with what—?” Her voice is cut off as loud commotion comes from the front door.
A target.
I’m about to move toward the noise. But I hear the boastful laugh of Tony Ramella—and there’s no chance in any fucking hell that I’m leaving Jane’s side.
I can’t be surprised that Tony is here. Three surnames dominate the house: Moretti, Piscitelli—sometimes changed to Fish, depending on whose ancestors had to Americanize their name to get jobs—and lastly, Ramella.
My grandma reaches out to Jane, clasping her hand. “Youse already met my cumare?”
Jane wracks her brain for cumare. I can’t remember if I mentioned that Italian word. It means a friend who’s a girl.
I’m about to help Jane, but realization strikes her fast. “Michelina? Yes, we’ve met; she’s quite wonderful.” Jane goes on, talking more, and my grandma is beaming the whole time. She smiles from me to Jane, back to me.
We need to leave. I can’t stand here and do this much longer. Not in front of these women, and Jane is having a harder time too.
I’m about to excuse us, but then Michelina shuffles into the dining room with Tony. Goddammit.
My aunts, cousins, and moms stand up to hug and kiss them.
Jane rises to her feet too, and I wrap a protective arm around her hips. I watch Tony snatch a bottle of whiskey off the table. Everyone had been drinking whiskey with black coffee.
He spreads his arms out to me. “Aren’t you going to give your uncle a hug?”
I want to give him a right hook to the jaw. My glare intensifies. We’re both twenty-eight, and un-fucking- fortunately, he is actually my uncle.
On paper. Not by blood.
His older sister is Nicola Ramella, my stepmom who has a heart of gold. Tony and Nicola have a large age gap for siblings.
I already told Jane my relation to him, and how my mom and Nicola were in the same grade at Saint Joseph’s. They used to date before my mom got with my dad. And they reconnected at a high school reunion, fell back in love, and married.