73. Allie
Allie
I should be at work, knee-deep in saucepans and barking orders at my line cooks like a culinary drill sergeant. Instead, Sienna practically abducted me from Via Napoli, dragging me out of the kitchen with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
"Sienna, I have to be at work. Wednesday nights are our busiest," I try, my voice filled with just the right amount of desperation to sell the lie.
"They're actually the slowest," Kai chimes in, traitorously, without even looking up from where he's meticulously dicing herbs.
I turn on him, narrowing my eyes. "And you love me being there, right? Keeping everything running smoothly?"
Kai sighs dramatically, glancing at Sienna. "Please, take her."
Sienna claps her hands, beaming. "Great! Settled then."
I glare at them both, muttering under my breath as I strip off my chef’s coat and throw it at Kai, who catches it like I just handed him a pile of dirty laundry. I follow Sienna out of the kitchen, groaning the whole way.
Cooking night. With his family. On the same day my soon-to-be ex-husband got slapped with divorce papers at his therapist’s office.
I still can’t believe that’s where he was served.
I’d hoped maybe, just maybe, he’d be using those extra therapy sessions for something productive—like, I don’t know, untangling his emotional impairment.
But no. Apparently, I drove him straight back into old habits.
He’s seeing his “therapist” multiple times a week now.
“I cook all day at work,” I grumble as Sienna shoves me into Elias’s car like a hostage. I nod at Elias, who just grins and opens the door. The moment I slide into the backseat, Sienna follows, practically pinning me in, as if she expects me to bolt. Which, fair. The thought crossed my mind.
Then I spot Violet sitting next to me, and all escape plans die a swift death.
Damn it. I should have clocked my surroundings before getting in. Rookie mistake.
"You've done nothing but work since you left Rico," Violet points out, leaning over and buckling me in like I'm a toddler.
I blink at her. "Did you just—"
"Just making sure you don’t have a quick escape plan," she says sweetly, patting my boob.
I swat her hand away. "You do realize I can unbuckle myself and open this door, right?"
I try just that, yanking the handle. Nothing. I click, unlock. Then lock. Then unlock again.
The door doesn’t budge.
Sienna grins. "Child locks."
I sigh and collapse back in my seat as Elias pulls away from the curb. A glance out the rear window confirms that Vinnie’s trailing us in another car like the world's most overworked babysitter.
This is my life now. A prisoner in a child-locked car, heading toward an emotionally laden dinner with my almost ex-in-laws.
Fantastic.
I stare out the window, my chest tight. I should feel… something. Relief? Freedom? I got out. I did it. I escaped a life I never wanted, filed for divorce from a man who never loved me, and now I have a successful restaurant, amazing friends, and a future that belongs to me.
So why do I feel so meaningless?
“What if it’s too awkward?” I break the silence, turning to Sienna. “I left Rico. Won’t Mama and Nonna be mad at me?”
I don’t mention the divorce. Do they know? Rico was served today. His parents must know by now. Do they even know he’s back to therapy? And not just casually back—he’s practically a frequent flyer. Three times a week. It’s as if I pushed him straight into his therapist’s arms, only on speed.
Congrats, Allie. You broke your husband so thoroughly, he’s now in professional maintenance mode.
Violet frowns. "What? Why would they be mad at you? Allie, you did nothing wrong."
I scoff. "I left Rico."
She rolls her eyes so hard I swear she just saw last week. "Please. Rico did nothing to make that marriage work. He actively pushed you away. We all know you did everything—and I mean everything—to pull him out of that concrete bunker he calls a personality."
She’s not wrong.
“No one blames you,” she continues. “Why do you think Papa gave you his blessing after six months? He’s not mad at you.
Mama and Papa fully support you, Allie. They know you’re getting divorced, even if you don’t hit the six-month mark.
They wouldn’t expect you to stick around after… ” She trails off, her cheeks flushing.
After, he cheated on me.
I look down, fingers twisting in my lap. Six months. We’re still a month away from that marker. Whether or not they know I already filed, I’m not sure. But I only feel worse knowing they’re so supportive.
Why do I feel guilty?
Is it because some sick, twisted part of me wonders if I’m to blame? I pushed and pushed, knowing he didn’t like it, knowing he was at the brink. What if I drove him to therapy? What if I—
No. I shake my head. Don’t be stupid. You could have nagged 24/7, and that still wouldn’t justify him running into another woman’s arms.
I set my jaw, blinking away the sting behind my eyes.
Violet and Sienna keep watching me, but for once, they say nothing.
I stay silent for the rest of the drive, but I feel Sienna and Violet’s eyes on me the entire time, burning a hole through my emotional fortress. I pretend not to notice. Instead, I focus on the weight of my engagement ring and wedding band—still snug on my finger.
Every day at work, I slip them onto a chain around my neck, a habit so ingrained that I don’t even think about it anymore. The second I leave the kitchen, they’re back where they belong.
Only, where do they belong?
My fingers twitch over them, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the look Sienna and Violet exchange.
They don’t say a word, and for that, I’m grateful.
I’ll take them off. When I’m ready. As if I’m clinging to some decades-long love story instead of a marriage that barely made it past the six-month mark and gave everyone involved a headache.
When we step inside the Bennetti Family House, my stomach nosedives.
The women are gathered in the kitchen, chatting and laughing—until they see me. The room quiets, but the smiles remain, only now they’re paired with that look.
The same one I saw at the wedding.
The same one at my debut night.
The same one now.
Pity.
Mama pushes through the crowd, her violet-and-vanilla perfume wrapping around me before her arms do. I used to hate that scent—too floral, too much. But right now, it doesn’t bother me. Right now, it almost—almost—makes the pain fade.
“Oh, Tesoro,” she murmurs, squeezing me tight. “I’m so sorry. I had hoped it would work out, but Rico is…” She pulls back, shaking her head. “He’s Rico. That’s my fault. We let him stay this way. No one pushed him. Maybe if I had forced him earlier…”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not your fault.” Because the last thing I need is this woman taking responsibility for his choices. Though, after hearing Marco’s version of events, I would love to hear hers. But I don’t ask. I’m not that brave.
She pats my cheek, then tugs me toward the kitchen, planting me on a stool next to Nonna. A generous—no, absurd—glass of wine slides in front of me.
I stare at it. Is this one of those novelty glasses? The kind you buy as a joke for wine moms who pretend to only have “one glass” a night?
Nonna takes my hand, her warm, frail fingers rubbing gentle circles over my arm. “How are you, dolcezza?” she asks, her chocolate eyes soft with concern.
I glance up—and yep.
The entire Bennetti female population is watching me, gathered around the island like I’m the evening’s entertainment.
Oh, good. This is exactly what I wanted.
I take a gulp of wine. A big, much-needed gulp and now I'm thankful the glass is more than generous.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m staying at Kai’s for now.”
Mama tsks. “You could have stayed here.”
Right. Because that wouldn’t be weird. Imagine Sunday dinner. Hey, ex-hubby-to-be! How’s it hanging? Miss me? How’s your therapist?
“Or my house,” Violet chimes in.
“Um, hello? Mine?” Sienna adds, as if this was some kind of bidding war.
“You both live down the street from—” I stop. I cannot say his name. Nope. Not happening. Instead, I settle on, “—him.”
They exchange a look. “Oooooh.”
Did they seriously not consider that?
Probably not.
“Have you spoken to him at all?” Gloria asks—right before Violet whacks her arm.
“I meant, how are things at work?” Gloria backtracks, throwing Violet a glare that doesn’t even nick her composure.
I sigh, taking another sip of wine. Might as well rip the bandage off. I don’t want to spend the night being fawned over only to blindside them later. These women have been nothing but welcoming, and divorcing Rico probably means I’m out of the family for good.
I owe them honesty.
I twist the wine glass stem between my fingers, watching the deep red liquid swirl. “I filed for divorce. He was served today.”
Silence.
No gasps. No oh my Gods. No how could yous?
They knew.
“I don’t blame you, mia cara,” Mama says, pulling me into another hug while Nonna rubs my back. “We know what Rico said to you.” She shakes her head. “That boy was never good with words.”
I arch a brow, locking eyes with Violet. Because I definitely didn’t tell them everything.
Violet shrugs. “Okay… so I might have mentioned how he told you he didn’t love you.” She waves her hands, way too dramatically for my taste. “Listen, these women are relentless. They’re like bloodhounds. One whiff of something, and they will latch on. I had no choice.”
Yeah, sure. No choice.
I shift my attention to Sienna, who suddenly looks very interested in her own hands.
“I might have told them about… the other thing.”
My stomach drops. “What other thing?”
Sienna bites her lip, her usually sunshine-and-rainbows expression dimming. “How he, um… suggested you weren’t doing your job… you know… getting pregnant?”
Oh.
I blink. Once. Twice. Then down the rest of my wine in one go because I cannot deal with this sober.
Valeria mutters something in Italian and spits right next to the cannolis.
My stomach clenches as I make a mental note to eat nothing in her immediate vicinity again.
Meanwhile, Nonna straight-up curses in English, which is so rare that half the women turn and stare at her like she just drop-kicked a priest. Normally, she saves her most colorful commentary for Italian, which only means one thing—Rico has pissed off even the sweet, doting Nonna.
Impressive.
Funny enough, I had completely buried that little gem of a memory. The one where he insisted on IVF so he wouldn’t have to touch me. The one where he all but declared I wasn’t doing my “duty” by providing him an heir, so he needed to “explore other options.”
Yeah. Let’s pile that into the trauma buffet.
Maybe that’s why he was seeing his “therapist” three times a week.
To knock her up. Maybe they struck some sort of deal—he knew I’d file for divorce, and she agreed to carry the next generation of emotionally stunted Bennetti children.
It’s hard to decide what’s more humiliating: being cheated on or being completely replaced.
“You know, this was my muse for my next book,” Violet announces, swiping her wine and sighing fiercely. “But it’s getting real angsty.”
We all turn to her.
I just blink.
“You were writing a story about…us?”
Her green eyes widen, as if this is brand new information to her, and not the wildest thing she’s ever said to me. “Oh, did I not tell you? I mean, I told them.” She thumbs toward the rest of the women at the island, all of whom nod along like this is a normal topic of discussion.
I glance at them. They knew? They were all in on this?
“It’s grumpy-sunshine! You, obviously, are the sunshine.”
Obviously.
“Anyway,” she continues, swirling her wine, “when Mr. Grumpy refuses to pull his head out of his ass, it makes writing an HEA really difficult.”
Alena sips from her glass, looking wholly uninterested. “Maybe we should focus on real people's problems.”
“This is a real people problem!” Violet argues, motioning to me like I’m Exhibit A in a courtroom.
“What’s her happily ever after? She and Rico just…
divorce? Gah.” Then her eyebrows arch. “Unless she divorces him and finds someone who actually makes her happy. A chef. With gorgeous eyes. And fantastic arms.”
Sienna cocks her head. “Aren’t you married?”
Violet gives her an expression. “Are you blind?”
“No,” Sienna sighs wistfully, eyes glazing over. “He’s hot.”
“Who?” I honestly shouldn’t have.
“Kai, silly,” she sing-songs.
I nearly choke on my wine.
“Excuse me?”
“You and Kai.” She shrugs. “Why not date Kai?”
Oh. My. God. I just told these women that I’m divorcing their son-slash-cousin-slash-brother-in-law, and they’re already trying to remarry me off.
Marco wasn’t kidding when he said they were meddlers.