14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Mialina
The day after Christmas feels lighter than it has in years.
Yesterday was the first Christmas I can remember where nobody spent half the day watching Father to see what mood he was in.
We ate too much, Sienna played Christmas music until Isa threatened to throw the speaker out the window, and Mamma actually laughed when Ari stole the last piece of panettone off her plate.
It was really nice.
Sienna is sprawled across the rug nearby, attempting to teach Isa some ridiculous card game while Mamma reads and sips coffee, occasionally watching them with quiet amusement.
“Sien, darling,” Mamma says as Sienna lets out a theatrical groan. “If you put as much effort into the game as you do into that pout, you might actually win a hand.”
“I’m not pouting,” she says, clutching her cards to her chest as if she’s been insulted. “I’m strategizing. There’s a very fine line.”
Isa snorts, not even looking up from her cards.
“You’ve been strategizing your way into a losing streak for twenty minutes. Your face is an open book, Sien. You might as well just show me your hand.”
“Some of us are more expressive than others,” Sienna counters, her eyes wide and mock-offended.
I grin into my coffee. Sienna makes it far too easy.
Ari appears in the doorway peeling a mandarin, her gaze instantly locking onto the untouched gift box still sitting under the tree.
“Can you just open it, Mia?”
“She hasn’t even untied the ribbon,” Sienna complains.
“That’s actually disturbing,” Ari says. “You’re usually the first one attacking the presents.”
She drops onto the window seat beside me, her eyes fixed on the box I’ve been ignoring since it arrived on Christmas Eve with perfect timing.
“I want to know what’s inside it,” she adds.
“Well, I don’t,” I reply.
“Liar,” Isa cuts in, looking up from her cards. A smile tugs at her mouth. “You’re dying to find out.”
I glare at her over my coffee cup.
“Fine,” I admit. “Maybe a little. But it will probably irritate me. So I’m better off not knowing.”
Sienna’s eyes light with interest. “What do you think it is?”
“No idea. Probably a manual on how to become an obedient wife.”
Ari snorts so hard she nearly chokes on a piece of mandarin.
“Or one of those vintage baby carriages,” I continue. “To drive the point home that he wants heirs.”
“That wouldn’t fit in that box,” Sienna deadpans.
“You know what I mean.”
Isa reaches over and lifts the box between her hands. It’s about the size of a shoebox, wrapped in thick matte black paper with a deep emerald ribbon crossed neatly over the top. Even the wax seal on the tag looks expensive.
Ari has already tried to “accidentally” inspect it twice without loosening so much as a corner. Now Isa tilts it, testing the weight.
“I don’t think it’s a book,” she says. “It’s not heavy enough.”
“It’s probably diamonds,” Sienna says. “Or a human finger.”
“Eww. Why would he send her a human finger?” Isa’s face screws up in a grimace.
Sien shrugs. “As a romantic gesture to show he’d kill for her?”
We all stare at her.
“Your idea of a romantic gesture is alarming,” Isa mutters.
“A human finger would be less alarming than jewels,” I declare. That’s too much of a wife-present.
Ari grabs the box from Isa and gives it an aggressive shake.
“What are you doing?” I protest, reaching for it.
“I’m helping.”
“You are not helping.”
Mamma lowers her cup with a soft clink. “Ariella, give your sister the present.”
With exaggerated reluctance, Ari hands it to me.
The room falls quiet for a second as everyone looks at the box again.
I have no idea what’s inside, but Maximo has a habit of acting as though my future already belongs to him.
I’m far too curious. My fingers tighten around the ribbon. Should I open it?
No. I have self-control.
“I’m sending it back,” I decide.
“Aw, come on, Mia,” Ari whines, but Isa gives me an understanding nod.
And I need it out of this house before temptation gets the better of me.
“Then it’s settled,” Mamma says. “Leave your sister alone.”
It’s been one week since Maximo’s grand flower delivery. Mamma didn’t seem surprised that the flowers and gift weren’t intended for her but for me. I half expected her to sit me down and ask what was going on with Maximo.
Not that there is much to explain.
Thankfully, she hasn’t. Mamma knows me too well. If I wanted to talk, I would.
Knock, knock, knock comes from the front door.
“Are we expecting anyone?” I ask, suddenly paranoid our debate about Maximo’s gift somehow summoned him into existence.
That’s absolutely ridiculous, I scold myself.
Or maybe it isn’t.
A moment later, four delivery men dressed in black enter the room, each carrying an enormous bouquet.
“Oh, for the love of God,” I mutter.
The flowers are just as outrageously extravagant as before, though this time there’s no bright yellow in sight. Deep crimson roses are mixed with white orchids and glossy greenery, the bouquets tied with emerald velvet ribbons so dark they almost look black.
“If these are meant to be Christmas flowers, he’s a day late,” Ari comments.
“I think he deliberately waited exactly a week between deliveries,” Sien cuts in.
Is this going to be a weekly thing?
And why did my heart just skip a beat at the thought?
I throw my head back against the sofa with a groan.
“Why can’t this man leave me alone?”
“He seems pretty committed to doing the opposite,” Isa remarks.
I grimace at her, making her laugh.
“Is there another present with it?” Ari asks, her eyes sparkling. She’s loving every second of this.
Right on cue, one of the delivery guys steps forward and holds out a black box tied with another perfect ribbon.
I stare at it for a second before taking it from him.
“Thank you,” I tell them.
The men nod politely and disappear as silently as they arrived. I eye the box in my hands like it might contain a live grenade.
“More dandelion root tea?” Isa suggests.
“Or a cookbook called One Hundred Ways to Please Your Husband,” Sienna adds helpfully.
Ari gasps. “Or baby names.”
“Hilarious.” I regret ever showing them Maximo’s card.
My sisters grin at me while I place the new gift on top of the unopened Christmas one.
“Please send these back to Maximo Marco in Chicago,” I tell the maid when she enters the room, handing her the boxes.
My heart is suddenly hammering in my chest, which is ludicrous. I’m sending back a couple of presents, not declaring war.
The maid looks surprised for a second before her expression smooths. “Of course, Signorina Accardi.”
I watch the boxes disappear from the room and exhale slowly. Fingers crossed returning them puts an end to this.
Somehow, though, I doubt it.
Maximo Marco doesn’t strike me as a man who takes a hint. He probably views my rejection as a mere suggestion to try harder next week.
Fine. He can send flowers until every florist on this island runs out of stock.
I’m still not opening the damn presents.