19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Mialina
The first thing I do after showering is glare at the flower arrangement again.
He had to have them put in my bedroom, didn’t he? So I’d think of him.
And dammit, it’s working.
After this stupid birthday party tonight, I’ll move them into the foyer. You can never have too many flowers there. They make a place more welcoming, though Aldo’s mansion doesn’t lack warmth.
You can tell just by looking around that Aldo must’ve loved his late wife. This whole house still carries traces of the life they built together.
A sudden pang hits me. Losing her must have been hard for him. From what I’ve heard, he closed himself off afterward, only focusing on work and serving the Marco family as consigliere.
But Mamma seems to be bringing him right back to life. The thought makes me smile for all of two seconds before I remember what that could mean for Mamma’s future and, by extension, all of ours.
I sit down at the vanity to finish getting ready when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call, picking up my hairbrush.
Mamma steps inside, already dressed for the evening in a dark emerald gown that drapes elegantly around her figure. Her hair is in a fancy updo, and for a moment I just stare at her.
She looks younger, lighter somehow.
“You’re glowing,” I tell her, as she steps closer and reaches for the brush in my hand. “Truly beautiful.”
She begins running it through my hair, untangling a few knots. “Thank you,” she says, looking relaxed and content.
“Are we going to discuss the fact that you and Aldo behave like characters from a romance novel?”
Mamma blinks at me. “We do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
I spin on the vanity bench to face her properly.
“You were holding hands as soon as we stepped off the plane, and don’t think I missed him kissing you hello, even though you tried to be discreet and waited until Ari, Sienna, and I were in the car.”
Then I pointedly glance at her jewelry.
“And that necklace is undoubtedly a new gift from Aldo.” I grin up at her. “Have I forgotten anything?”
A faint flush rises in Mamma’s cheeks. “Mia—”
“No, I need answers,” I insist. “You only spent a few days together in Sicily. Then we arrive in Chicago and he’s looking at you like you personally invented happiness.”
Mamma tries hard not to smile and fails.
“You like him,” I say, watching her closely.
“I never claimed otherwise.”
“No, but I assumed there would be more hesitation and less…” I wave toward her. “Whatever this is.”
She sits down beside me. “It surprised me too.”
I scoot over on the bench to make more room for her.
“I spent many years measuring every word before I spoke,” she says, her eyes suddenly far away. I lean my head on her shoulder.
We all learned to live carefully around Father, but for Mamma it must have been far worse.
“With Aldo…” Her gaze meets mine in the mirror. “I don’t have to.”
She gently turns me away from her and continues brushing my hair.
“He’s calm. Thoughtful. And he makes me laugh. Being with him is… easy.”
The word catches my attention more than anything else she’s said so far.
Easy.
I don’t think love has ever looked easy in our family.
Mamma was always tense around Father. Mari loved Mateo for years before he even noticed her, and Isa… well, she loved Luca only to lose him.
“But wasn’t it like that with Father in the beginning too?” I ask carefully. “You once told us how charming and sweet he was.” Though that’s difficult to picture.
Mamma’s hand stills in my hair.
“He was,” she admits. “But looking back, I can see there was always ambition beneath it. Your father wanted the Leonardi connection, the status our family name brought him.”
Bitterness settles in my stomach. Even after everything, there’s still something awful about hearing it spoken aloud so plainly. To me, it’s like Father deceived Mamma into falling in love with him.
“When I met your father, I was young and na?ve.” Mamma resumes brushing my hair. “I’d like to think I’ve done a bit of growing since then.”
I study her reflection in the mirror.
“And Aldo?”
“Aldo isn’t your father. He’s already where he wants to be in life. He isn’t interested in more power or wealth. I think he just wants to be happy now.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer.
Happiness never seems to enter the equation in our world. The focus is always on strategic marriages. Not happy ones.
“You know,” Mamma says, “there’s a certain peace that comes with age. You begin understanding what actually matters and what doesn’t.”
I tilt my head. What is she on about? She’s only forty-two.
“You’re not that old,” I tell her.
“Old enough to have learned a thing or two.”
She stands again and gathers my hair with practiced fingers, twisting it into an elegant knot at the back of my head.
“So you’re not worried he’ll suddenly change? Like Father did?”
She considers the question instead of dismissing it.
“No,” she says at last. “And even with your father, it wasn’t overnight. It happened gradually.”
She pauses with a pin between her fingers.
“The more influence he gained, the more consumed he became by power.” She pushes the pin into my hair. “Then later his obsession with producing a male heir overtook everything else.”
I look down at my hands. That obsession shaped all our lives.
“And I’m not rushing blindly into this either, Mia,” she continues. “Yes, Aldo and I only spent a couple of days together in Sicily, but since then we’ve spoken every day on the phone, as you well know because all of you have been teasing me about it.”
A small laugh escapes her. I glance at her in the mirror and giggle too. Yes, we have.
“Honestly, getting to know someone this way has been wonderful. There’s no pressure, no need to perform. Just conversation.”
I stare at her reflection. She really means it. This isn’t just loneliness making her cling to someone.
“So this is serious?” I ask quietly.
Mamma’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“It could become that way,” she admits. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not even your father in the beginning.”
Somehow that answer seems far more serious than if she’d simply said yes.
Mamma pushes the last pin into my hair before her hands settle on my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze.
Nodding toward the table across the room, she says, “He sent you more flowers.”
My gaze flicks toward the bouquet and stack of packages still sitting there like a personal attack against my peace.
“And another gift, along with all the ones I already returned to him.”
Mamma chuckles. “He’s persistent.”
I roll my eyes. “I’d call it an expensive inability to take a hint.”
“You still don’t want to open the boxes?”
“Nope. In fact, I’m taking them with me tonight. I’ll make sure they’re returned to him.”
Mamma walks farther into the room, studying the arrangement.
“The flowers are beautiful.”
“They always are,” I reply, picking up my makeup brush and dusting blush across my cheeks.
She picks up the latest gift box and turns it in her hand. “How do you feel about seeing Maximo tonight?”
I puff air into my cheeks before slowly letting it out.
“To be honest, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to for at least a few days.” I reach for my lipstick and twist it open. “It’s very convenient to throw this party the same day we arrive, isn’t it?”
Mamma sighs. She puts the box down again and walks to the bed to open the garment bag I left there.
“Yes,” she admits. “That has occurred to me as well.”
Nothing about Maximo ever seems accidental. Not the flowers or the gifts. And definitely not the timing.
Mamma unzips the garment bag and takes out the dark turquoise evening gown. She’d insisted we pack several evening dresses for inevitable last-minute invitations like this.
“So,” she says gently, “how do you feel about it?”
I focus on applying lipstick, taking perhaps longer than necessary before answering.
“Really, I’m fine,” I say at last. “I’ll avoid him as much as possible.”
Mamma’s lips twitch. “That might not be a successful strategy.”
I roll my eyes. “I know. But honestly, don’t worry about me.” I cap the lipstick and set it down. “He doesn’t intimidate me.”
Not exactly. That would almost be easier.
“I rather enjoy verbally sparring with him,” I continue. “And who knows? Maybe tonight I’ll finally manage to convince him that pursuing me is futile.”
Mamma says nothing.
“I have absolutely no interest in becoming the next Mrs. Marco and spending the rest of my life producing heirs on some organized schedule.”
That earns me a soft laugh from her.
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
I narrow my eyes at her reflection in the mirror. “You just enjoy your budding romance while I deal with the overly persistent Chicago don.”
Amusement flickers in her eyes.
“How do you feel about Maximo pursuing me?” I ask.
Mamma has never been one of those women obsessed with marrying her daughters to the most powerful man available, but we’ve never discussed it outright.
She’d been relieved when Mateo promised he wouldn’t use our Leonardi blood to negotiate advantageous alliances. But that was before the Irish marriage contract disaster.
That possibility doesn’t seem nearly as distant now as it used to.
It turns out the contract is legitimate. Thankfully, nobody has shown up demanding it be honored.
When Mateo investigated it, he uncovered an entire spreadsheet Father had compiled, color-coded by daughter and ranked according to the most desirable political matches.
Seeing it laid out like that made me sick. Father spent years secretly planning our futures like strategic business acquisitions. Even now, it’s difficult to comprehend the full depth of his ambition.
My gaze meets Mamma’s again. She’s gone quiet, contemplating my question.
“I won’t lie to you, Mia. A man like Maximo Marco tends to get what he sets his mind on.”
I don’t want to hear this from her.
“But,” she continues, picking up my dress and bringing it over to me, “you are also very much your father’s daughter.”
I grimace. “That’s hardly a compliment.”
“In this case it is. Once he decided something, nothing could sway him. You’re just as stubborn,” she says, her voice full of warmth and affection. “Possibly more so. Which means my bets are not necessarily on Maximo.”
Now that makes me smile.
“What I want for you and your sisters is the freedom to choose your own husbands. I want you to be happy.” Her tone grows more serious. “That’s all that matters to me.”
All I want is to be happy too. And I won’t let an overbearing Chicago tyrant get in the way of that.
“So if Don Maximo came to me asking for your hand,” Mamma continues, “and you did not want that marriage, I would not give my consent.”
I stare at her reflection in the mirror.
“You mean that?”
“Completely.” There’s no hesitation. “I will always support your choice.”
My eyes sting, and I blink quickly.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat as I stand from the vanity, “that’s unfortunate news for Maximo then.”
I drop the robe I’m wearing and let Mamma help me into the dress. She zips it up and steps back to look at me.
“You’re stunning, tesoro,” she says, cupping my cheeks. “Now let’s go and remind Don Maximo who he’s dealing with.”
“I intend to.” I grin at her.
“Maximo Marco won’t get the better of me.”