Savage Pride

13

While our parents are at the viewing, us girls go home to quickly clean up and change. There’s not time for much, but I’m able to rinse off, fix my hair in some semblance of an updo, and add a thick layer of smoky eye shadow to make my blue eyes pop. After I dab on an extra coat of mascara, I slip on one of Gia’s dresses and a pair of heels since I didn’t bring anything appropriate to wear. We’re close enough in size that it works. Several guests are milling about when we return to the De Rossi house. Gia and I go directly to the kitchen to check on Cecelia and the food preparation, not that there is any concern. Mrs. De Rossi wanted us to participate as guests and not employees, so everything was kept simple— finger foods and self-service for the most part. We’ll keep an eye on the food and bring out more when needed while still getting to visit with other guests. My parents, in particular, will appreciate the chance to catch up with people they haven’t seen in years. According to my mother, Mrs. De Rossi had initially suggested bringing in caterers, but Gia and Cecelia jumped in and refused before Mom could get out her acceptance. Hosting Silvano’s closest friends and family was their way of paying respects, as they explained it, which sounds just like Gia. I have no complaints. I’d prefer to have responsibilities because they give me an excuse to escape any small talk. Once everything is set out and ready on the plaza outside, I wander back inside as Nevio De Rossi slips through the front door. While Zeno is rigid strength with sandy hair and shards of blue ice for eyes, Nevio is relaxed charisma shining from beneath espresso eyes and a single perfect dimple. He’s rarely at his parents’ house, so I’ve only run into him a couple of times through the years. He hasn’t changed much from his youth, as far as I can tell. Nevio was the idea man. He came up with games for us to play and told stories better than anyone I’ve ever met. Even after Z stopped hanging out with us, Nevio and I were close. At least, as close as we could be, considering we went to different schools even before he left for boarding school our junior year. He and I are the same age while Zeno is three years older, but personality played a key role in our continued friendship rather than age. Being friends with Nevio was as easy as breathing. The second our eyes meet, he flashes that trademark dimpled grin. “Look who’s here.” He holds out his arms to draw me in for a hug, which I readily accept. “I’m so sorry about the circumstances, but it’s lovely to see you.” He pulls back and studies my face as though I’m a ghost come back to life. “I can’t believe it’s you. And you’re every bit as beautiful as the last time I saw you, which was entirely too long ago.” The girlish giggle that tumbles from my lips is foreign to me, but that’s what Nevio does to people. Women, especially. They flock to him by the dozens, or at least, they did in high school. I never could keep up with his latest interest. Knowing that side of him as well as I did kept me from developing any foolhardy attachments to him. I wonder if he’s settled down now that we’re older. He’s not wearing a ring. Not that I’m interested—just … curious. “Did you make it to the viewing?” I ask. “No, I came straight here. I’m not sure why people want to look at the dead body of a loved one. Seems morose to me. I choose to remember Dad without the smell of embalming fluids.” “Ah, well, I guess I can understand that. Your family is all still over at the funeral home, though.” “Perfect, I can get settled without any hassles. Zeno would prefer I wasn’t here at all, so it’ll be easier this way.” “I thought I was the only one.” The snarky comment rolls off my tongue, but once it’s out, I realize what Nevio has implied and am curious what he means. Nevio grins devilishly. “Oh, no. He outright asked me not to come last night. Trust me, you’re not alone.” I’m a little shocked. I knew the two weren’t super close, but I didn’t realize it was so bad that Zeno would keep Nevio from his own father’s funeral. “That’s awful. You have every right to be here.” Not just the right, he should be welcomed home by his family. Is Zeno that jealous of his brother’s easy nature that he can’t stand to be civil even at their father’s funeral? The absurdity of it balls my hand into a fist tight enough to risk leaving crescent-shaped marks in my palm. Nevio takes my hand in his and coaxes my fingers to open. “I don’t let him get to me, and you shouldn’t either. Let me run up and put my bag in my room, then we can visit.” He brings my hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss on my knuckles. Butterflies tickle the inside of my chest, causing my breathing to stutter. “Yeah, you get comfortable. Then you can tell me what you’ve been up to lately.” “Be right back.” He winks, then strides swiftly up the stairs. He’s only out of sight for a matter of seconds before the front door opens, and Elena De Rossi enters with Zeno towering behind her. Her eyes are glassy and tired, and her poor nose is red. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a husband so suddenly. How heartbroken she must be. “Elena, I’m so incredibly sorry.” I greet her with a hug, hoping she feels the sincerity in my condolences. “Thank you, Luisa. It’s been quite the shock, but it’s lovely to see you.” She pulls back and smiles, sorrow staining her features. “You just missed Nevio. He ran upstairs to get settled.” My eyes flick to Zeno, curious for his response, but his face is inscrutable. Not a lick of emotion. I’m not sure what I expected—maybe a hint of strain from mourning his father. Perhaps irritation that his brother has come despite his wishes. Something. They say everyone grieves differently, but I’m not sure Zeno De Rossi has sufficient human emotions to grieve. I always thought he looked up to his father, which would make this all that much more painful, but on the surface, Zeno is all business.