Alda is immediately in hysterics. She clutches her hand to her belly, laughing like a crazy woman. Tears gleam in her eyes as she points a finger at her son. “Your face!” she cries. “Oh, my son, the romantic!”
A flicker moves across Carlo’s expression. Alda has played tricks like this before, I’m guessing, because he doesn’t look surprised. Only pissed.
“Great,” he sighs. “f*****g great.”
“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Alda scolds.
Carlo and Ubert leave. Carlo doesn’t even look at me, but I don’t want to leave things like this. For what feels like the hundredth time, I go after him.
I follow him up the stairs to the library, where he has a heavy historical volume open. “Looks like a riveting read,” I mutter.
He turns slowly. “A history of the Roman Empire,” he says, still not looking at me.
