Blood Always

27

“All right,” Val said as she tried to stand from the sofa, “I think I need another drinkypoo. You horny Bs are killing my buzz drooling over Maria’s man.” Her foot clipped Sofia’s knee, and she tumbled onto the floor, laughing hysterically. I shook my head. “I don’t think so, sailor. You’ve had enough.” I hadn’t been counting drinks, but even in my own drunken haze, I could tell she was done. “Awwwe, come on, Mary Mary quite contrary. Don’t be a party pooper.” She scooted to sit next to Sofia, reaching with a wild hand for Sofia’s drink. “You’re seventeen, Val, don’t push your luck.” “I bet you did a whole lot worse than get drunk in a hotel room when you were seventeen.” The girls all turned to me, burning curiosity lighting their already glassy eyes. “Why is this the Maria show? Can’t we talk about someone else?” Sofia drunkenly shook her finger at me. “Because, you don’t ever tell us anything. Now that we have you talking, we want all the answers. We want to know everything about you!” She waved her hands around wildly, Val’s eyes following her drink as it sloshed in the air. “Yeah, Maria,” Giada chimed in. “You never played with us or anything. Why was that? Tonight is proof you can be fun—why didn’t we do this growing up?” “Never played with us?” Alessia gawked. “It was way worse than that. She used to torment me to no end. Cut the hair off my dolls and bent the tips on all my markers. She was downright mean.” Every ounce of energy drained from my body. The alcohol dried up and took the fun with it. With just a few words, I was that angry little girl again, and the sadness of it was a heavy boulder on my chest. A crushing weight I had to escape. “I’m sorry I hurt you guys,” I offered quietly. “It wasn’t necessarily my intention. There’s reasons I keep to myself—some secrets are just too ugly to be told.” I tried to smile, but my lips turned downward instead. “I’ve had a great night, ladies—thanks for including me. I’m gonna head to bed. Lots more fun to be had tomorrow.” This time, my smile cooperated as I rose from my chair and waved goodnight. I tried not to examine their faces, knowing what I’d find. Concern. Pain. Remorse. Instead, I hurried off to the safety of my bedroom, closing myself in and everyone else out, because that’s what I did best. A girl could only handle so much change and personal growth. I had hit my limit. Curling up in bed, I grabbed my phone that I’d left charging on the nightstand. One missed message from Matteo. How was your flight? How very domestic. My mood had already taken a steep turn into the shadows. Something about seeing Matteo’s name made it ten times worse—an inky black stain sullying everything around me. Matteo was checking on me while he was probably balls deep in some other woman. f**k. I wanted to grab the duvet and rip it apart at the seams. I wanted to throw the decorative vase that sat on the dresser into the wall and watch as it shattered into hundreds of pieces. I wanted to take a knife and gouge out the hurt and anger that festered inside me like a gangrenous infection. Since those things weren’t an option, I forced my anger into a small box, slammed the lid shut, and duct taped the s**t out of it. The box bounced and shook, but otherwise remained sealed. Flight was fine. I set my phone back down, knowing it was way too late in New York for Matteo to answer. With a heavy sigh, I decided to wash my face and call it a night. Aside from the rocky patch near the end, our evening had been a success, and there was satisfaction in knowing I hadn’t let my family down. I tossed the covers off me, but before I could stand, my phone buzzed. Did you go out? I narrowed my eyes at the glowing screen. Why was he asking? I told him I would behave. Did he not trust me? Seriously, Maria, would you trust him? Not if my life depended on it. No, we hung out in our suite. There. He could stop worrying that his new bride might not sit at home penning odes to his name. As if he wasn’t doing whatever the hell he wanted. I hated that it bothered me so much, but noxious wisps of jealousy slithered through my mind. I wanted to know. I wanted to ask him if he was f*****g anyone else, but I couldn’t. It’s awfully late there. Were you awake? A simple question. Not exactly the one I wanted to ask, but it was the best I could do. No, I had my phone on so I’d wake when you responded. Oh. He’d been waiting to hear from me? That was new and … strange. Even in my teens, I’d never had someone wait up for me. My father knew I could protect myself and that I would never consent to being on a leash. I did what I pleased when I pleased, without the need to report to anyone. Had my parents asked me when I’d gotten in or what I’d done while I was out, I would have gone nuclear. But now … now I was older. Less volatile. A liquid warmth settled in my chest at knowing Matteo was prepared to interrupt his sleep in order to hear from me. Then the little jealousy gremlin lapped up that liquid and grew in strength, turning into something dark and twisted. Had he truly been asleep? Or was he busy f*****g someone else when I texted? The little gremlin hijacked my phone and texted a one-word reply. Right. I hit send before I could reconsider. You don’t believe me? I believe you’ll tell me whatever you think I want to hear to keep me in line. My phone began to buzz with a facetime request. I clicked accept. Video feed filled my screen of Matteo propped against a headboard, eyes bleary and chest shirtless. It was the first time I’d seen his bare chest, and despite the dim lamplight and poor video quality, my core fluttered with hunger. Considering the tattoos on his neck, forearms, and fingers, I had assumed he’d be covered, but he wasn’t. His smooth chest and abs were almost totally unadorned, leaving the dips and valleys of each muscle as the sole attraction. “Facetime? Are we fifteen now?” Snark and sass were two of my most frequently used defenses when I was uncomfortable. The intimacy of his call sent me hurdling past uncomfortable and well into awkward. “I wanted you to know I was telling the truth—I’m in my bed, alone, and was fast asleep when you texted.” His voice bore the telltale gravelly undertones of sleep, his words a calloused caress raising goosebumps on my bare arms.