Dinners at the Marcello estate ranged from lonely—when I arrived home from work at an odd hour and gobbled leftovers at the kitchen counter—to downright boisterous.
Today was the latter. Eli had insisted we join Aldo and his mother Melissa, along with Carlo and another of Aldo’s closer confidants. I admit, it was almost nice to surround myself with so much talk and laughter.
To watch Aldo and Carlo laugh at a shared memory. To listen to Melissa brag that Eli had made the pasta from scratch. To watch Eli blush at the approval of everyone at the table.
Almost a family.
The ring of Aldo’s phone reminded me, starkly and irrevocably, that we were not—and never would be—a true family.
He rose from the table and lifted his phone to his ear in one swift movement. “Talk to me.”
He’d moved t
