Page 105 of Say It Isn't So

She shrugged. “Yeah, but she didn’t stay. She didn’t even come in. Allie, on the other hand, I couldn’t get to leave.”

I laughed but had a hard time believing she had really wanted her sister to go. They were thick as thieves.

“Anyway,” she went on, “hopefully the way to your heart isn’t through your stomach because then you’ll fall in love with Maria and not me.” She laughed at her own words, but I still felt a tightness in my chest over what I had to tell her.

Especially tonight. It seemed like she was in a better place—more relaxed and confident. I didn’t know what Allie had said to her, but whatever it was, it had worked.

Unless her improved spirit was exactly the reason this was a good time to drop my bomb. She was her usual strong, assured self—she’d be able to handle it well.

Okay, the plan was still in place, I’d tell her tonight. Scratch that, right now.

I swallowed, pushing down the lump in my throat. “We need to talk,” I started, treading lightly. If those four words didn’t put her on high alert, I didn’t know what would. They were the world’s worst words to hear together, but I really didn’t know how else to start this conversation and wanted to ease her into it.

Believe me, if things were different, if Angelo wasn’t so dead set against us being together, then I’d never let Bianca go.

It turned out I cared for her a lot more than I wanted to admit. To the point where I had to put her above everything else, including my own desires. It was the right thing to do. However, one of these days, I would like to know why the right thing to do was always the hardest.

Bianca didn’t stop setting the table, though, just gave me a nonchalant nod. Before setting down the last dish, she walked over, her lips puckered to give me a kiss.

I coughed, interrupting the gesture before she could get close. She paused and pulled back. “Are you sick?” she asked, her brows furrowed, her lips turned downward, concern written all over her face.

I rubbed my throat and made my voice hoarse as I said, “I don’t know, but let’s not press our luck, okay?”

She rolled her eyes and bounced on her feet as she took a seat and ushered for me to do the same. “Does it matter if I get sick? It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

Sitting now, I grabbed one of the serving spoons and began to serve her.

She sat up straighter and licked her lips. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole unemployed thing.”

“You won’t be unemployed forever. Your dad will come to his senses and hire you back.” And that was a great segue to the conversation I needed to have. “In fact, I was thinking and—”

She heaved a sigh. “But I don’t know if I even want to go back there.”

“What?” My eyes grew wide, and I honestly feared they might pop right out of my head and fall on the table, rolling to her side. “You love your job.”

“I know I do. I mean, you’re right. It’s just that I can’t go back there with this between my dad and me. It would be too awkward. I wouldn’t feel comfortable, you know?”

“That’s what I’m saying. This thing with your dad might just blow over. He can’t stay mad at you forever.” I’d known she was mad, but Bianca was still Bianca.

She shrugged, clearly not convinced. “It’s not that easy this time. Besides, you don’t know him as well as I do.”

Sure, but it could have been easy if I was out of the picture. I began pulling at the collar of my shirt. “Is it hot in here?”

“No,” she answered slowly. “Are you okay? You seem off.”

I swallowed hard. “Who, me?” That came out a decibel too high. “I’m peachy.” Peachy? What man in their right mind said they were peachy? Me, that was who. Only I wasn’t in my right mind. I was losing it. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. I was as useless as this plate of— I studied the contents of my dish for the first time and raised a brow. “What are we eating?”

“Oh,” she replied, smiling again. “Truffle tagliolini.”

I blinked. “Come again?”

She chuckled. “It’s truffles and some fancy shaped pasta. It’s like the ribbon version of spaghetti, but thinner than fettuccine. Does that make sense?” She fixed the sleeves on my sweatshirt and went to pick up her fork. “All the different pasta dishes can be confusing. When I was little, I couldn’t for the life of me remember the difference between them all. I called everything pasta.”

“For what it’s worth, they all taste the same.” I took my first bite and closed my eyes savoring it. “But this is better than anything I’ve ever had.”

“That’s Maria for you,” she explained. “For a minute there, if she hadn’t gone to work atBellissima, she dreamed of opening a restaurant. An Italian one, of course.”

“Of course. Any name for the dream establishment?”

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