Page 15 of Better Left Unsaid

“Mobility. It’s allabout mobility,” my father said, sitting down with his drink and reciting the same thing he always said when we played chess. “You can’t have power without mobility.”

Smirking, I took in his words and freed my knight in a move that would inevitably block his rook if he didn’t move it—which I didn’t suspect he would. Not yet anyway. “And power is the most important thing?” I asked, leaning into whatever lesson he was trying to impart. With Santo Deluca, there was always meaning behind his words—something he was trying to teach me and my siblings when we played chess.

“It is if you don’t want to look back in fifty years and regret the chances you didn’t take,” he responded in a gruff voice, as he slowly brought a hand to his chin and scratched.

My family frequently talked with their hands, every movement giving voice to unspoken words. Through his actions, it was obvious—to me, at least—that my father was intent on the game but also looking to get a point across.

Furrowing my brows, I looked up from the board and had to wonder what exactly he was talking about. “Dad—”

He strummed his fingers on the edge of the table and narrowed his gaze. “Your brother told me about you babysitting for Maria Morelli.”

And there we go. Nothing further needed to be said. That was what this was about—Maria. Too bad I already knew where Dad stood on the topic. Anything he had to say at this point was as redundant as the amount of pasta this family consumed in a week.

“Dad, listen—”

“No, son, you listen to me.” Grabbing the remote from the arm of his chair, my father shut off the opera music playing in the background. “Maria is a very nice Italian girl, but we didn’t raise you to sit by and wait your turn. You’re a Deluca, and Delucas don’t sit idly by. They make bold moves to get what they want. You can’t wait for her forever.” His voice was stern and no-nonsense. He spoke with a conviction that would make a stranger quake in their boots.

What the hell was it with this family?

Shaking my head, I leaned back in my seat, no longer interested in playing chess. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t surprised. He always did this. He had an opinion and hell if he wasn’t going to make it known. “That’s not what I’m doing, and there’s nothing to wait for because I don’t like her like that.”Lie.

“Apologies,” he replied, waving a hand between us. “You love her.”

What, did I have it stamped on my forehead?I love Maria, and she has no clue.Why not tell her, though? Apparently, it was only a matter of time before she found out. “I don’t love her,” I tried to deny it.Triedbeing the operative word.

He scoffed. “Please, son, don’t pretend I’m an old fool. I’m not your friend, I’m your father, so I hope you have a little more respect for me, hmm?”

I cleared my throat. He talked about respect like he knew what the word meant. Apparently, he didn’t because he didn’t have enough respect for me to let this topic go and get on with the game. Not that this wasn’t exactly what that was to him—a game. It was a mind game, though, and I wasn’t a teenager any longer. I was sick of his mind games.

It was always the same thing with Santo—know your place and accept that he knew best. Not because he was older and wiser, but because he had more life experience.

I went to speak, but he raised a thick, gray, wiry eyebrow, and I decided why even bother. Anything I said was going to be ignored or shot down anyway.

“You need to take the bull by the horns and make a move. Otherwise, you’ll be nothing more than a pawn,” he said, making this out to be a lot simpler than it actually was. The situation with Maria was a lot of things, but simple was not one of them. And he didn’t even know the half of it. As far as everyone—minus Jade—knew, we were friends. Had they found out we were friends with benefits, they might have seen how things were complicated enough. There was no need to make things any more complicated by talking feelings.

Plus, how would that conversation go, anyway? Because, let’s be honest, I’d ran through it in my head a number of times, and it was a waste of time.

Hey, Maria, remember when we made those rules? Yeah, well, one of them was to not let emotions get involved, and I did that big time. When, you ask? Oh, I can’t remember the exact moment. I suppose it was sort of gradual, like a slow drip. The more we slept together, the more my feelings grew. Bottom line: I love you. But don’t worry, it’s not the all-consuming type of love because I don’t want to lose our friendship over it. You think we can forget this conversation ever happened if you don’t feel the same way?

I scrubbed a hand down my face. “I’m not a pawn,” I finally responded, wanting to put my fist through a wall, that was how frustrating these conversations were with my father. “We’re friends. Best friends.” Why couldn’t he understand this? Why couldn’t anyone?

“You love her,” he said, his deep, booming voice echoing in my head.

Repeating it wasn’t going to help anything, Dad. He could say it with all the conviction in the world, and I still wouldn’t confirm it.

My father continued, obviously intent on getting through to me. “You should stop saying you’re best friends. You can’t be best friends with the opposite sex. You also can’t be best friends with the woman you love.” His eyes were narrowed, and he was wearing a scowl, like he wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary.

The problem was that there was so much wrong with that statement, it wasn’t even funny.

You could be best friends with the opposite sex.

Loving Maria did, in fact, mean I loved mybest friend.

So, really, if anyone agreed with my father that I couldn’t be best friends with the woman I loved, then sorry to disappoint you, but I was. Frankly, what shocked me was that my father seemed to be able to read me like a book.

“Look at your mother and me,” he continued, and I cringed, anticipating how much my mother would hate his next words.

“Got it, Dad. You and Mom aren’t friends,” I cut in, trying to stop him from putting his foot in it. Not that she would hear. She was out with her friends.

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