Page 66 of Bittersweet

“So, what? Coco and I aren’t good enough, so she decided to go after the next bestthing?”

“I don’t think she had any idea. She looked sick when she saw me. She’s been in there for the last hour enduring the date fromhell.”

“He can’t have her. Not after . . . He can’t haveher.”

“He alreadydoes.”

I lace my hands behind my head and crouch down in the middle of my grandparents’ yard to keep from stalking in the house and beating the shit out of my little brother. Seeing him during the holidays is bad enough, but this? He brought the only girl I’ve cared about since my ex-wife as his date. Why her? Did he know? Did he do it just to piss me off? This is too much like history repeating itself. “I can’t go in there. I can’t see him with his hands all overher.”

“You have to. It's Nonna and Nonno's anniversary. Besides, they already know you’re here. It won’t be long before they come to findyou.”

“This is bullshit, B,” I shout, and then lower my voice. “You really think our brother deserves someone as perfect and sweet asRomy?”

“It doesn’t matter what you or I think. If she wants to be with Marc, then we can’t stop her. Now come on.” My sister gives me a hard squeeze and tugs my hand. “You know if he sees you like this, he’ll use it to his advantage, and that woman you care so much about will become nothing but a pawn tohim.”

She’s right. I may not want to see my brother touch her, or look at her, but he will use her against me if I can’t pull it together.I always did have a shit pokerface.

I pick up our bags, grab the keys from the ignition, and close the truck, following my sister inside. I dump our bags in the foyer and enter the living room. My parents get up to greet me, Nonna and Nonno dotoo.

And then they stop crowding me. They move back to their seats, and there she is, tucked between the arm of the sofa and my brother’s beefy side.Romy.

She looks different. Her face is drawn, and her nails clutch the edge of the couch like she might tear a hole in it any minute. My first instinct is to ask what’s wrong, but then I realize I already know. Marc is wrong. My brother is wrong. It should be me at her side bringing her to meet myfamily.

“Look, Dadda. Womy’shere.”

I swallow hard and stare at the woman in question. I can’t take my eyes off her, not even to look at Coco, who must be confused as hell right now seeing Romy here at Bisnonna’s house. “I see that, babygirl.”

“’Sup, bro?” Marc’s words draw my attention away fromRomy.

“Nothing,” I say with a forced smile. “Excuse me. I gotta take our bags up to theroom.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, I grab mine and Coco’s bags and headupstairs.

Traveling with a four-year-old for just one night is the equivalent of trying to pack your whole life into a Mini Cooper. There are stuffies and several different kinds of pj’s, Disney princesses, books, and ten different outfits and dress-ups in case Coco’s feeling a littleextraand deems it necessary to put on a show for Nonna and Nonno. All of this means that our bags are plenty, and heavy asshit.

I’m midway down the stairs when Romy appears at the foot of them, her hands balled by her sides, the toe of her sparkly heels scraping the floor in what looks to be a nervousgesture.

“Hi,” she says in a small voice, as if she’s afraid I’llstartle.

“Hey.” My response is brusquer than I mean it tobe.

She winces, and then covers the expression with a smile as forced as my own. “How have youbeen?”

“Good.You?”

“Good.” Romy shakes her head. “Actually, that’s not really true. I’ve missed you. I mean, I miss the bakery, and B, and seeing Coco. She’s really sweet, Elio, and . . . and unforgettable. You should be superproud.”

I open my mouth to tell her I am, but apparently Romy isn’tdone.

“I’ve been spending all my time training, and dating your brother hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake. Huh. Cake, what’s that, right? I don’t even know what cake or processed foods or white sugar are anymore. They are not in this girl’s diet, that’s for sure. This girl only eats kale and chokes down wheatgrass, and your brother’s hideous smoothies. Man, I miss your muffins, and well . . . I thought she was yourwife.”

I blink at her, stare at the blush creeping across her cheeks. I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she sucks in air, as if she hasn’t taken a breath for months. “What did yousay?”

“Which part? I said a lot. Kind of wouldn’t shut up.” Romy grimaces. “Much like now,really.”

“You thought who was mywife?”

“Yourcousin.”

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