Page 79 of On Ice

“He holds that much power?” I blink at her, finding it hard to believe any of that is real. “This all sounds like a movie script.”

Isabella sighs. “It does, you’re right.”

“I can assure you,” Sofia’s voice is hard, “this is all very real for us.”

At that moment, Giulia returns with handmade tortellini in a clear broth. I’m glad of the interruption. It’s clear that Luca’s family is very worried for his safety, and knowing he’s in danger makes me feel conflicted. I don’t actively wish for his death, but I also don’t know if I want him to live.

Would all my problems disappear if he died? Or would I just be fair game with him gone? I swirl my spoon through the fragrant broth, feeling like a traitor to Luca’s family. They’re desperately worried for his safety, and I don’t even know if I want him dead or alive.

Isabella leans toward me. “The soup won’t eat itself, silly.”

I shake myself out of my stupor and take a spoonful. The broth is rich and delicious as it slides down my tight throat. Having dinner with the Barone’s was probably a mistake. I don’t want to feel sympathy for Luca. I don’t want to see him as a person. That makes it harder to stay distant.

Tony slurps his soup and once he’s swallowed, asks, “Do you have family in Seabrooke, Evan?”

“I do.” I set my spoon in my half empty soup bowl. “My mother and father live here. My brother is a town away, but it’s not that far.”

Isabella turns to me. “It’s important to have family around you, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.” I finger the stem of my wine glass, thinking about the strange agreement I’ve made with Luca. “I’d do anything for my family.”

“Me too.” Tony sighs, leaning back in his chair. With his thuggish appearance, he looks so different from the rest of the family, it’s hard to believe they’re related.

“Do you see your family often?” Sofia inquires, patting her mouth with her linen napkin.

I wrinkle my brow. “I don’t see my brother or father as often as I’d like. I try to see my mother every few weeks. If we have a lot of away games, it makes it harder.”

Isabella frowns. “Are your parents divorced?”

“No.” I feel a pang of sadness because, while my parents are still technically together, it’s almost like they’re divorced. Between Dad’s past drinking problem and Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, their marriage has taken a beating.

She looks puzzled. “But you said you don’t see your father often, but you see your mother every two weeks.”

I hesitate, wrestling with whether I want to tell them about my mother or not. Sometimes it’s nice to talk about her, but sometimes it depresses me. But before I can decide, Isabella makes a little sound and she places her hand on my arm.

“I just remembered your last name is Riley, correct?” she asks softly.

I nod, meeting her warm eyes.

“I overheard Luca talking to someone on the phone about a Catherine Riley at the Laurel Garden Memory Center, the day before he left on his trip. Is that your mother?”

I tense, surprised she connected the dots so easily. When I don’t speak, her gaze softens and she squeezes my arm. But then she goes back to eating her soup without another word. I’m not sure if I want to tell them about my mom. It’s painful and I’m uncertain if I want to be that vulnerable with them.

I glance up to find Sofia’s gaze on me. “My mother had Alzheimer’s,” she says quietly. Her slender throat moves as she swallows. “That’s a wonderful facility.”

She’s so forthcoming, I suddenly feel foolish for holding tight to my secrets. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. My… uh… my mom also has Alzheimer’s.”

She gives me a sad little smile. “She’s in good hands. I know for a fact they’ll do all they can for your mother, just as they did for mine.”

My chest tightens as we hold each other’s gaze. The enormous stress of having a loved one suffer from that vile disease isn’t something everyone can grasp. But I recognize the pain and loss in Sofia’s eyes.

“She seems happy there,” I manage.

Once more Giulia arrives with food at the most opportune time. She sets a platter on the table with a grunt, and straightens. “Seared bass with fennel and herbs, accompanied by roasted baby potatoes with olive oil, garlic, and rosemary.”

“Sounds delicious,” Tony says, rubbing his hands together.

I don’t complain when Isabella fills my glass with some white wine. The alcohol eases my tension, which I welcome. I’m relieved when the conversation shifts from me to Isabella. When she announces she might have a date later in the week with someone named Enrico, Tony is hugely displeased with her choice. I listen to them bickering, and can’t help smiling. I like the normalcy of their good humored sparing. I crave normalcy right now. I feel completely untethered and not at all like myself.

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