Page 157 of Bad Bishop
“You didn’t tell me you love me back.”
I pressed my lips together, on the verge of giggling. I hadn’t felt this light and happy since the day I was born. I was positively drunk on it.
“I already told you I loved you.”
“After I gave you three orgasms. That doesn’t count.”
“I’m waiting for the perfect moment. Don’t rush me.”
He offered me one of his villainous expressions—cold, dead, unimpressed—but a hint of pink gathered at the top of his cheekbones. He was blushing. And if I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d kick my feet.
“Fine. I’m leaving. But I reserve the right to barge in here and give your mam a piece of my mind—and fist—if she misbehaves.”
“Wow. You got it bad for me.”
“Thought I made that clear three times a night for the past few months.”
Grinning, I signed, “Go. Don’t worry. We’ll figure everything out when I get discharged.”
“It’s you and me against the world.” He leaned to brush his lips over my forehead. “But I like our odds, darlin’.”
_______
A few moments later, the door to my hospital room slid open and Mama poked her head inside.
“Can I come in?”
I nodded, watching as she sashayed in, tossing the door shut with the back of her designer heel as she balanced a silver tray full of cannoli. She wasn’t wearing one of her prim dresses, and her hair wasn’t done for once.
She looked…worn out. Humbled. And twenty years older.
She slid the tray on the stand next to my hospital bed and took a seat next to me. Ran her palms up and down her thighs to get rid of the sweat.
She didn’t make eye contact with me when her lips moved.
“Tiernan told me that you and the baby are okay.”
“Yes.” I wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
“I’m so glad,bambina mia.”
I simply stared.
“Thank you for agreeing to give me the time of day. God knows I don’t deserve it.”
I didn’t have it in me to be compassionate to her. I shrugged.
“I’ve been a horrible mother to you, haven’t I? Not just through the length of your pregnancy. Since you were born.”
I licked my lips. I had nothing to say to that, since I wholeheartedly agreed. In retrospect, she robbed me of so much. And these past few months…
“You’re not Vello’s,” she blurted out.
I slammed my brows together, staring at her. A sense of déjà vu washed over me. I couldn’t say I was surprised, exactly. I had to be a perfect idiot not to see how different I looked from the rest of my family. But growing up, my mother always insisted nothing was amiss. That I took after a mysterious French great-grandmother who was very fair.
“I never wanted to marry your father.” She shook her head. “Actually, that’s putting it mildly. Back in Secondigliano, mymother was married to the don. They had no boys, just me, so it was up to me to marry someone to take over the business. My father made me break up with my boyfriend to marry Vello. His right-hand man.”
She tore her gaze from me, staring at the floor.
