Page 17 of Once Upon A Christmas Kiss
I pull my hair through the black scrunchie, wrapping up on top of my head in a messy bun. I grab my cell, sliding it into the black flannel pj’s bottom pocket, walking out of my room down the hallway. I want to spend some time with Mamma. I walk down the hallway towards the living room, looking at the Christmas tree.
The floor plan is open; I can see Mamma sitting at the kitchen table, turning the book's page that she’s reading with the mug next to her. She loves reading all sorts of books, especially paranormal romance.
“Mamma, I don’t know why Nicola hasn’t called me; he was supposed to come back from his meeting last night,” I say, grabbing the TV control from the coffee table.
I fall onto the soft black leather sofa, pressing the button, changing the channel, searching for a movie that will grab my attention. I settled for the Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel; the stories are romantic and full of Christmas spirit.
“Don’t worry, Ella, Nicola will call you because that boy adores you. Don’t worry; maybe he couldn’t get away last night from the meeting,” Mamma says, stirring her hot chocolate, then sets the spoon on the table? She takes the cup in her dainty hands, blowing a little, taking a sip of the hot chocolate looking at me over the rim.
“Yeah, that could be it, but it’s Christmas Eve, so I pray that nothing happened to him last night,” I say, chewing my lower lip, turning to look out of the window at the pouring rain.
“Ella, would you like some hot chocolate,” Mama asks, smiling.
“No, Mamma, I’m good; my tummy is acting up,” I say, shaking my head.
“Okay, but you need to see the doctor because you could have the flu or something,” Mamma says, placing the mug on the table.
“Yeah.”
I grab the throw blanket, wrapping it around me, leaning into the sofa, crossing my legs.
The front door opens, and the slamming of the door echoes through the apartment.
Jacob is home.
Maybe he knows something.
Nicola and Jacob are friends, granted not as close as they were in high school, but they still talk. I don’t really know why they’ve pulled apart, and I fucking pray it’s not because of me.
“Hey, what’s for dinner,” Jacob says, walking into the living room looking at me as he leans down to kiss my Mamma on the cheek.
I look at him, raising my right eyebrow, crossing my arms, bouncing my leg. Jacob looks like he’s hiding something or knows something. His eyes look hard; I know that he knows something; he always looks like he has a secret when he wants to torment me. I look at his dark hair tied with a leather strip in a ponytail, at the stupid leather vest, I mean cut that he wears every day. It’s some stupid leather vest that he insists is called a cut that has a patch that identifies his motorcycle club. How grown men play such silly games and use stupid nicknames is totally absurd.
I chew my lower lip, lowering my eyelids, focusing on him.
“Do you know what’s up with Nicola? He never showed up last night,” I ask my brother since they’re best friends; I bet he knows.
It’s a gut feeling.
“Why would I tell you,” Jacob says, standing straight adjusting his leather cut.
Whatever.
“Jacob, stop fucking around and tell me what’s up with Nicola,” I yell, pushing off the sofa, resting my hands on my waist, tilting my head to the side, waiting for him to talk.
“Uh, yeah! I ordered that motherfucker to stay the fuck away from you,” Jacob snarls, clenching his fists.
“Why did you do that? Oh my god! What gives you the right to stick your nose in my business,” I yell furiously, pointing at him. I know that my face is fucking red, and I can feel my gut flip some somersaults.
I stare at him, shaking my head, pulling out my cell phone, looking for any messages. I called Nicola again, and no answer.
What the fuck!
“Jacob, why would you do that to your sister,” Mamma asks, shaking her head glaring at my brother.
“Mamma, that motherfucker is a Mafioso, like Papà was, a Soldati. I don’t want Antonella around that life; look what happened to Papà,” Jacob says, walking to the kitchen pulling the refrigerator door open. He leans in, grabs a beer, twisting the cap off taking a long pull.
“You must be joking, Jacob! Nicola is a good boy, and you don’t have the right to interfere in Ella’s relationship,” Mamma says, shaking her head.
