You’re my reward…
Brought me to you…
His words lodged inside my brain, and if it were possible to glow, I would have. I didn’t think he understood how deeply those words affected me. How they simultaneously gutted me and revived me.
He squeezed my thigh. “So are you going to tell me about your plan? You know, now that I just told you all my dirty secrets. Or are you going to leave me hanging?”
I had to tell him. I wanted to tell him. And maybe with a little luck, we could be each other’s team rather than being alone dealing with our private demons.
“I was trying to dig up enough dirt to threaten my father and force him to let me start a new life somewhere, but I don’t think he’ll ever let me go. He’ll find different ways to control me. The only way out is to leave without a trace, and that’s what I’ll do when I have enough money to support myself for six months.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No, absolutely not. My father would torture you until you told him where I went, and if that didn’t work, he’d flat out kill you. I can’t be worried about you while I’m on the run.”
He framed my face, directing all of my attention on him. “Then I’ll come with you.”
A choking noise rolled up my throat, and I couldn’t draw a single molecule of air into my lungs. “Oh, Sal…”
“That is, if you want me to go with you.”
“You’d do that for me? What about your family and your life here? We could never come back, and you couldn’t contact them. Ever.”
“You’re worth it, Em. Even if you get sick of me and strike out on your own, I wouldn’t regret it.”
Tears welled in my eyes. No one ever went to bat for me and supported me unconditionally. Normally that was a parent’s job. Apparently, my mom and dad never got that memo. My mom loved me in an abstract way. I was something to fill her time between performing and having an active social life. And my dad, well, he only loved me when I did what he wanted.
“C’mere, tesoro.” He gathered me into his lap, his arms circling my waist. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. You don’t have to answer me right now.”
“No. No…” I leaned back. “I want you to come with me. I can’t believe you’d give up everything for me. Are you sure?”
He pressed his lips against mine and whispered, “Never been so sure of anything in my life.”
“What do we do now?”
“We plan.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Two things happened recently to ensure tonight would be the best Christmas Eve party my father ever had, at least from my perspective. First, Marcello canceled his plans to visit yesterday, claiming he had a family emergency. He rescheduled our engagement announcement for Easter, which was a little over three months away.
I hemmed and hawed, rolled my eyes, and made plenty of snide remarks, not wanting my father to know I didn’t give a crap. Sal and I had a plan. We were getting out of here in less than four months. While I wished we could push up our departure so I’d never have to meet Marcello Masciantonio, we wouldn’t have enough money by then.
The best part of tonight was the game I came up with. I stashed mistletoe in out of way places all over my house. When everyone reached the tipping point between tipsy and drunk, the game would start, which should be any minute now.
I circled the perimeter of the great room, my shoes clicking over the hardwoods. The traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes for La Vigilia was artfully displayed on the large family style table between the kitchen and great room. Stuffed clams, fried anchovies, baccalà alla vesuviana, pasta with various shellfish, baked eel, marinated shrimp, and more.
The house smelled like a combination of pine needles from the greenery delivered this morning, garlic, and basil. The alcohol flowed freely from an impromptu bar set up near the precast fireplace manned by Tony in his Santa suit.
My brain was foggy from indulging in more than one glass of Prosecco, and I couldn’t reverse the smile on my face if I tried, not that anyone noticed me. They were wrapped up in their conversations, the chatter going from a hum to a roar spiked with laughter in the last twenty minutes.
Sal had a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and his other arm around Gian’s shoulder. Nearly the same age, it was natural for them to be friends. And as much as I rebelled against everything to do with my family, I didn’t dislike Carmela or Gian. Truthfully, I was so dead set on wallowing in my misery, I never gave them much of a chance, and now that I was leaving, having a relationship with them would never happen.