Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 30
“Dio mio,you must’ve put on ten pounds since you’ve been gone.”
Mamá’s comment slices through the air of our living room, bouncing off the white walls and matching furniture, embedding itself in my skull where her criticism usually makes its home.
Now that the neighbors and childhood friends have filtered out for the evening, having spent every second since my arrival gushing over how happy they were to see me alive and to badger me about life as a captive, despite my repeated and vehement reluctance toward the term.
For the most part, when the shine of my return wore off and they finished asking about the island, everyone disappeared, as interested in my life as they were before I ever left Boston.
It didn’t necessarily feel good seeing people I’d known for years become visibly bored by the truth behind my disappearance, but at least Kal looks less likely to commit mass murder now that the house is silent.
Or, was silent.
Mamá sweeps into the room, a long red silk robe dragging on the floor behind her, a glass of white wine in one hand. She stands beside the white stone fireplace, keeping her distance while we wait for Papá to arrive with Ariana and Stella, who’d apparently been otherwise occupied.
“You could’ve at least tried to dress like a Ricci,” she notes, curling her lip back as she rakes over my outfit. “Instead of Kallum’s cheap flavor of the month.”
I don’t respond, knowing she’ll eventually tire of the insults. Her game always was criticism first, pleasantries second, and it was always just a matter of waiting her out.
Sipping slowly, Mamá keeps her dark gaze trained on Kal and I, the heat of her stare almost causing me to get to my feet and move to a different chair.
My fingers twitch in my lap, nerves eating away at any source of comfort created by my husband’s proximity. Pleasantries would be great any time now.
But Kal seems completely unaffected, leaning back and slinging his arm on top of the sofa. His fingers toy with the ends of my hair, setting my nerve endings on edge, my body primed and ready for more.
Always ready for more where this man is concerned.
Nonna staggers into the room a few minutes after we settle in, wearing a royal blue pantsuit and grumbling about getting cheated at her bridge game. She notices me, her wrinkled face splitting into a smile, and walks over, bending down to scoop my upper half into a bear hug.
“Nipotina!” she says, warmer than she’s ever been with me. The slight hint of booze I get, mixed with stale perfume, tells me why. “The way your mother’s been pouting around here the last couple of months, I’d begun to think you died and I missed the funeral.”
I shake out a laugh, but it doesn’t sound normal. “No, just married.”
“Kind of the same thing, eh?” she says, slurring the words from one corner of her mouth, then slides her gaze to Kal beside me. “No offense, of course, dear. It’s just, I know men in my son’s world. Hell, my husband started the family business here. I know how taxing it can be on a marriage.”
“Maybe don’t compare virtual strangers to the shitty men in your life.” His eyes leave hers, darting quickly across the room and back—so quick, I don’t have a chance to see what he looked at. “I can promise you, we’re quite different.”
Mamá snorts into her wine glass.
Nonna squints at him, hiking her purse farther up her shoulder. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.” Yawning, she pushes white bangs from her face, patting my cheek as she straightens. “I’m going to turn in before your father arrives, but I’m sure I’ll see you at the recital.”
Nodding, I watch her head down the hall past the stairs, ambling toward the in-law suite at the back of the house.
My skin prickles with awareness of Mamá’s perusal, and I start to move forward and push to my feet, but Kal tangles his fingers in my hair, twisting until they’re flush with the nape of my neck. I glare from the corner of my eye, pulling gently so as not to alert Mamá as to what he’s doing.
“She’s trying to get under your skin,” he says in a low voice, only loud enough for me to hear. “Don’t let her have that power over you.”
“She’s just staring,” I hiss back, my voice just as low.
“Jealousy, little one. It’s not as attractive on everyone as it is on you.”
I let out a tiny, exasperated sound. “I don’t even know what she’s jealous of.”
His mouth parts as if to answer, but in the next second the front door is flying open, Papá and my sisters hustling inside, water dripping off their raincoats onto the dry floors.
“Grazie a Dio, Rafael!” Mamá snaps, splashing her wine as she gestures toward the foyer. “You’re tracking mud everywhere.”
Papá mutters something under his breath in Italian, coming into the living area looking primed for an argument. He stops dead in his tracks when he spots Kal and me on the sofa, eyes nearly popping out of his head.
“Elena,” he says, blinking like he doesn’t really believe I’m real. “You’re here.”
I push to my feet when I feel Kal release his grip on my hair, although the way he lets his fingers comb through the strands feels somewhat reluctant on his part. Moving to wrap my arms around Papá, I kiss his stunned, ruddy face on both cheeks, the memories of the last time I saw him disappearing the second I’m engulfed in his warm embrace.
For a moment, I can almost forget that he risked my safety by forcing my hand in a marriage for personal gain. Twice.
I can almost forget the fact that he overlooked years of abuse, just because he so badly wanted to maintain his power in Boston, and needed the alliance with Bollente to do so.
I can forget all of that.
But... I don’t.
As I pull out of his hug, something chilly skates across my skin, a foreboding sensation that makes me a little queasy. Like I’m chasing something that doesn’t deserve to be caught.
Kal gets up silently, moving in to stand directly behind me; his large palms clamp down on my shoulders, yanking me back into his front, and then he’s holding out a hand to Papá, a mask of stoicism guarding his features.
Ariana and Stella stand under the archway connecting the living room to the foyer, as if waiting to see what happens next before launching themselves inside.
“Rafe,” Kal says, nodding in acknowledgment, even though the gesture feels vaguely passive-aggressive.
Papá doesn’t reach out, ignoring Kal’s offer entirely, eyes glued to me. They harden the longer the silence stretches, but then my sisters must decide it goes on for too long, because they bound into the living room, giggling and squealing, pulling me away from Kal and into their arms.
As far as I can tell, not much has changed about them in the weeks that I’ve been gone; Ariana’s chestnut hair seems a little lighter than it once was, the freckles on her face more prominent now that it’s springtime, and Stella’s wearing the same thick-framed glasses, that familiar, bland expression forever etched onto her round face.
“Okay, officially, we’ve gone way too long without seeing you,” Ariana says. She pushes back, grabs my biceps, and gives me a once-over. “Although, we need to talk about how you’re fucking glowing, E! You have to be getting a healthy dose of vitamin D.”
She wiggles her eyebrows, and I roll my eyes, pushing her away. Mamá bristles, moving away from the fireplace to glare at us from a closer vantage point.
“Ariana, honestly.” Sip, then glare. “Is that an appropriate way to talk to your sister?”
“What, I can’t be happy that she’s getting some?”
Papá makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Che palle, Ariana. Watch your tongue.”
Scoffing under her breath, she turns back to me, playing with the ends of my hair.
“They somehow got even stiffer after you left,” Stella whispers, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“How else would two emotionless robots accurately play the part of grieving parents?” Ariana says, just barely keeping her voice down.
“Have they really been that bad?” I ask, glancing over Stella’s shoulder at Papá, who walks over to a sideboard near the doorway, pulling out a cigar and lighting up. Something I’ve never seen him do outside his office.
“It’s been pretty bad,” Ari says, rubbing her palms over her arms. “Papá is rarely home. Stella thinks he has a mistress.”
Stella sputters, shaking her head wildly, dislodging some of the light brown hair from her low bun. “I didn’t say that. I said I’d be surprised if he didn’t, which is not the same as an accusation.”
“Whatever,” Ari says. “I’m sure he does have one. You know Mamá doesn’t put out anymore. Not since her affair.”
My heart practically falls out of my chest, that single sentence a wrecking ball to my entire worldview. I swing my gaze to hers, then back at my sisters, trying to process what they’ve just said.
“Sorry,” I say, blinking. “Her what?”
Ariana and Stella glance at each other uneasily, as if trying to decide what all they should tell me. Stella glances down, noticing the diamond on my left ring finger for the first time, and it completely steals her attention, cutting off whatever they were about to say.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she says, yanking my hand closer to her face. “That’s freaking huge.”
“I’ll bet it’s not the only thing that’s huge—”
“Enough!” Papá snaps, stalking over and grabbing Ariana’s wrist, twisting it backward as he drags her away from me.
My eyes flicker to Kal, who stands back silently, hands shoved deep in his suit pockets. That muscle beneath his eye thumps erratically, the only sign that he’s at all bothered by any of this.
Or maybe he’s not bothered by how my parents are acting, so much as the fact that he’s here, having to endure the interactions at all.
“I’ve had enough shame put on la famiglia between the two of you,” Papá says, starting from the room, pulling Ariana along with him. “You’ll wait on the rooftop for Father Sabino.”
“The rooftop?” She strains against him as he leads her up the winding staircase. “What are you going to do, push me off?”
“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, Ariana. You’re lucky I don’t put you in a convent after everything you’ve pulled.”
Their shouts echo off the walls, bouncing against the ceiling and bounding back down to us before trailing off and silencing entirely. Stella shifts uncomfortably, glancing over her shoulder at Mamá.
Sighing, Mamá takes a step forward, putting her hand on Stella’s shoulder. It’s the kind of comforting gesture I might have gotten a few months ago, but that is decidedly absent right now, despite the stories I’ve heard of how badly Mamá was missing me all this time.
When she steps into Stella, I slide my foot to the side and step into Kal, finding solace in the sturdy feel of his body against mine and that cinnamon and whiskey scent that somehow clings to him.
Mamá catches the movement, narrowing her eyes at me. “Stella, carina, why don’t you run upstairs and get a head start on some of your finals? I’m sure your world history essay won’t write itself.”
Stella scoffs. “If only.” She hesitates for a moment, looking at me with an uncertain gaze, like she isn’t sure if she should leave me.
“Your sister will still be here tomorrow, I’m sure,” Mamá offers, pushing Stella toward the stairs. “Run along now.”
After giving me a last air-stealing hug, Stella disappears in the same direction Papá and Ari went, the dull thud of her sneakers the only sound for several minutes. Then, a door slams shut, and suddenly it’s just the three of us, drowning in silence.
