“Oh, please. Did your color-coordinated china get messed up for one of your charity functions?” Dev mocked. “Just own it, Pris. Your life is perfect, and you have everything you always wanted. Mom frickin’ revered you.”
Bailey sensed a sudden undercurrent at the table, as if an earthquake was beginning to form. Instead of taking the warning, Dev only aggravated the burgeoning break. Pris’s face had turned white, her bloodless lips curling as if she was talking, but no sound emitted. But her eyes burned with a mad gleam Bailey had never glimpsed before—as if Pandora’s box had broken open.
“Listen up, little sister. You know nothing about me, my life, or even how Mom felt. Maybe if you’d stop looking at what everyone else seems to have, you’d see a clearer picture. Until then, keep your opinions to yourself.”
Dev stared back at her with a slightly open mouth. Pris slammed her credit card on the table. “One last thing. Neither of you bother to ask me any questions about my life. Next time, take a few precious moments from your busy schedule and try it. You may find the answers surprising.”
She stood up, her face back to a tight mask. “I’m going to the restroom. Try to keep from killing each other with your juvenile comparisons.”
Pris marched off without a backward glance.
Bailey and Dev stared at each other, then looked away. A tiny curl of admiration bloomed in Bailey’s belly.
She had rarely seen Pris lose her temper. Her sister funneled all her emotions into ballet, then taking care of her family. It had been easy for both Bailey and Dev to distance themselves, caught up in their own little worlds.
But damned if a pissed-off Pris wasn’t a sight to see.
This trip was already filled with surprises.
chapter twelve
Dev
Dev concentrated on the steep climb as they made their way to Roberto’s home. Was this how people stayed thin while eating pasta and drinking wine? Because she’d never exercised so much in her life just by trying to get from place to place.
But she refused to complain. She was done. No matter what happened, she was tired of earning the reputation as the bitcher. After Pris’s startling outburst, she was beginning to feel a trickle of an emotion she despised.
Guilt.
Yes, Pris wasn’t one to pick up the phone either, but her sister had a point. No one ever checked in on her. Bailey and she always assumed Pris was fine, and thriving in her perfect life. Was Dev wrong? Were there cracks behind closed doors Pris kept hidden? And if so, wasn’t it her sister’s responsibility to share or offer bits to her family?
She was always so . . . serene. Smiling, putting on the graceful hostess facade, and playing peacemaker between Dev and Bailey. Dev got pissed off because she never seemed to lose her temper, or fight with her husband, or complain about her son. She took things as they came with a poised acceptance, which was technically wonderful but only made Dev feel like a subpar human.
So, the guilt wriggled and made her uncomfortable as she climbed toward the man her mother may have had an affair with. Part of her wished he was the secret lover. They could get on with their lives, sell the house, and she’d return home to normal. At least work didn’t give her all these horrible feelings about herself and make her question her existence.
Only her mother and sisters did that.
Now there were only her sisters.
Dad was more of a distant figure, a forced responsibility around holidays or birthdays. She didn’t have the close relationship with him like Bailey, and even though it had been Dev’s choice, lately she’d been thinking of him. Of what it would be like to just hang with her father like the old days and laugh. To enjoy his vibrant personality and funny stories and see the warm affection in his gaze. To slough off the bitter anger and appreciate the good again.
For the past few years, Dev only allowed phone calls and short visits to his new home and family. Each time her father tentatively reached out, Dev slammed it down until Dad stopped asking.
Wasn’t it better that way, though? Rather than pretending he hadn’t replaced them all and moved on?
They finally reached the small, crooked umber-colored house, and she was saved from answering her own question.
Bailey and Pris looked over and waited. Dev stepped ahead to knock on the door.
The man who answered was about her mother’s age. With close-cropped white hair, he squinted at them with dark eyes, as if trying to place who they were. His stature was short but solid, with muscled arms and no hint of a belly. Definitely in shape. Definitely handsome. Definitely a possibility.
Dev smiled. “Signore Umberto? Mi chiamo Devon. Parli inglese?”
He nodded. “Sì.”
“You’ve been taking care of my mother’s house—Olivia Moretti?”
His face cleared. “Ah, sì! Silvia’s house. Is all okay? The house is good, no?”
“It’s perfect, thank you so much for all your help. My sisters and I wondered if we could talk to you for a bit about the house and our mom. If you don’t mind?”
He threw up his hands in delight. “Va bene, come in, come in!” He bellowed a litany of Italian and a stout woman suddenly appeared.
Dev shot a look at her sisters. Uh-oh. They hadn’t thought of the awkwardness of having a spouse around. Would Roberto even want to mention her mother in front of his wife? They’d have to be careful of the way they phrased things. The pile of letters suddenly seemed heavy in her leather bag. She clutched it a bit tighter to her hip and smiled at his wife.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she motioned them in, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses. Her hair was short and curly, and her curves were generous. The house was tiny, with a family room featuring a worn gray couch and chairs and a red area rug, and knickknacks littered every surface. The short hall led to a cramped kitchen. But it seemed sparkly clean, and the scents of lemon, basil, and garlic wafted in the air.
“This is my wife, Adriana,” Roberto said.
His wife’s hand was weathered with age but held a strong grip as Dev shook it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Devon. This is Priscilla and Bailey.”
They got through introductions and their hosts motioned for them to sit. “You must eat with us,” Roberto boomed.
Dev’s overfull stomach gave a groan of protest. “Oh, thank you, but we just came from dinner. We’re really full.”
“We didn’t want to interrupt,” Pris cut in. “We can come back later when you’re free to talk.”
“Nonsense, you will join us. It’s only a little pasta, sit, sit.”
Adriana began loading the tiny table with extra plates and dragged over additional chairs. Roberto grabbed glasses, filling them generously with red wine. Dev shared a look with her sisters, but they all seemed helpless to try to get out of the situation. It would be rude to walk out. Maybe Dev could manage a few bites and keep them distracted by conversation.