Chapter 9: The Dishwasher

Luca's POV

My mother's hands went flat on the tablecloth.

Fourteen people sat at that table, and every one of them stopped chewing.

"Dante," my mother said. "Take her out."

"Mamma, she's family."

"She is not family."

I stood up, and my chair scraped the floor.

"Gianna," I said. "You're not welcome at this table."

She smiled at me.

"Luca. We've been friends for a very long time."

"We were never friends."

She turned to my brother and said something in Italian, light and quick.

I didn't need to hear the end of it.

"English," I said.

Her smile slipped for half a second.

"Fine." She lifted her chin. "I said I came as Dante's guest, and I'm not leaving a family dinner because a girl with a phone wants a scene."

Willa hadn't moved.

She sat at the corner of the table with her wine glass in one hand and her sister standing guard behind her.

She looked at Gianna for a long moment.

"You're wearing the earrings I gave you for your birthday," she said.

"They're lovely earrings."

"Keep them," Willa said. "I'd hate to ask for everything back at once."

My aunt in black made a small sound, and my cousin at the end of the table had to look at his plate.

My brother took Gianna by the elbow.

"We're going," he said, and he didn't look at anyone.

At the door he turned back and said one more thing to me, low, in English.

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