Reborn, My Sister Stole My Marriage novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Stairs

Sisters who both remember trade smiles on the Keane staircase, and Fiona's warning is laughed off until her father says Dominic's car is outside.

Our father didn't speak to me the whole ride home.

He drove himself, the way he always did when he was angry, with both hands tight on the wheel.

The Keane house in Bay Ridge was dark except for the kitchen light.

He stopped in the doorway and turned around.

"You signed with a man who can't set foot in this city."

"He can come in on the Keane vote," I said. "You told me that yourself, years ago. Every dock he needs, you control."

"I had you down for Brancato."

"I know."

"The old Don asked for you by name last spring."

"And now he has Roisin, who is prettier and smiles more."

My father rubbed his eyes.

He was not a bad man. He was a tired one, who had run a union local for thirty years by saying yes to the right people.

"The Ferrante boy was the second choice," he said. "A courtesy. I never thought you'd pick him."

"He asked for my contract, Dad. His signature was already dry."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"Go to bed, Fiona."

I went up the stairs slowly.

The house smelled like it had when I was young, floor wax and lemon oil and our mother's old roses in the hall, though she had been dead ten years.

In my first life I had stood on these stairs in a wedding dress.

I put my hand on the banister and kept climbing.

"You're taking this very well."

Roisin sat on the landing in her good silk dress with her shoes in her lap.

She patted the step beside her.

I stayed where I was, two steps below.

"Did you like my speech?" she said. "I practiced it in the car. I wasn't sure about the part where I say I'm sorry."

"It was fine."

"You didn't cry."

"No."

"You always cry." She tilted her head. "Nine years, Fiona. You cried at every single funeral, and I never even got to see you do it. I was in Jersey."

She said it so lightly.

Down the hall a clock ticked, and neither of us moved.

So we both knew, and we both knew the other knew.

"You can have him," I said.

Roisin's smile slipped for half a second.

"What?"

"Nino. His mother, his money, the Old Guard and all the dinners. You take it. I'm not going to fight you for any of it."

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

"You think I don't know what I'm taking?" Her voice rose. "I watched you work yourself to the bone. I watched them love him for it while nobody said your name once."

"Then why do you want it?"

Her hand went to her stomach.

"Because you gave him a son," she said. "Nino got his chair, and you got a grave. But I'm smarter than you were. I'll have the baby first. I'll have him fast, and he'll live."

I looked at her and thought about the two small white coffins.

She had been at neither one.

"Roisin," I said. "Listen to me once."

"Don't."

"Don't eat or drink anything Rosalia gives you. Not once, not a cup of coffee. Not a single thing, and not at her table either."

She stared at me.

Then she laughed, high and delighted, and pressed her fingers over her mouth.

"Oh, that's good. That's really good. You want me scared, so I'll back out, so you can have him again."

"I don't want him."

"Of course you say that." She stood up and brushed off her dress. "You always did give up too easy. That's why you lost."

She walked down the hall to her room, and her door shut.

I stood alone on the landing.

There was a gift box on the hall table at the top of the stairs.

It was white, with a ribbon the color of cream.

I hadn't seen it when we came in.

The card said, in Rosalia's slanting hand: For my new daughter.

I lifted the lid.

Inside, in tissue, was a small green teapot with a gold rim and two matching cups.

It was the same set she had sent me nine years ago, the week after I got engaged.

I had used it every morning.

I put the lid back down very carefully and stepped away from the table.

Dominic Ferrante had known about tea.

I had said nothing, and he'd known.

"Fiona."

My father was at the bottom of the stairs, his tie loose, one hand on the newel post.

He looked up at me with a strange expression.

"There's a black car outside the house," he said. "The driver says Mr. Ferrante would like to see you."

"Now?"

"Now." He cleared his throat. "He said he'd wait all night if he had to."

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