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My Mafia Husband Chose My Sister, So I Chose My Lost Love novel · Chapter 11 of 32

Chapter 11: The Boat Shed

I didn't turn around.

If I turned around, I knew exactly what would happen.

"You're supposed to step back," I said to the glass.

"I know."

"You've been very good about it."

"I've been terrible about it." His breath moved the hair at my temple. "I've just been doing it anyway."

His other hand came up.

He didn't touch me with it.

He held it an inch from my hip, so close I could feel the warmth of his palm through the flannel.

My whole body leaned toward it.

"Tell me to go back to the couch," he said.

I closed my eyes.

"I'm still his wife."

"On paper."

"I've lived my whole life on paper, Sandro. Every line of it signed by somebody else." I swallowed. "When this happens, I don't want him in it. Not even on paper."

His forehead came down against the back of my head.

He stayed there for one long breath.

Then the floor creaked, and the heat at my back was gone.

I heard the couch take his weight.

I stood at the window until the moon went behind the co-op roof.

In the morning neither of us said anything about it.

He made the coffee. I drank it.

At breakfast I called the lawyer in the Bruins sweatshirt from the flip phone.

I asked her for a divorce attorney who wasn't afraid of the Vescaris.

"There aren't many," she said.

"Then find me one who's afraid and does it anyway."

In the afternoon Sandro was steaming planks for the sloop.

He'd built a long plywood box with a kettle hissing into one end.

When a plank came out, he had about two minutes to bend it onto the ribs before the wood went stiff.

"Come here," he called up the stairs. "I need two more hands."

I came down in his flannel and a pair of the old man's rubber boots.

The shop was warm and wet with steam. The windows had gone white.

He pulled a plank out with leather gloves. It was steaming.

"Take that end. When I say, push it in against the frame and hold it. Don't let go, no matter what."

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