“Ugh, don’t hold your breath. You know how he is.”
She laughs quietly. “Yes, unfortunately, I do. Text me if you need me.”
“Have fun at the funeral.”
“Vinnie!” she reprimands through her laughter.
“You know what I mean!”
The soft sounds of her amusement float through the phone as she ends the call. Looking back out my window, I set my phone down on my lap, and try to get in the right headspace for brunch.
I love my family. I do—somuch—even Joseph. But my god, sometimes they’re mentally exhausting.
Being the only daughter of Maurizio Paladino comes with responsibilities and expectations.
My parents love me, but growing up, they expected me to be the picture-perfect example of Manhattan royalty.
Oh, who am I kidding? They still do.
Talking about things that are still hypothetical—my wedding, my husband, mychildren—as if I’m not singleand successful on my own, or perfectly content without any of those things.
Of course, I want them someday, but right now, I’m focusing onme.
Our family has three men who can carry out my father’s legacy and take over the business. Continue the family name. Grace them with grandchildren. The latter still seems to fall onto my shoulders, though, which is why my mother absolutely loves to send me to galas, charity balls, and any event she can on her behalf.
She loves these events, but over the last year, she’s been picking and choosing the ones to attend, and berating me into going to the others for her.
I know what she’s doing.
She’s hoping that I’ll meet someone, fall head over heels in love, sell my company, and pop out a few kids.
Still, I find myself entertaining it—being a dutiful daughter and putting on a pretty dress for every one of them.
Clearing his throat, Ross meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “We’re here, Miss Paladino.”
I hadn’t even felt the car come to a stop, I was so lost in thought. “Thank you, Ross.”
“Of course,” he says before he slips out the driver's side and comes to open my door.
Placing his palm face up for me to grab, he adds, “I’ll be parked nearby, so please send me a message about ten minutes before you’re ready to leave.”
“Sounds good, thank you, Ross. Enjoy your break.”
Stepping onto the curb, I stare at the building,so beautifully overgrown with ivy crawling up the sides and onto the roof. The lake peeks from behind, the dark blue glimmering from the sunlight that shines through the surrounding trees.
The park is quiet, and though from the windows I see the inside bustling with activity, Blankenship House seems like a picture from a fairytale on the outside.
I hardly take two steps before a doorman greets me, welcoming me in, where a waitress awaits.
“Right this way, Miss Paladino,” she tells me with a bright smile, ushering me through the restaurant, toward a private section of the patio that overlooks the water.
As we pass, I see more than a few eyes wandering toward me, and unfortunately, a few cell phones point in my direction.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but the pit in my stomach never goes away. It’s strange—being someone that people want to take photos of because they simply see them out in public. I couldn’t imagine actually being famous in a country or worldwide capacity. Being well-known in Manhattan is anxiety-inducing enough.
“Vincenza!” my mother squeals as I step through the French doors and out onto the patio. She stands and greets me in a hug as I reach the table. Over her shoulder, my father smiles at me, while Luciano places his phone screen down on the table before standing as well. I go to him next, allowing my oldest brother to wrap me in a tight embrace.
“Hey, Sis.”
