“Icould have cooked,” Vee says as we make our way through the kitchen. Joann, my housekeeper, has made a full brunch for my family.
“I enjoy it,” Joann assures her with a warm smile. “It’s rare I have anyone to cook for these days.”
She cuts a look in my direction that says clearly, she’s tired of my bachelor days and would like very much if I would get married and fill the house with children.
If only my own mother had half the motherly instincts as Joann, my childhood might have had more happy memories.
Our father’s coldness toward her seeped into her soul. When we were very small, she tried to be attentive, loving. Probably with hopes of bringing our father’s attention back to her. Beingthe perfect mother and wife might make him want to love his family.
When it didn’t work, she curled into herself. By shielding herself from the lovelessness that was her marriage, she kept us at arm’s length as well. Maybe it’s the reason my brothers and I have such fierce loyalty to each other and such proclivity to keep our women safely tucked into our sides. Never giving them a reason to grow cold.
Maybe Kaz refuses to keep a woman for longer than an evening in order to protect her. Maybe he sees some of our mother in him.
“Does he make you work every Sunday?” Vee questions as she pulls out the orange juice from the fridge to bring into the dining room.
“I do not.” I take the juice from her, handing it to one of the serving staff working this morning. “And she’s not working today, I only asked for help for brunch. She’s leaving now to attend mass with her husband and granddaughter.”
Joann grins at the mention of her little granddaughter. Her own daughter passed away from complications during childbirth and her son-in-law couldn’t see himself raising a little girl by himself, so he took off.
“Helena is four years old and such a handful.” Joann already has her phone out, swiping through photos with Vee.
Vee gives Joann her undivided attention, but there’s a crack in her smile that I can see from a mile away. Pain lives behind that smile, and though she’s fighting to keep it at bay, it seeps through.
“Are you guys coming or what?” The swinging door flutters open as Elana sticks her head into the kitchen.
“We are.” I wave her off. “Joann, enjoy the rest of the day and say hello to your husband for me.”
“Of course.” She tucks her phone into her back pocket and unties her apron from around her neck.
Vee grabs the tray of Vatrushka, a russian pastry filled with sweet cheese, from the kitchen island and takes a deep breath.
“It’s just family, Vee. And you already know everyone.”
“Your brothers are my bosses, so I don’t have a friendly relationship with them, and your sister I’ve only met that night at Alexander’s. And she was a little preoccupied with the fact her brother had been shot.” Her knuckles whiten as she grips the tray of Vatrushka as though it’s a lifeline.
Stepping in front of her at the door, I take the tray from her hands. “No one is your boss here. We’re just family.”
“Right. Just an ordinary mafia family getting together for brunch.” At least the sarcasm has lightened her mood.
“Looking to get your ass smacked before we go in?” I tease; my hand poised on the door.
“Shhh.” She waves her hands at me. “Don’t say things like that; they can hear you.”
I laugh as I push through the door into the dining room. “No one in that room would be shocked.”
“Finally!” Elana grabs the tray from me and brings it to the table where the rest of our family is already seated.
“She’s been waiting for these.” Kaz plucks one from the tray as Elana places it on the table.
“Kaz. How are you feeling?” Vee questions.
“Fit as ever.” He winks, then turns an icy stare at Alexander. “Which is why I need to get back to work.”
“We’re not talking about business. It’s brunch.” Megan says, scooping her fork into the pile of scrambled eggs on her plate.
“You need to eat.” I tell Vee, pulling out the chair immediately to the right of my seat at the head of the table and guiding her toward it with my hand at the small of her back. Her body tenses, as though she’s unsure if she fits here at mytable with my family. Increasing the pressure on her back, I send a silent message there’s nothing to worry about here, she’s safe with me. She hesitates again, but only for a moment, before sinking into the seat.
As soon as she’s seated a member of the staff sets a clean plate in front of her with quiet efficiency. The table’s already spread with platters—warm biscuits wrapped in linen, bowls of fresh berries, stacks of crispy bacon, and golden eggs. Joann has outdone herself this morning.
