Book 3: Bad Feeling

Eleni

The next morning, my vibrating phone wakes me before my alarm. I shoot up in bed, immediately certain Dante snuck out, that he’s captured or bleeding out at Henry’s feet.

He lays in bed next to me, his dark hair rumpled. As I watch, he rolls over to reveal a dent from the pillowcase in his cheek. I exhale slowly and pick up my phone.

Mama’s calling. I glance at Dante one last time, then grab a robe and pad out into the hallway.

“Hi, Mama,” I say.

“I am very disappointed,” she says severely.

I rub my eyes, check the time. It’s barely six-thirty. What could I have done already?

“I told you I was going out to Staten Island,” I say.

“Pah.” She huffs a breath. “You think I’m worried about that? No, zouzouni, I want to know why I just had to find out the date of your wedding from some woman”—she says the word like it’s poison—“showing up at the door to ask you about something called a save-the-date. Am I not your mama