Chapter Five

Bianca

present day

As it turned out, no one’s life was perfect.

Mine included.

It might’ve looked perfect, but it wasn’t.

Death came knocking and gave us all the stark reminder we needed—that life was indeed not perfect, regardless of appearances.

I bet Death (yes, I was personifying death, just go with it) got his jollies out of our suffering, too. The way I saw it, Death wore a grimacing grin that would terrify all ages.

Death was cruel.

Death was quiet and liked to show up unannounced. Like the worst kind of visitor—even worse than your great aunt CiCi twice removed.

Before you run away from me, you should know why I’m going on about the-thing-that-shall-not-be-named-but-I-will-name-one-more-time. Death swooped in and took my mom.

For no apparent reason, either, except to take someone from our family, her friends, and so many others who loved her.

Time helped—everyone who offered my family that platitude was technically right—but moving on just felt so. . . final. It felt like no matter how many steps I took forward, I was getting farther from our memories. That was why I chose to keep her memory alive; to hold her closer to my heart than ever before.

And she was still teaching me. Take this experience, for example: Mom taught me that we all grieved in our own ways. My father and three sisters did not grieve like I did, but even I could admit that her death affected me in ways I couldn’t fully understand.

What I did know was that I would protect myself from any more loss at all costs.

I gave Perla a lot of credit. She was currently blissfully in love with a man she’d married out of convenience (long story). And Frankie was great, really, but the sort of all-consuming love they shared—like the kind my parents had—was far too risky, if you asked me. I didn’t want any part of it.

Instead, I was just trying to hold on to what I did have so I wouldn’t lose any more. That was why as I walked the oh so familiar steps of the house I lived in with my dad, I smiled at the oil painting of my mother he’d commissioned after her death. “Hi, Mom. You would’ve loved this fashion week. It was exhausting as usual, but amazing as ever. Berlin had nothing on this one in our own backyard. Now I’m off to Maria’s for a sleepover with the girls before I fly out tomorrow. You know how it is, we never sleep during this time.” I blew her a kiss and walked to the foyer where Martin, our family driver, was carrying the last of my bags to the car.

“Oh, Martin, you always consider my needs even before I make them known,” I joked, then sighed as I walked out of the house with him and closed the door behind me, locking up. “You know, you could’ve taught my exes a thing or two about manners.”

No response.

The thing was, Martin had gotten used to me over the years. He’d been with our family for so long, he practically was family. Only, he was the family member that acted like a royal guard and tended to his job, hardly moved, and never spoke unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

I snapped my fingers as a thought struck me, watching Martin load up the trunk. “Do you think they would’ve been more attuned to my needs if they’d been on Daddy’s payroll?”

Martin gave me a lopsided grin that was full of familial love as he opened the rear passenger door for me and waited for me to climb in. After I tossed my duffel bag for the sleepover on the seat beside me, I looked up at him—his stoic hazel eyes, freckle-filled and wrinkled face weathered from time—and shook my head. “Ignore me. I don’t think that’s the difference. I think the difference is that you’re a good guy, and your wife is one of the lucky ones.”

When he closed the door, I rubbed my hands together and waited for him to get in before asking, “Now it’s just you and me, so give it to me straight—am I your favorite Morelli?”

He started the car, glancing in the mirror. I spotted his arched eyebrow. “I’ve been working for your father a long time, Ms. Bianca.”

“Daddy doesn’t count. Between me and my sisters.” When he didn’t budge and just continued looking ahead at the road, I smacked a hand on my thigh. “Come on! If you had to choose one, who would it be?”

“In this hypothetical scenario, why would I have to choose one?”

I supposed because I’m dying of curiosity wouldn’t work in this case, would it? Instead, I tried, “You’re stranded on an island with one other person who has the very last morsel of food in the palm of their hand, but they need an answer. Which Morelli sister is it?”

“Why would they want to know? Do they know you all?”

I groaned aloud and looked up. That was it, I was giving up. Sometimes Martin was all work and no play. “Forget it. I’m just going to keep on believing I’m your favorite.” I leaned forward and stared at him. “I’d be shocked if it wasn’t me, frankly. Be honest, I’ve made your job more fun.”

He shook his head. “You’re trouble, Ms. Bianca.”

I leaned back, still watching him. “The best kind, right?”

He looked in the mirror again and furrowed his brows. “I’ve never heard of trouble being anything but bad.”

I let my mouth drop open in feigned shock, grabbing my chest. “Martin, are you telling me we haven’t had some pretty memorable times together?”

Point in reference: he was the first person I called to pick me up from my first night out at a club with my friends.

I could’ve taken a taxi, but I’d called Martin. Technically, he should’ve felt honored. Minus the vomit smell I was later told he’d worked overtime to get out of the carpet, I was always a treat, and that night was no different.

Martin was a big part of all my firsts—er, well not the important first. You knew what I was talking about. That would just be weird. That first was with Peter—my high school boyfriend—but now we were getting way off topic.

“We’ve had many memorable times together,” he agreed before adding, “and I’m sure we’ll have many more.”

“Yeah, we will.”

Then out of the blue, he said, “You know, you have the same vibrant energy and zest for life as your mother. That’s my favorite thing about you.”

Getting all choked up, I clutched my chest and this time I wasn’t pretending. “Martin!” I cried. “How do you always know just the right thing to say?” I asked as he pulled up to Maria’s three-bedroom house in Commack, perfect for her and her situation (that was a story for another time). My favorite part was the front porch—so cozy, especially with the wooden posts. It used to be a log cabin, not that you’d ever know since Maria renovated it before her daughter, Isabella, was born.

“It’s a gift,” he joked—yes, actually joked —and winked at me in the rearview mirror, pulling me from my thoughts. “Shall I leave your things in the trunk until I pick you up tomorrow, Ms. Bianca?” Martin asked, getting back to business.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” I collected my stuff and, as expected, Martin came around the car to open the door for me.

“Have a good evening.”

“Thank you, I will. I’ll see you bright and early.”

With one last smile before turning away, he added, “I’ll be the one with two cups of coffee.”

Ugh, did he know me. Bless that man.

* * *

Swinging my feet underneath me, I reached for the butterfly hair clip on the coffee table and instructed Isabella to turn around. I placed it gently on the side of my five-year-old niece’s soft brown hair, sweeping it to one side, and patted her back when I was done. “All right, Peanut,” I said as she quickly bounced to her feet and turned for Maria to see.

Isabella cried, “How do I look, Mommy?”

Maria gave her daughter a gentle smile. “You look beautiful.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled my attention away. I followed the sound and noticed what Allie was holding. “You found it!” I exclaimed, hopping off the couch and turning to Isabella to tell her the good news. “She found the glitter spray!”

Perla strutted into the living room behind Allie, fussing with her own hair in a high ponytail.

“Your bathroom cabinets are a thing of wonder,” Allie said to Maria.

Maria chuckled, but looked down at her daughter and touched her curls. “What do you think, Isabella, do you want some glitter to complete the look?”

“Yeah, you can look as sparkly as me,” Perla boasted, playing with her hair again. “I still can’t believe this is the first time I’m wearing glitter in my hair. It’s so fun.”

Isabella’s eyes widened and she nodded, not peeling her eyes off Perla’s glittery hair, so Allie walked closer to her. “All right, Princess Isabella, turn around so your hair can sparkle like the stars in the night sky.”

“Uncle Dom says stars are the most beautiful things because they’re symbols of hope,” Isabella said as her hair was being sprayed.

I looked over at Maria and smacked my lips, so many thoughts running through my head—most of them concerning Dom and, well, Maria—but not able to give a voice to any of them right now. “Did you hear that, Maria?” I asked instead. Then I told our little Peanut, “Your Uncle Dom is a smart one, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is,” she agreed, nodding fervently.

Allie finished with the glitter and began fluffing Isabella’s hair with her hands. “Do you and Dom make wishes upon stars often?” my sister asked curiously.

She nodded. “Mmhmm, all the time.”

“What do you wish for?” Perla asked, finally sitting down next to me and curling her feet up on the couch under her.

“I can’t tell you. Uncle Dom says if I share my wishes, then they won’t come true. And I really want this one to come true.” Then she promptly mimed zipping her lips.

Maria kneeled and spun Isabella around. Before she could turn her attention to Isabella’s glittery hair, she furrowed her brows and asked, “This one ? Do you only have one wish?”

Isabella smiled and nodded, eyes fixed on Maria as she played with her mother’s hair. “It hasn’t come true yet, Mommy.”

Looking at my sisters, I coughed around the words, “Dom and Maria,” then quickly looked away, averting Maria’s gaze.

Maria turned and gave me a look that said don’t-even-go-there while Allie and Perla both chuckled.

Perla nudged me as she goaded, “Come on, Maria, not all wishes come at a price, some are simply good. Too good not to grant.” Then she hitched an eyebrow as she waited, as if challenging Maria to argue.

But it appeared we’d bored Isabella, or confused her, I wasn’t sure, because a V formed in between her eyes and she yawned. “Mommy, can I go to bed with my hair like this?”

“Yes, Peanut.” Maria stood up and placed a hand on Isabella’s back. “I’ll tuck you in.”

“And read me a bedtime story?” Isabella asked, her tired eyes suddenly wide with anticipation.

Maria agreed. “And read you a bedtime story.”

Before leaving, though, she ran around the room and gave each of us a hug, saving me for last. “Do you promise to call me while you’re away?” She looked at me expectantly.

“Absolutely!”

“Goodnight, Peanut,” we called in unison, and she ran off to grab Maria’s hand.

I watched as they left the room. Halfway there, Maria looked back and caught my eye, giving me a knowing glance. I put my hands up, but didn’t wait longer than it took her to disappear from earshot to say, “All right, is it just me or is Maria putting off the inevitable?”

Allie sighed and pulled a pillow onto her lap, getting comfy. “As much as I hate to say this, I don’t think we can push it. I mean, when Maria is ready to, you know,” she paused and cocked a brow, before continuing, “then fine, but for now, we should respect her privacy.”

I looked at Allie, then Perla, and we all broke out in laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Allie said, breathing deep in between laughing, “I was trying out something new, but it turns out it doesn’t work for me. At this point, I wish I could be the captain of the Maria and Dom ship. I’d steer it right into—”

“What are you all talking about?” Maria questioned as she entered the room.

I bit my bottom lip and widened my eyes at Allie. Deciding to save her sorry butt, I tried to make something up. “Fashion week. Um, yeah, we were talking about how I want to steer that ship myself.” I blew outward. “Some of these shows are just so chaotic, it’s like, people be more organized! You know?”

Maria must’ve bought it because she shrugged and took a seat before responding, “You’re not wrong. For as long as they prepare and how many hands they have on deck, you’d think they’d know what they were doing and have their shit together.”

“Some do,” Perla pointed out.

Allie raised a brow. “More often than not, though, they don’t.”

Maria laughed and a look of joy glinted in her eyes, one she only got when talking about a few things: her family, fashion, and Dom.

I peered over at the table beside the couch and picked up a framed photograph sitting there. It was of all of us sisters with Mom. The smiles on our faces showed just how downright happy we had been. It had always been simple with us—if we were together, we were happy. I missed that feeling. Instead, there was this feeling like missing a limb—that was what it’d been like since the car accident that took Mom.

“You know”—tears filled my eyes—“fashion weeks were some of her favorite times of the year.”

Sadness washed over the room like a tidal wave.

“And birthdays,” Perla noted.

“And the holidays,” Maria added.

Sniffling and laughing, Allie wiped her nose. “You can’t forget summers when we’d go to the Hamptons. Mom had a lot of favorite times of year.”

I wiped my eyes. “That she did.”

Allie chuckled. “But during fashion weeks, her whole face would light up when she talked about the schedule. It was a lot of work for her—”

“And walking,” Perla inserted.

“Yeah,” Allie agreed. “But she loved every single second of it.”

I set the photo back down and wiped my cheeks of the tears running down them. “It’s nice walking in her footsteps.” Then I waved a hand in front of my face and sucked in. “But tonight isn’t about this and I’m sorry if I brought the mood down.” I leaned over and threw my arms around my sisters beside me on the couch while Maria squeezed in next to Perla and we all squished together for a big hug.

Perla’s hand found mine. “Bibi, you’re going to every fashion week this season, so it’s only natural that you’re thinking about Mom.”

Perla was right to some extent. I had been to fashion shows and presentations before, but this season Dad had elected for me to go schmooze with the designers and their press teams. That way, we could gauge if they had advertising dollars to go to our magazine. Usually, I’d pop in and out as needed, but as the head of advertising at Bellissima now, it was in my best interest to go. It wasn’t necessary for advertising departments to go to fashion weeks, but Dad had this notion that being present was important for increasing revenue, and I didn’t disagree. And this season, he was going all in with me. Sure, Maria would make an appearance at some point in her role as Fashion Editor and Perla would drop in on some, too, to see trends and make connections with designers for future photo shoots. Even Allie would pop in and out for social content with her team, but otherwise, it was all me and, secretly, I couldn’t wait!

I’d always been destined to work in advertising at the magazine—I was good at it, but more recently I’d had the desire to sketch. And being there, seeing it all, made me think that feeling and desire would only grow, and I was all for it.

But that’d be our little secret because no one knew. Not yet anyway.

For now, it was just my thing.

“Speaking of,” Allie said, breaking into my thoughts, “are you excited for London?” London was the next stop on the fashion week calendar.

“Of course.” I leaned back and rested my head against the back of the couch. I’d never been to London Fashion Week before. Paris, yes, but never London and I’d heard some incredible things about what happened during LFW.

Pulling her phone out from the cushion of the couch, Allie waved it in her hand. “Good, because I want to hear all the juicy gossip, especially about the British men.” She wagged her eyebrows suggestively.

I giggled. “I’m there for the fashion,” I reminded her, hardly believing my own words. Sure, I was there for the fashion, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the man candy.

Allie rolled her eyes. “Please, save it, sister. We all know that you get your flirt on, and you have a certain penchant for British men.”

“Yeah, and French,” Perla jested.

“American, German, Italian,” Maria continued listing them.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Okay, point made.” Then I darted them each a look. “But I’m not that bad.” I sighed, and went on, “Plus, do you really want me blowing up our group chat?” Not that I probably wouldn’t anyway, but still.

Maria gasped and waved a hand in the air. “Oh, please, no. It was bad enough when Perla and Frankie were figuring things out.” She put that last part in air quotes.

Perla shifted sideways and tossed a pillow at her, feigning insult. “Hey! I wasn’t that annoying.” Then she turned back. “Was I?”

Allie and I looked at each other and laughed, knowing better. “No!”

Eyes wide, biting her bottom lip, Perla shook her head from side to side. “Oh my goodness, I was, wasn’t I?”

I shook my head and patted her shoulder. “Of course not. It’s just. . .” I remembered those days.

“Just, what?” Perla pushed, standing now, pacing in front of the couch. “Come on, out with it.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Fine! You resisted that man for way too long. Happy?”

That got me a pillow to the face.

“Well, I’m still upset with you for leaving me roommate-less,” Allie chimed in.

Perla cringed. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe you still haven’t found one. It’s such a nice place.”

See, Allie and Perla had been roommates until Frankie came into the picture and they got married for convenience purposes. It was supposed to go back to normal once the jig was up, but it turned out to be the real deal, so Allie lost her roommate.

She shrugged. “Truth be told, I haven’t been looking. But I plan to. The rent is choking me, so I have to. Soon,” she said, as if promising us when really she was making a promise to herself. “And I’m not taking any handouts from Dad.”

I nodded. “No one’s suggesting that.” While we could’ve very well run to him and asked for money for this and that, we were always self-sufficient, especially Allie. She liked her financial independence, and nothing was changing that. Not that anything should.

Then Allie eyed me knowingly.

“Oh, no!” I said, shaking my head profusely. I knew where this was going, and I wasn’t interested. “I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

“Living with Dad?” she questioned and threw her hands up. “Come on, you have to move out eventually. And why not move in with me?” And with that, the full pout came out, puppy dog eyes and all—it was a Morelli trademark. “Please,” she said, holding up prayer hands now.

Even with all that, I wasn’t budging. I had lived with my sisters for long enough and living with Dad basically meant I lived alone. And, it turned out, I liked basically living alone. In that great big house. “Maybe one day, but not now.” For now, I had company only occasionally and it was nice. Besides, someone had to look after the old man now that Mom was gone.

She groaned. “I just dread the prospect of finding a roommate.”

“Sure,” Maria said, “I can see that. You don’t want someone like Eddie.”

“Ew!” I shouted and then covered my mouth with my hand, realizing I could’ve woken Isabella up. “Sorry,” I mouthed. Then I whispered, “Maria is right, though. Chandler did not get lucky with Eddie.”

“Although, he was cute,” Allie said, wetting her lips.

I scrunched my nose. “Stop, you’re not serious. He’s so. . . he’s so. . .” Unable to put it into words, I shuddered. “Just no,” I finally decided.

That made us all burst out laughing.

Perla, now sitting on the floor in front of the couch, grabbed the remote from the table and swayed her head from side to side. “Well, I vote we watch a certain movie about a runaway bride. What do you say?”

I clapped my hands. “Yes, please! Let’s do it.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “Fine, but next time we watch the better Julia movie.”

“The one where he takes her shopping on Rodeo Drive?” I asked, although, I wasn’t sure why—I knew my sister too well.

She nodded.

“Rodeo Drive, baby!” I exclaimed, shooting an arm in the air.

Maria shook her head as Perla clicked the movie on. “Don’t you mean London, baby?”