My name is Eveline. Eveline Tate.
I am the daughter of Lucas and Rebecca Tate. Yup, THE Lucas and Becca Tate. Don't ask me why, but I grew up knowing that they are someone important. Uncle Mike is still working for dad, as his bodyguard. I used to...
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We were going to stay here for a while, as dad said, so I decided on some online cooking courses.
I missed cooking, I missed the aromas and scents of spices around the house.
Oh, and yeah, I missed the hms and wows and yammys of my dear ones when we were all around the dining table having my specialties.
So, dinners were mine to cook, every evening delighting everybody with a new Italian dish.
Enzo never called back, if you must know, but I knew he was fine, still alive, as dad used to say after talking to him every evening over the phone.
And I didn't call either. I wouldn't know what to say. What was there to say since I left him go without a word when he said he loved me and felt the distance growing between us?
In the past week I've gone through a bitter heart missing him, illness not knowing about him, anger for never being called, never being sent a message.
And it has been so boring even though grandma is such a sweetheart, planning all sorts of activities and cocktails pool parties with her, mom, and aunt Tea, while uncle Mike and dad were keeping tabs with Italy events.
Today I've stayed out at the pool almost all day, heating my skin in the burning sun and daydreaming about the Don. My Don.
A shadow is stretching in front of the sun, darkening the emptiness under my eyelids and I wince looking at my dad, shading my eyes with my palm.
"Sweetheart, a call for you," he says with a warm smile and passes me his phone.
I stop breathing for a moment, wondering who could call me on dad's number and secretly hoping that Enzo is reckless enough to want to talk to me.
I stretch my arm for the phone and crack a guilty smile while taking the phone.
"Hello," I say, with a shaky voice and heart beating fast, hoping I will hear Enzo's voice.
"Hey, princess, how are you?" grandpa Marce says from the other end of the line.
"Hey, Grandpa. I'm good. What about you? How are you over there?" I ask while hearing Enzo's voice in the background, talking Italian in that ravishing deep voice.
I suck a sharp breath and say grace for having the chance to listen to that only voice that can make butterflies race in my chest.
"Papà, dobbiamo andare," I hear Enzo saying closer to the phone, and clicks of weapons in the background. (Dad, we need to go).
My heart clenches in anxiety at the sound and my breathing becomes a sort of struggle.
"We're good, princess. Everything is fine, just wanted to hear you, that's all. We have to go now. Take care, Eve. And don't be a brat ass to your dad," he chuckles.
