My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 273

Chapter 273

Gianna

“Ugh, don’t look at me. I was a literal public health hazard before the kiddos made a mother out of me,” Claire groaned, her stylus stabbing at her iPad like she was trying to draw blood, “I used to throw parties that would make a rock star check into rehab. Pure, unadulterated carnage.”

Maddie sat perfectly still, holding her porcelain cup, “I like picnics. And tea parties. The kind of events where people use napkins and nobody ends up in a holding cell. Your parties honestly scared the life out of me, Claire I thought I was witnessing the fall of Rome.”

Claire let out a dramatic wail, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, “I am boring now, Maddie! My parties are extremely tame. It’s mostly toddlers screaming into cupcakes and me hiding in the pantry with my husband. It’s basically a convent.”

Maddie grinned, “And they are so fun. I’ve never felt more safe.”

Suddenly, Claire snapped her head toward me, her eyes narrowed, “Gianna. Settle this. Tell me you aren’t a tea party girl. Please tell me you have a pulse, or Maddie is going to successfully convert me to her cult of Nicenism. I can feel my soul turning into a lace doily.”

My mind took a nose dive into the dark. I thought of the ragers Leone used to host, the kind where the air tasted like expensive vodka and bad intentions.

I thought of the college parties I’d attended, staying just long enough before retreating to my room to study. With my dyslexia, I couldn’t afford to lose a single brain cell to a hangover.

Then there were the other parties. The ones where I wasn’t an invitee, but the entertainment. I had seen the world with its clothes off, and it wasn’t a tea party, and none of it ever scared me.

I felt a slow smile pull at my lips, my eyes locking onto Claire’s, “Sorry, Maddie,” I murmured, “But I’m with the mother of carnage on this one. If there isn’t at least a fifty-percent chance of the police showing up, is it even a party?”

Claire let out a loud laugh, nearly dropping her iPad, “Yes! Thank you! I knew there was something delightfully wrong with you!”

Raphael wasn’t looking at any of us. He was holding his phone at arm’s length, his face tight with a mixture of pure agony. From the tiny speaker, a high-pitched, frantic voice was scolding him in rapid-fire Italian.

“Aunt Alessia, please,” Raphael groaned, his voice sounding like he was fighting for his actual life, “I am working most of the time. I don’t have time to look at photos of the Mayor’s niece.”

“Work is for men who don’t have a beautiful wife to come home to!” Alessia’s voice shrieked from the phone, loud enough for everyone to hear, “She is a doctor, Raphael! She has hair like silk and she comes from a very religious family! Why are you being so difficult? I’m pregnant, the stress is not good for the baby. Do you want ne to die without seeing you at the altar?”

Silvio lost it then, letting out a loud bark of a laugh, “Yeah, Rafe! Tell her how the robots are better company! Tell her you’re waiting for a girl with a motherboard!”

Claire’s iPad hit the table as she lunged forward, “Wait, is she actually guilt-tripping him with the fetus? Give me that phone!”

“Claire, don’t you dare, stay back!” Raphael warned, dodging her. He looked completely wrecked, his hair was a messy nest where he’d been pulling at it, and his tie was yanked loose.