Page 72 of Once Upon a Lie

Me: ​​Don’t worry I already have you down as my emergency contact.​​

Time ticking like a bomb every second I delay going inside by standing here, I pocket my phone and take a steadying breath before walking in to face the Cordone music.

The house smells like marinara and candle wax—my mom’s signature blend—and for as much as I always dread these gatherings, I also revel in the wave of nostalgia.

She’s in the kitchen, hair in soft waves, moving between platters of food and stacks of floral samples. There are swatches of fabric, cake boxes, and clipboards covering every inch of the island.

“Teeny!” she cries, waving a frosting-covered spoon. “You made it! Taste this one. It’s for the ball.”

“The ball,” I echo, toeing off my heels. “Right. Because nothing says fun like my father’s freight company gala.”

“Oh hush,” she says, swatting the air. “You should see the menu this year. Truffle risotto! Crab cakes! A chocolate fountain! That’s fun.”

I love my mom, but she always plans this thing like the royal court from eighteenth-century Versailles is attending—and has already changed the culinary lineup to accommodate their imaginary presence twice. Maybe I’m being shortsighted, but I’m pretty sure it’s not on their schedule.

I excuse myself with a thumbs-up and a smile before walking through the arched entrance to the opulent dining room.

My dad’s already at the head of the table, smiling like a man who runs both a business empire and my love life, and appropriately, Leo Murphy sits to the right of him. My brother, Nico, is across the table, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head, and looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Join the club, bro.

“Sweetheart,” Dad greets me, standing to kiss both of my cheeks. “Finally. We were about to send a search party.”

“Sorry,” I say dryly. “Traffic. And dread.”

Nico cracks up.

“Dread?” My dad scowls. “What is there to dread about being with your family, sweetheart?”

“Did I say dread? I meant bread. As in, bagel bread.”

My dad eyes me closely before he eventually gestures to the seat next to Leonidas. “Sit, sit. We saved you a seat beside Leo.”

Of course you did.

My smile is brittle as I sit down by Big Muscles Leonidas, and my brother stifles a laugh from across from me. Jerk.

Thankfully, Frannie Cordone is not one to make her guests wait on food once the table is full, and she comes barreling into the dining room with her maid Helen, both carrying big platters of food three seconds after my ass makes cushion contact.

Unfortunately for me, within the first few bites of my lasagna, my mom commits the ultimate betrayal by bringing up the accident. Apparently, the news ran a story update about Magnolia’s construction progress last night while she was up worrying about the gala.

I’m forced to explain the whole thing, and at best, my dad’s head is a second and a half from exploding.

“A helicopter, Valentina?” he repeats. “In a residential building?”

“It was . . . an accident,” I say carefully. “Everything’s being handled.”

“Handled by who?” he asks sharply. “Because I can have Leo over there in five minutes. Tell me a name, Teeny.”

Leo stands, and against my will, I put a hand to his bicep to stop him. “Relax, everyone. Please. You can see I’m fine because I’m sitting in front of you, and the contractors are already almost done fixing up my condo. Please, Daddy,” I beg, shadows of the old Tommy Cordone—Tommy Greco—scaring me into bringing out the big guns.

Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly why I don’t like you living downtown, sweetheart.”

“And this is exactly why I didn’t tell you right away,” I counter.

His eyes flick to Nico, then back to me. “And you’re just going to stay at that old man’s house until your condo is fixed?”

“His name is Alfred,” I correct. “And yes.”