My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,37
filled with dark wood and marble with gold accents. I’ve never been in such a nice house. Everything is polished and in its place. And there’s the most amazing aroma of garlic and herbs, unlike at my house, which always smells musty, like spilled beer and wet dog—and we don’t even have a dog. Pack me a bag. I’m ready to move in with Nick’s family.
Nick leads me into the kitchen, and when Peyton sees me, she smiles, visibly relaxing. He introduces me to his mother, Angela, who has a nest of curly black hair, bright-red lipstick, and a round body crammed into clothes meant for someone half her age. She comes at me with her arms stretched wide like I’m some long-lost relative and pulls me into a hug that crushes me to her gigantic breasts. They’re soft and doughy against my chest, like I’m lying on a pillow.
“So nice to meet Nicky’s friends,” she gushes. “He never wants to bring anyone by. It’s like he’s ashamed of us.”
“Ma, I’m not ashamed,” Nick protests.
“So why haven’t you ever had your friends over before?”
“They’re here now, aren’t they?” Nick’s father interrupts and extends his thick, meaty hand to give mine a strong shake. “Dominic Giuliani. Welcome.”
He’s tall like Nick, and it’s clear who Nick inherited his unibrow from. But that’s where the resemblance ends because Dominic Giuliani has enough paunch around his middle to show that he’s a fan of his wife’s cooking. When he smiles, there is a gap between his two front teeth, and when he says the letter S, he makes a slight whistling sound. His voice is deep and rich, and when he laughs, his whole body shakes. In fact, he’s so pleasant and welcoming that I forget he may be a hit man until the doorbell rings. His expression turns gravely serious. He frowns at Nick. “Who’s that? You said you invited two friends.”
Mr. Giuliani crosses the kitchen to look at a small TV monitor. As he passes me, I shoot a glance at Peyton. She looks different tonight. Her hair is actually pulled back from her face, which makes her eyes really stand out. Tonight they look especially blue. Like she might be wearing makeup. And instead of one of her oversize rock band T-shirts, she’s wearing a plain black sweater and a flowy red skirt. Cleaned up like that, she looks nice. Pretty, even. Nick must think so too because he can’t stop staring at her.
Mr. Giuliani lets out an exasperated grunt and presses a button. I watch the iron gates swinging open on the monitor as he tells Mrs. Giuliani, “It’s Giovanna. She must have misplaced her remote again. I swear, if that girl’s head wasn’t attached to her shoulders, she’d lose that too.”
Mrs. Giuliani waves her hand at her husband dismissively and says, “Go easy on her, Dominic. You know she’s having a tough time.”
Nick leans in and says, “She broke up with her boyfriend.”
“Her fiancé broke up with her. Two months before the wedding. Can you believe it?” Mrs. Giuliani says, and I can see a vein bulge in Mr. Giuliani’s forehead.
“We don’t talk about it,” Nick says.
“No problem,” I assure him.
“I could wring that bastard’s neck,” Mr. Giuliani says as he goes to the front door to let in Nick’s sister. Peyton and I exchange a glance, and she raises her eyebrows, as if telling me, “I told you so.” Admittedly, I’m glad I’m not Giovanna’s ex-fiancé.
“He got cold feet. Ended things via a friggin’ text message. My father is ready to have an aneurysm,” Nick explains.
Not gonna lie: Nick’s sister is totally hot. Her stick-straight black hair shines like a shampoo commercial. She has a mole right above her lip that draws my attention to her mouth, which is painted deep purple, like she sucked all the color out of a grape. She’s so skinny she looks like she could break if you hugged her hard enough, but the plunging vee of her sweater reveals that she takes after her mother in that area. Giovanna seems to be around Monica’s age, but she looks far more exotic. She plops her oversize, studded purse on the kitchen island and inspects Peyton and me as if we’ve both sprouted two heads.
“Who is this?” she asks.
“What kind of way is that to greet company?” Mrs. Giuliani asks. “These are Nicky’s friends, Peyton and Hank.”
Giovanna plasters on a smile. She arches an eyebrow. Very sexy.
“Nicky has friends?” she asks innocently.
“Shut up,” Nick