One of the boys marches over to me with an ovary-melting smile and offers me his hand. “Hello, Hazel. My name is Francis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sil ruffles his hair. “He’s the confident one, aren’t you, Francis? Come on, Benito, don’t be shy. Francis is named after my first husband. Please don’t tell Nario about him. He doesn’t know yet.”
My mouth is about to fall open when Sil giggles crazily. “I’m joking! No, I’ve only been married once, thank the Lord. Once is more than enough. Okay, you two, go and get some sleep. If I catch you talking or playing the silly Night-Fort game there will be big trouble, do I make myself clear?”
“It’s Fortnite,” the boys giggle at the same time, retreating into their room.
“Fortnite.” Sil is shaking her head as we walk back up the hallway. “They’re going to be little morons. Just you mark my words.” She lays her fingers on my wrist, soft and familiar, like an old friend. “I’m joking, of course. We will enroll them in the best schools and beat the stupid out of them.”
Despite her fast-talking way of making it impossible for me to get a word in, by the time we’re sitting around the dinner table, I’ve decided I really like Sil. She’s refreshing. Maybe it’s because I’m getting a glimpse of what a mafioso’s wife can be like. Dignified, fun, beautiful, confident, with all the normal ups and downs of any other woman and mother.
“I just can’t believe this,” Nario says as the staff pours champagne. I let them pour for me, though I know I can’t drink it. “Carlo De Maggio sitting at my dinner table. Technically, the hotel’s, but still … Can you believe it, Sil?”
She raises her glass. “A toast to Carlo De Maggio and his wonderful girlfriend, Hazel! It was about time you found a nice girl, Carlo.”
Carlo and I exchange glances. He doesn’t look anywhere near as uncomfortable as I would’ve guessed. Girlfriend. He didn’t deny it. Is that what I am now? Do I have a boyfriend? Did my boyfriend get me pregnant?
Too many unanswered questions. I pretend to sip my champagne.
Later, Sil asks about my painting and my cooking. I answer her rapid-fire questions almost like I’m being interrogated, but that’s the thing with Sil: she never oversteps the mark into being obnoxious. She’s a master tightrope walker.
“I don’t have a single artistic bone in my body,” she declares proudly as we tuck into the stuffed chicken. Classical music plays quietly from a record player in the corner.
“What about your roller skating?” Nario grins, teasing his wife. “Aren’t you always telling me how artistic that is?”
She rolls her eyes. “This man,” she says to me. “If I didn’t love him, I would kill him, I assure you. Yes, dear, there is a certain art to roller skating. The unity with one’s body, the—the exactitude of one’s movements—it’s all a sort of painting, I suppose.”
“How often do you roller skate?” I ask.
“Once or twice a week,” she says.
“She’s really good,” Nario smiles. “Tell her about the competitions, Sil.”
Sil blushes, looking more disarmed than she has all night. “I have won the state freestyle slalom competition twice, and won bronze in the North American competition. But that was, oh, a few years ago now. I mostly do it for fun these days.”
“Is it like dancing?” I ask.
The way Nario leaps to his feet and dusts his hands on his napkin touches my heart. He’s so excited for his wife. “I’ll show them the video.”
“Oh, not the video! We’re eating!”
But Nario is already gone. He returns a few moments later with his cell phone. He places it on the table and starts the clip. Sil, wearing leggings and looking athletic as all get-out, is doing some really crazy stuff with her feet. It’s like they’re disconnected from her body, leaping all over the place. She looks like a ballerina on speed. She looks magnificent.
“Wow,” I whisper. “Sil, that’s just—wow.”
She beams, but then slaps Nario with her napkin. “Enough. Now, Carlo…” She turns her spotlight of attention from me to him, and dinner unravels itself that way, with ever-present laughter and the pretty clink of cutlery on the china.
After dessert and some coffee in the lounge, Sil yawns, Nario stretches, and Carlo gives me a look like, let’s not overstay our welcome.
“Let us walk you out,” Sil demands with a smile. She trails us to the door, and then out the door into the