Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Or, was silent.
Mamá sweeps into the room, a long red silk robe dragging on the floor
behind her, a glass of white wine in one hand. She stands beside the white
stone fireplace, keeping her distance while we wait for Papá to arrive with
Ariana and Stella, who’d apparently been otherwise occupied.
“You could’ve at least tried to dress like a Ricci,” she notes, curling her
lip back as she rakes over my outfit. “Instead of Kallum’s cheap flavor of the
month.”
I don’t respond, knowing she’ll eventually tire of the insults. Her game
always was criticism first, pleasantries second, and it was always just a matter
of waiting her out.
Sipping slowly, Mamá keeps her dark gaze trained on Kal and I, the heat
of her stare almost causing me to get to my feet and move to a different chair.
My fingers twitch in my lap, nerves eating away at any source of comfort
created by my husband’s proximity. Pleasantries would be great any time
now.
But Kal seems completely unaffected, leaning back and slinging his arm
on top of the sofa. His fingers toy with the ends of my hair, setting my nerve
endings on edge, my body primed and ready for more.
Always ready for more where this man is concerned.
Nonna staggers into the room a few minutes after we settle in, wearing a
royal blue pantsuit and grumbling about getting cheated at her bridge game.
She notices me, her wrinkled face splitting into a smile, and walks over,
bending down to scoop my upper half into a bear hug.
“Nipotina!” she says, warmer than she’s ever been with me. The slight
hint of booze I get, mixed with stale perfume, tells me why. “The way your
mother’s been pouting around here the last couple of months, I’d begun to
think you died and I missed the funeral.”
I shake out a laugh, but it doesn’t sound normal. “No, just married.”
“Kind of the same thing, eh?” she says, slurring the words from one
corner of her mouth, then slides her gaze to Kal beside me. “No offense, of
course, dear. It’s just, I know men in my son’s world. Hell, my husband
started the family business here. I know how taxing it can be on a marriage.”
“Maybe don’t compare virtual strangers to the shitty men in your life.”
His eyes leave hers, darting quickly across the room and back—so quick, I
don’t have a chance to see what he looked at. “I can promise you, we’re quite
different.”