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please hold the flowers
Tanggal publikasi:
2026-08-20 23:24:06
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Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi please hold the flowers
At four minutes to nine, I was already sitting in my home office with my laptop open, my second coffee on the right, a notepad on the left, and the expression of a woman perfectly capable of attending an international PR meeting in black lounge pants because the camera only showed her from the waist up.“GABBY, GET OFF THE COUCH!”“It’s my stage!”“That’s West Elm, not Broadway!”“I’m PERFORMING!”Al was crying from somewhere farther away. “She fired my shark!”“Shark doesn’t work for her, baby,” Kendra answered in the voice of a woman who had already lost her youth.I closed my eyes for a second.Seriously, if there was a man anywhere in the world who thought women got married for stability, I wanted to invite him to live in my house for twenty minutes without noise-canceling headphones.I straightened the white silk blouse I’d put on over my lounge pants, touched up my lip gloss, then opened the conference call link. My face appeared in a small box in the corner of the screen. Hair
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi bad press, good angles
I checked the time.Eight oh six.“Who’s on their side?”“Valentina Sordi, their PR lead, Claudia Moretti, and Rafael.”The coffee in my hand nearly stopped midair. “Of course he’s joining.”“They said he wants direct alignment.”I gave a short laugh. “That man really loves the word direct for things that could’ve been handled over email.”“Do you want me to push the call to this afternoon?”“No.” I looked toward the family room. Gabby was now standing on the couch, crown tilted sideways, pointing at Al like she was delivering a sentence. Al sat on the floor clutching his whale shark and crying with full commitment because apparently unicorn law had failed to protect his civil rights. Kendra sat between them with the expression of a woman beginning to suspect grad school might’ve been easier than babysitting.I took the last sip of my coffee. “Nine o’clock,” I said. “Conference call. I’ll join from the office room. Send me every article link, screenshot, client response, and the Ricci
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi the emergency bride clause
“One asked whether their event timeline was still safe because GALA might get pulled into Ricciardi litigation. One asked whether you were still personally available for their project or if you were going to be tied up with European family obligations now. And one…” Dianna looked off to the side, visibly suffering. “One asked whether we have an emergency bride replacement clause in our contract template.”I closed my eyes.“UNICORN NEED LAWYER!” Al screamed.I opened them again. “Perfect,” I said. “Reputation crisis, but at least the unicorn has representation.”Dianna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jemima is holding off the vendor calls. Marie is reading the article while making tiny noises I’ve never heard from a grown attorney before. Tara sent seventeen knife emojis to the group chat.”“Tara’s being productive.”“Arsen said he can find the tabloid editor’s home address in twenty minutes.”“Arsen is also being productive.”“I didn’t respond to either of them because I felt like t
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi zero peace
Morning arrived with something slamming into my bedroom door, followed by Gabriella yelling at full volume and launching into a complaint.“MAMI! AL SAID MY CROWN HAS A BAD CREDIT SCORE!”I opened one eye.My ceiling stared back at me, blank and innocent, as if it bore no responsibility whatsoever for God deciding to give me two children and one amnesiac ex-husband in the same timeline.“ALVARO!” I yelled toward the door, my voice still rough with sleep. “Why do you know what a credit score is?”“Tío Xavier said everybody needs financial literacy!” Al shouted back from outside my room, his whiny little voice already halfway to tears.“I said after breakfast!”“Gabby said I’m poor!”“Because you’re wearing the yellow shirt again!” Gabriella shrieked. “That is not a lifestyle!”I closed my eyes again and pulled the blanket up to my nose.Seven thirteen.I’d slept maybe four hours. Or five. Or three and a half with a bonus nightmare involving Nonna chasing me around with a torta caprese
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi one laugh too many
I immediately grabbed the bottle of water, twisted it open too fast, and nearly spilled it all over my dress. “We should go home before something starts producing bad decisions.”The corner of his mouth moved. “Something?”“The atmosphere. Carbs. Ricotta. I don’t know. There are a lot of guilty parties.”This time, he actually smiled a little as he pulled his hand back, just enough to make my chest do that annoying thing that should’ve retired five years ago.He put his empty espresso cup in the cup holder, started the engine again, and pulled back onto the road.I ate the rest of my pizza with a sudden, almost religious level of concentration.After that, every red light became a personal problem.Because every time the car stopped, the world seemed to stop with it for a second. Rafael was only inches away from me. One hand on the wheel. His profile lit by the city lights sliding past us. I could see the shadow of his lashes, the line of his nose, the jaw that had once been the reaso
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi One Bite From Disaster
I was thinking way too seriously for a woman who had just survived an Italian family dinner when my stomach growled.Quietly.But inside the silent, expensive car, it sounded like a public announcement.I froze.Rafael didn’t move.I stared straight ahead. “Your suspension is weird.”“Mm.”“Seriously. I heard something.”“From the suspension.”“Yes.”“In your stomach.”I turned toward him. “This car is incredibly arrogant if it’s started accusing its passengers’ organs.”He didn’t embarrass me. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even look at me for too long. He just turned on the blinker and made a turn at the next intersection.I immediately got suspicious. “Where are we going?”“You’re hungry.”“I didn’t say that.”“Your stomach filed official paperwork.”Five minutes later, we stopped in front of a small pizza place that was still open late.Its name glowed in half-dead red neon above the window: Vito’s Slice & Espresso. Very San Francisco in a confusing way. Inside, the lights were bright, the
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Platinum Barbie
Seven p.m., and Lake Como looked like an expensive postcard that had been photographed to death. Deep blue, almost black. Villa lights scattered messily across the water. A thin veil of fog hovering low, like a cheap Instagram filter no one bothered to turn off.From the study window facing the lak
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi The Wife
The small pan hissed softly as the oil heated, the sharp scent of roughly crushed garlic already filling the kitchen before I realized I was humming. Fuck.A Shakira song.Wildly off-brand for this morning’s mood, which had gone to hell at five twelve a.m. sharp, when Arsen, the technological basta
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Glass Mansion, Soft Monsters
Five Years Later.“AL, STOP PULLING MY HAIR, I’M A PRINCESS!”“UGLY PRINCESS!”Something small, warm, and heavy slammed into my waist. Then something else landed on my stomach. I didn’t wake up because of an alarm, but because two tiny bodies decided I was their personal playground.“Oh God,” I ras
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Sunlight and Divorce Papers
I woke up because the sun slapped me in the face. White-gold light speared through the thin curtains, landing directly on my eyelids that had never volunteered to become solar panels. I blinked slowly, trying to gather the pieces of my soul scattered across the sheets.The clock on the nightstand r
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