Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

At six on the dot, I was awake.Not in a productive, wellness-influencer kind of way. I hadn’t suddenly turned into a woman who wakes up at dawn, drinks lemon water, journals about gratitude, and forgives an Italian man just because his neurological trauma happens to come with a great jawline.I was just lying flat on my back in the huge bed of the mountain lodge guest room, one hand over my stomach, hair a mess across the pillow, staring at the dark wood ceiling while last night replayed itself in my head like an expensive movie directed by someone who was way too in love with close-ups.Rafael on the deck. Whiskey. The color draining from his face. His hand at his temple. His voice when he said, It hurts again.I let out a slow breath, then immediately got annoyed with myself because it sounded way too sad for six in the morning.Great. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet, and I was already the woman in a heartbreak song.The most annoying thing about Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi wasn’t

Rafael stopped in the kitchen doorway. His eyes moved to Gabby, then to my phone in her hand, then to Al, who was drinking his milk with one hand while guarding the pinecone with the other like Clara might secretly work for the natural history museum.“My mountain,” Rafael repeated.Gabby nodded firmly. “I take pictures. Very professional.”“That mountain belongs to the state,” I said as I pulled the frittata tray out of the oven.Gabby looked at me like she had just discovered I was spiritually poor. “But he has house here.”“A house is not a mountain.”“Maybe he buy mountain.”Rafael walked over to the island and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “I have no plans to buy a mountain.”“See?” I raised an eyebrow at Gabby.Gabby thought for two seconds. “You should.”I pointed at her chair. “Breakfast before capitalism ruins you any further.”Kendra appeared a few minutes later in a gray hoodie, her hair pulled into a high ponytail. The second she saw Rafael already sitting bet

Around 4:20, the entire lodge looked like it had just hosted a family retreat that had made several poor activity choices.Tiny shoes were scattered near the mudroom because apparently Gabby had needed two pairs for one trip to the lake. Three wet towels hung over the back railing. Al’s backpack lay open on the floor with his whale shark halfway out, one pinecone inside, and enough rocks to start an illegal landscaping business. Kendra was asleep half-sitting at the end of the sectional with her hood pulled over her eyes, while I stood in the foyer checking my phone and trying to summon the energy for a five-hour drive back to San Francisco.I’d even showered, changed into black leggings and a fitted cream top, dried my hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, which I considered impressive proof that a person could emerge from a lake and still maintain basic aesthetic standards.Rafael had changed too. Dark jeans, a thin charcoal sweater with the sleeves pushed up just below his elbow

Night fell clear, and apparently the Ricciardi lodge had a way of making bad decisions look like a lifestyle campaign.Out in the front yard, the staff had strung small warm lights between two tall pine trees, not enough to make the place feel like a wedding venue, just enough to cast a low glow over the long cedar table facing the valley.Two wooden benches ran along either side, wool throws folded at the ends for anyone who got cold, while a few glass lanterns lined the gravel path and a low fire bowl burned a few yards away from the table.Behind the lodge, the mountains were dark silhouettes. Above us, the sky was so clear the stars looked like someone had personally scrubbed the atmosphere for rich people. Normally, a view like this would have had me taking pictures.Now, both my hands were full of chicken.“I said skin side first.”“This is skin side.”“That one isn’t.”Rafael looked at the piece of chicken at the end of the grill, then at me. “That’s skin side too.”I narrowed

None of us had enough energy left to do anything that required actual brain function after dinner.The staff had already cleared most of the plates, leaving behind empty platters, glasses, and a few small bowls filled with graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows, which apparently someone had decided was a good idea to bring out after my kids had successfully negotiated themselves an extra day off school through a combination of intelligence, emotional manipulation, and billionaire corruption. Personally, I thought they should be asleep.“S’mores.” According to Gabriella Lucia Garcia, apparently the night was just getting started.I didn’t even lift my head from my wine. “No.”“Mami.”“No.”“Stars need s’mores.”I looked at her. “The stars have survived billions of years without s’mores. They’ll be fine.”Gabby had put her crown back into the hair Kendra had just brushed, although it sat slightly crooked because her curls were still rebelling after an entire day of water, wind, an