The Vengeful Groom. SARA WOOD

she mumbled compassionately.

      He pulled her to her feet and stepped back, opening the apartment door. “You were going to the café,” he said noncommittally.

      Half blinded by tears, she nodded and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. Giovanni strode toward his car, and with every stride she felt her heart tearing, strand by strand, till it seemed there was nothing left, no heavy beat, only the stillness of the aftermath of a storm.

      She’d done it. He was leaving and— Oh, God! she groaned. She needed to be alone, to walk, to swim… Any physical exercise would do to take her mind from Giovanni and the dark days that had returned to haunt her.

      Without another thought in her head, she ran to the café, her mind still on hold. But standing at the counter, staring at the menu on the blackboard, she felt that she didn’t want to eat at all because she felt so chewed up inside.

      “Teen, Teen! You okay?”

      “Oh, yes. Dreaming,” she said hastily, seeing Teresa Silva’s concerned eyes on her. “Nightmares. College placements,” she explained with a roll of her eyes to the ceiling. “Gruesome workload.”

      “You work too hard. Take a break today—it’s going to be a scorcher. Manuel’s going crazy, keeping everything fresh for the weddings today.” She smiled, as she always did when she spoke of her son, and Tina smiled back.

      “I thought he’d be busy with the catering,” Tina said. “Grandpa’s left endless lists for our part-timers so that the limos are polished to exhaustion.”

      “We’re all glad of the business.” Teresa grinned. “What’ll you have? The tuna melt’s good, or I can do you a gilded lily…”

      “Oh, tuna melt and pineapple muffins to go. And I’ll pick out some fruit,” Tina answered, trying to sound cheerful. Trying to be cheerful.

      Yet once outside the diner, the tears began to fall again onto the back of her hand, and she knuckled her eyes irritably when she heard the door open behind her and someone came out.

      “Teen, something is wrong,” came Teresa’s gentle voice in her ear. “Is it Adriana? Is she getting too much for you, what with your job and everything?”

      “No.” She sniffed. “I can manage. You know I love her.”

      “It can’t be easy. I suppose you couldn’t afford more help?”