Read Online Made by J.M. Darhower - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J.M. Darhower
Tags: Adult
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back, dramatically snoring, pretending to be asleep.
"That's not nice," Celia said. "He's your brother. You shouldn't talk about him like that."
"Would you rather me talk about your brother?"
Celia tensed. "You leave my brother alone."
"Or what?"
"Or… I'll smack you silly!"
Mrs. DeMarco stepped into the room, gaping at her daughter. "Celia Marie! How dare you speak to our company that way! "
"But Mom, she—"
"No buts! It doesn't matter what she did. We don't threaten guests. No ice cream for you!"
"She started it!" Vincent blurted out in defense of his sister. "She was mean first!"
Mrs. DeMarco glared at him. "Did you not hear me, young man? I said it didn't matter! None for you, either. You kids are a serious disappointment."
Vincent gasped at his mother's words, his face contorting as he began to cry. Mrs. DeMarco ignored him and dished out some ice cream for Katrina, who smiled to herself as she devoured it.
"Corrado, would you like some?"
He shook his head as Katrina interjected. "He doesn't like ice cream or anything good, really. He won't even eat chocolate."
"Is that right?" Mrs. DeMarco glanced between them. "Why?"
Katrina laughed. "I already said why. He's an idiot."
Mrs. DeMarco looked at her with surprise when she insulted him, but shrugged, not bothering to scold Katrina. She retook her seat, the table remaining silent except for the soft cries from young Vincent. It was like she didn't care her children were upset, or that they'd been wronged.
Corrado turned back to his plate of food.
Maybe it wasn't so foreign, after all.
For days, Corrado crept around the DeMarco house, staying out of the way and keeping to himself, as his sister tailored herself to the surroundings. Katrina followed Mrs. DeMarco around all day long, constantly offering to help, hanging on to the woman's every word. Nearly everything out of Katrina's mouth was laced with politeness as she batted her eyelashes, soaking up the attention.
Corrado watched, more and more sure as time passed: Katrina was plotting something.
He didn't know her end game, what she hoped to accomplish, but he knew his sister. He had been on the receiving end of her schemes more than once, and he still bore faint scars from some of them. Whatever brewed in that head of hers would be ugly, and Corrado suspected, this time, it wasn't him she conspired against.
It was the girl. Celia.
The DeMarco kids spent all day outside, from sun up to sun down. The only time Corrado encountered them was at meals, and he noticed it then, the looks his sister shot across the table at Celia.
She had meant it—she didn't like her.
Corrado lingered in the doorway to the kitchen one afternoon, watching as his sister stood on a stool, helping Mrs. DeMarco put away dishes. Katrina rattled on and on as they worked, telling the woman stories of things her and their mother used to do together, talking about Erika like she was the greatest woman to exist.
"You must miss her," Mrs. DeMarco commented.
"I do," Katrina said, her voice laced with genuine sadness.
"I'm sure she misses you, too."
"Of course she does."
Again, her words were sincere. She truly believed it.
Katrina grabbed the last glass and put it away before jumping down from the stool. "You know, my mom has people to do this kind of stuff for her."
"You mean a maid?"
"No."
Mrs. DeMarco leaned against the counter and crossed her arms as she gazed at Katrina peculiarly. "Huh."
"What?"
"I didn't think your father was like that."
"Like what?"
"The kind to have those kind of people in his house."
Katrina's eyes widened with alarm. "Is that wrong?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
Mrs. DeMarco shook her head. "It's nothing for a little girl to concern herself with."
"But—"
Mrs. DeMarco smiled tersely, cutting her off. "How about we bake a cake?"
Katrina stared at her for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I think I'll go outside and play instead."
"Great."
Corrado moved out of the way as Katrina
"That's not nice," Celia said. "He's your brother. You shouldn't talk about him like that."
"Would you rather me talk about your brother?"
Celia tensed. "You leave my brother alone."
"Or what?"
"Or… I'll smack you silly!"
Mrs. DeMarco stepped into the room, gaping at her daughter. "Celia Marie! How dare you speak to our company that way! "
"But Mom, she—"
"No buts! It doesn't matter what she did. We don't threaten guests. No ice cream for you!"
"She started it!" Vincent blurted out in defense of his sister. "She was mean first!"
Mrs. DeMarco glared at him. "Did you not hear me, young man? I said it didn't matter! None for you, either. You kids are a serious disappointment."
Vincent gasped at his mother's words, his face contorting as he began to cry. Mrs. DeMarco ignored him and dished out some ice cream for Katrina, who smiled to herself as she devoured it.
"Corrado, would you like some?"
He shook his head as Katrina interjected. "He doesn't like ice cream or anything good, really. He won't even eat chocolate."
"Is that right?" Mrs. DeMarco glanced between them. "Why?"
Katrina laughed. "I already said why. He's an idiot."
Mrs. DeMarco looked at her with surprise when she insulted him, but shrugged, not bothering to scold Katrina. She retook her seat, the table remaining silent except for the soft cries from young Vincent. It was like she didn't care her children were upset, or that they'd been wronged.
Corrado turned back to his plate of food.
Maybe it wasn't so foreign, after all.
For days, Corrado crept around the DeMarco house, staying out of the way and keeping to himself, as his sister tailored herself to the surroundings. Katrina followed Mrs. DeMarco around all day long, constantly offering to help, hanging on to the woman's every word. Nearly everything out of Katrina's mouth was laced with politeness as she batted her eyelashes, soaking up the attention.
Corrado watched, more and more sure as time passed: Katrina was plotting something.
He didn't know her end game, what she hoped to accomplish, but he knew his sister. He had been on the receiving end of her schemes more than once, and he still bore faint scars from some of them. Whatever brewed in that head of hers would be ugly, and Corrado suspected, this time, it wasn't him she conspired against.
It was the girl. Celia.
The DeMarco kids spent all day outside, from sun up to sun down. The only time Corrado encountered them was at meals, and he noticed it then, the looks his sister shot across the table at Celia.
She had meant it—she didn't like her.
Corrado lingered in the doorway to the kitchen one afternoon, watching as his sister stood on a stool, helping Mrs. DeMarco put away dishes. Katrina rattled on and on as they worked, telling the woman stories of things her and their mother used to do together, talking about Erika like she was the greatest woman to exist.
"You must miss her," Mrs. DeMarco commented.
"I do," Katrina said, her voice laced with genuine sadness.
"I'm sure she misses you, too."
"Of course she does."
Again, her words were sincere. She truly believed it.
Katrina grabbed the last glass and put it away before jumping down from the stool. "You know, my mom has people to do this kind of stuff for her."
"You mean a maid?"
"No."
Mrs. DeMarco leaned against the counter and crossed her arms as she gazed at Katrina peculiarly. "Huh."
"What?"
"I didn't think your father was like that."
"Like what?"
"The kind to have those kind of people in his house."
Katrina's eyes widened with alarm. "Is that wrong?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
Mrs. DeMarco shook her head. "It's nothing for a little girl to concern herself with."
"But—"
Mrs. DeMarco smiled tersely, cutting her off. "How about we bake a cake?"
Katrina stared at her for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I think I'll go outside and play instead."
"Great."
Corrado moved out of the way as Katrina
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