BOOK FIVE- Chapter 1

Julia White

Fireworks blossom above the lake, floating in the clear night air before drifting down in dazzling clouds to settle on the water.

My father flinches at the first explosion. He dislikes things that are loud or surprising. Which is why I sometimes irritate him—I can be both of those things, even when I'm trying to be a good girl.

His scowl is lit by the blue and gold lights. Yes, he has the same expression when he stares at me.

"Would you like to eat inside?" Donald asks.

Because it's a warm night, we're all sitting on the deck. In New York, unlike in Sicily, you must take advantage of every opportunity to eat outdoors. Even yet, if you didn't hear the traffic below, you'd assume you were in an Italian vineyard. The table is set with primitive dinnerware imported from the old country three generations ago, and the pergola overhead is heavily clothed with shade-giving fox grapes planted by Father. Fox grapes cannot be made into wine, although they do make fantastic jam.

My fa