The Italian Happy Ever After by N.J. Adel

My mother looked like a celebrity ready for a photo shoot before she even had breakfast. A black pencil skirt and a red, silk blouse, accentuating her assets as always. And Andrea had given up that right long ago.

If she wanted to be called Mom, she had to earn it. It never got old calling my mother by her first name. Then, clenching my fists, I took a deep breath and spun around. “Maggie.” A firm voice rang behind me followed by the sound of heels clicking on the floor. I stalked across the living room, heading toward the stellar view of the ocean, Dad smiling at me behind the floor-to-ceiling window. “He’s waiting for you to join him for breakfast on the terrace.” Loretta made a funny face as she stowed the jacket away in the coat closet. “Is she up?” I whispered, taking off my jacket. There was something kind about this short, plump woman that always made me smile. Loretta, the housekeeper, opened the door with a grin on her fifty-year-old face. I breathed out slowly and dragged myself out. My breath shuddered in my chest when the elevator opened. I slid my hand into the inside pocket of my jacket, pulled out a key card, waved it over the keypad, and ascended to the penthouse. My boots echoed on the marble tiles as I ambled to the elevator.

“Morning.” I took off my sunglasses, straining to pop my eyes wider. The doorman greeted me, bringing my thoughts to a temporary halt. But was anything in the world worth walking into this house again? I had no doubt about it.Īt least this time, I planned to get something in return from that dreadful meeting. Dad knew that when he insisted I meĪn ambush awaited me inside. My feet weighed a thousand pounds when I turned on Ocean Avenue and stopped at a white and blue, ten-story tower.

To those who carry the scar on their faces or their bodies or their souls.Īllow yourself to be happy because you deserve it.

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The Italian Happy Ever After by N.J. Adel