Raphael
When I came in the front door, I was greeted by the heady smell of roses, and the smell of Italian food cooking in the kitchen. It was like stepping into heaven. The flower arrangement looked even prettier in real life than the photo had looked online. Beth had to be pleased and impressed with that, right? I breezed into the kitchen, and stopped to give Mom a kiss on the cheek.
I circled the counter, ready to give Beth a more intimate kiss, but before I could bend down to reach her lips, she stuck a spatula in my face like it was a sword. “What do you mean sending those flowers, Raphael Segretto?” she demanded angrily. I was so surprised, I took a step back. Bethany, at least the one I used to know so well, was almost never angry. But God help me when she was. Her cheeks
