Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

consumption.” Mostly because I get a little dirty after a bottle or so.
    “He-a does. I know-a it.”
    “Of course you do.”
    “You-a sass me after I come-a all-a the way here?”
    “No, no, Nonna,” I say, turning, wine glass in hand.
    She’s staring at me, her dark eyes narrowed and her dark, gray-streaked hair tied in its usual tight bun.
    “You misheard me. I said, ‘Of course I do.’ Have a bit of a wine problem.” I grimace and raise my glass. “What can I say? I’ve had a stressful day.”
    She stares at me a little longer, mumbles again in ineligible Italian, then pats my arm. “You-a talk about-a marriage, Noella,” she says in a quiet voice. “I want-a more-a grandchildren before-a I die. And-a you live-a in sin!”
    “Live in sin?” Oh god. Here we go.
    “ Si. You-a and-a Drake! You-a not married! I will-a take-a you to church on-a Sunday. You will-a come to-a confession.”
    “I don’t need to go to church. Or confession.”
    “You-a do. Your-a soul is-a dirty, Noella.”
    No, my mind is dirty, but that’s a different matter. “I don’t need to go to church,” I repeat slowly. “I don’t care if I’m living in sin. I’m not ready to get married.”
    “He won’t wait-a forever for-a you.”
    “He doesn’t want to get married yet, either!”
    She sniffs, huffs, and grabs her cane. Then she shuffles off toward my front door. “You have-a the devil in-a-side-a you.”
    She’s probably right there.
    “Son of a bitch,” I whisper to myself when the front door slams behind her.
    Now, I remember why I don’t ask her to bring me food. If I’d just gone and gotten it myself, I would have been able to leave at the first instance of the M-word. Good lord. I shouldn’t have forgotten that. What an amateur move.
    Devil inside me. Pfft. If that’s true, I probably inherited it from her.
    “I thought Nonna wasn’t allowed to drive anymore,” Drake says, walking through the front door. He kicks his shoes off. “I just saw her driving away from here.”
    “They’re not doctor’s orders. Just Dad’s,” I remind him. “Not that it actually makes a difference.”
    “Obviously not.” He unknots his tie, whips me with it, making me squeal, then pauses. His gaze dances across the kitchen to the empty Tupperware tub. “Did she bring dinner?”
    Shit . “No.”
    He meets my eyes. “Liar.”
    “You can’t prove it.” I’m going to fight this until the end.
    “I can.” He crosses the room then, reaching one arm behind me, pulls the Tupperware out. The lid is fastened back on, and he tips it upside down to see the bottom. “Here.” He puts the underside in my face. “Nonna’s label is on it. ‘Return to Nonna’ is written in her scrawly handwriting in Italian.”
    I purse my lips and snatch the tub. “Oh, come on. We all know I’m not the best cook.”
    “Noelle, you’re a great cook.”
    “Fine. We all know I don’t like to cook.”
    “You like to cook.”
    “Oh my god! Do you have an answer for everything?” I snatch the tub and dump it on the counter behind me. “I’m a good cook. I like to cook. I just can’t be bothered to cook.”
    “Lazy.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “What did Nonna bring?”
    “Lasagna and the prologue to what’s sure to be several fun discussions about us living in sin.”
    “Oh boy,” he mutters, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. “And here I was hoping our living together would mean she’d give marriage a rest.”
    I grimace and shake my head. That was a stupid idea. This is Nonna we’re talking about.
    I grab my wine glass and sip before meeting his gaze. “I think it’s made her worse. It’s like she’s spent the last several months lulling us into a false sense of security, and now, that’s it. She’s gonna come at us full force.”
    “One day,” he starts, shrugging his shirt off as he turns to the fridge, “I’m going to handcuff you to my side and whisk you away and marry you.”
    “That’ll be