Chapter 23: Three empty words

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'We're going through the motions, Cause we can't fix what's broken'

When Lilianna opened the door to Hannah's room she was surprised to find the child had curled up in her plush bed and fallen asleep. A smile crept across Lilianna's face as she watched the child nap, closing the door softly and making her way back downstairs. She glanced at her thin silver wristwatch, dinner was approaching.

She entered the kitchen to find it empty, no boys and no Maria.

"I guess I really am a housewife." She sighed, opening the double door fridge and rummaging through it. Since she was short on time and needed to cook for a group of nine people which consisted of eight grown men with black holes for stomachs and a picky four-year-old; she settled on making pasta primavera.

She quickly chopped a variety of vegetables from the fridge and tossed them in a bowl with oil and fresh herbs, baking them in the over. She threw a bunch of boxed fettuccine noodles in boiling water, grated half a block of fresh parmesan cheese into a saucepan and added some heavy cream to the pan to melt the cheese into a cream sauce. While she pulled the roasted vegetables from the oven, Brett and Commodore strolled into the kitchen, the vibrant scents of the cooking food enticing them.

"What in the name of all things holy are you making?" Brett asked.

"It smells fucking awesome in here," Commodore added.

"I'm making dinner." She answered in a light tone while adding the vegetables to the cream sauce.

"What is for dinner?" They both asked.

"Pasta Primavera." She answered, pulling nine plates down from the cupboard and dishing large helpings of pasta onto each one. The last one she added only a small scoop knowing Hannah wouldn't finish hers.

"That sounds fancy." Brett smiled, slipping into one of the bar stools at the island countertop.

"It's just pasta with vegetables you idiot." Commodore snapped. "It's an American dish."

"You would know, wouldn't you Mr. Italian boy." Brett huffed.

"Fottiti." Commodore snapped.

"Sorry, I only speak American!" Brett teased.

"Sei troppo stupido a parlare italiano comunque," Commodore laughed.

"Fuck off." Brett kissed his teeth.

"Language, please," Jeremiah warned as he entered the kitchen. "That goes for you too, Commodore."

"What?" Brett yelled, glaring at the caramel-haired man.

"Way to rat me out, Boss," Commodore mumbled, sitting further away from Brett.

"I heard you halfway down the stairs. You can't speak Italian freely in this house. Two other people not including Maria speak the language." He reminded him.

"And four others speak French, we get it, no one is safe." Commodore joked.

"Who speaks French?" Lilianna asked in curiosity. "I speak French."

"Great now five people can converse in secrecy!" Commodore chuckled.

"Mikale and Otis speak creole, Casper went to French immersion his whole life and Mathew is from Quebec so he speaks Québécois. Despite the slight variations in the language they all manage to communicate in French easily." Jeremiah explained.

"I took French as my second language in high school and fell in love so naturally, I became fluent," Lilianna told them, spooning the veggies and cream sauce on top of the pasta.

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