Chapter Thirty-Seven Lucky
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lucky
Dinner that night was ... interesting, to say the least. The first problem was that I couldn’t find my phone. I checked my cabin thoroughly, but nothing.
The last place I remembered having it was in the primary cabin, when Georgia had texted me about Hunter’s break. I told him my fear that I’d left my phone in his parents’ room.
He said, “Do you want me to ask them if they’ve seen it?”
That was the last thing I wanted. I had no desire to come across as incompetent. Especially not to his family. “When they’re eating I’ll go down and look for it.”
I was still a little wrecked emotionally from my conversation with him. I did forgive him. I was touched by his thoughtfulness, the gift he’d given me. And it would have been silly to get so hung up over him hiding his name when he’d done so for a good reason—to keep his job.
Wasn’t that why I had been keeping him at bay? It would have made me a hypocrite to be furious with him.
I knew that he was a good man. He wasn’t like the others I had dated. This time was going to be different.
In five months. Which seemed so very far away.
When the Cartwrights were seated, I began pouring them some water and asking what they’d like to drink with dinner.
“Anything you have will be fine,” Susan said. “I want to hear about you, Lucky. Where are you from?”
Guests didn’t typically ask me questions about myself. “East Haven, Connecticut.” I refrained from adding “Why?” on to the end of my sentence. “How are you enjoying your yacht?”
“It’s always been Hank’s dream to own one,” she said, looking lovingly at her husband.
Her husband took her by the hand. “Although she is constantly reminding me that a boat is a hole in the water you throw money into.”
I smiled and knew how true that statement was. Ships like this were very expensive to maintain. “I’ve heard it said that the two greatest days of a boat owner’s life are when they buy their boat and when they sell it.”
Hank laughed. “Probably true. I will have to rename it, though. I was thinking about Seas the Day .” He spelled out the word so that I would hear the pun. I smiled and shook my head. Like father, like son.
“Did you go to college?” Susan asked me.
“I didn’t get the chance,” I said.
Hadley, Hunter’s eighteen-year-old sister, looked up from her phone long enough to say, “Nice necklace.” She had a knowing grin.
“Thanks.” I hoped I wasn’t blushing. I tucked the necklace back into my uniform.
“Do you have any siblings?” Susan resumed her line of questioning.
“Two younger sisters,” I said. “Twins.”
“And where is your family from?”
“All over. But my paternal grandparents are from Italy.”
Georgia was across the table from me, pouring wine for Hank. She raised her eyebrows and smiled at me in amusement. I understood what she was silently communicating. Nobody was asking her any questions. Just me.
Something flashed across Hunter’s mother’s face. Understanding? Recognition? She nodded with a look of satisfaction and then asked, “What do you see yourself doing after yachting?”
This was starting to feel a bit like an interrogation. White-lie time. “I love my job so much I can’t imagine doing anything else,” I said. “I’m going to go check in with the chef. I’ll be right back.”
I let out a deep sigh when I entered the main salon and hurried down to the galley. Hunter met me on the staircase, blocking my way.
“Found your phone,” he said, handing it to me.
“Where was it?”
“On the floor of our cabin.”
I frowned. That was weird. I had done a thorough sweep of our room. “Thank you.”
“How are things going up there?”
“What did you say to them about me?” I didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but I couldn’t help it.
“Nothing!” he said, holding up his hands like he was about to be arrested. “Why?”
“Your mom was asking me a bunch of questions. She seemed keenly interested in me and didn’t ask Georgia anything. It felt personal, like she knew something about us.”
He dropped his arms down to his sides. “My mom is very perceptive and sees things that other people don’t. It’s part of what makes her such a great neurosurgeon. Did they do anything else besides interrogate you?”
“Your dad told me what he wanted to name the yacht.”
“I suggested Titanic II , but that didn’t amuse him. I also tried Knot Pro Bono , ‘knot’ with a K , but that aggravated him even more.” He looked at my grin. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Apple, tree, something about trajectory.”
“I’m not like my dad.” He seemed to bristle slightly.
I put my hand on his arm. “I just meant that you both love puns.”
“My mom always said that’s how my dad won her over.”
The fact that he’d probably looked exactly like Hunter when he was younger had probably helped. “They seem very much in love. They act like they’re still on their honeymoon.”
“You have no idea how annoying that was growing up.”
“I would have liked that,” I said quietly.
Realizing what he’d said, he took me into his arms and hugged me tightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know you were joking,” I said against his shoulder. He released me but kept his hands at my waist. “But there must be some part of you that likes that your parents love each other so much.”
“You’re right, I do. And I’ve always secretly wanted to have a relationship as strong and stable as theirs.” His bright blue eyes sparkled in the low light.
Did he think that we might be able to have a relationship like that? Someday?
My gaze traveled down to his lips and I wished that I could kiss him. He had the best mouth.
“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he teased.
And his eyes were filled with an intensity, a fire, that burned me from the inside out.
We stood there in silence, my heart beating so loud I was sure it was echoing in the staircase, and I tried to remember why the rules mattered.
He cleared his throat. “Hey, so I have a surprise for you. We’re traveling overnight so that we can get to Naples tomorrow. And my parents are giving the entire crew the next two days off.”
That brought me out of my lust-filled stupor. “What? I’ve never heard of a crew getting time off like that when guests are on board.”
“The owners have given their official permission. My youngest sister wants to go explore Monterra, so they’re going to grab a train in Naples and spend a couple of days there. Personally, I think she’s going to see if she can find one of those teenage princes and get him to fall in love with her.” He tugged me forward so that my body was flush with his. “Would you like to spend the day with me?”
“Yes.” I didn’t care what we would do. Most crewmembers never had plans when they had a day off. We would just go out and explore, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone. I’d love to share Italy with him.
“First thing tomorrow morning, bright and early.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Then he went around me and back up to the deck.
Another thing he must have arranged with his parents. His mom didn’t have to be extra perceptive—the fact that he had asked for this kind of favor, she must have suspected that he had done it for someone’s benefit.
And she had quickly figured out that it was mine.
Precisely fifteen hours later, Hunter put his hands over my eyes and had me walk forward. We had landed in Naples and then he had immediately hustled me onto a train. He wouldn’t tell me where we were headed.
“Where are we going?” I asked for what felt like the hundredth time, nearly stumbling over a bump in the sidewalk he hadn’t warned me about.
He didn’t answer but we came to a stop. “We’re finally here. Ready?” He pulled his hands away and we were standing in front of a row of storefronts. “Ta-da!”
“What am I looking at?”
“I brought you to Salerno. You are looking at Il Pane. The bakery of Arturo and Giovanna Mascarelli.”
I gasped. Salerno? This was where my grandparents had grown up. Where my last name came from. And the bakery where my nonna had worked? “Are you serious?”
He looked so pleased with himself. “I am. My dad has some connections and I was able to find them.”
I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“I’d do anything for you,” he said into my neck. We stayed there for a bit and then he let go of me, taking my hand. “Let’s go meet the Mascarelli family.”
And it was the entire family. Children and grandchildren, cousins, aunts and uncles. There was an entire horde of Italians waiting to greet me and kiss me on both cheeks before passing me along to the next person. I could understand some of what they said, but not everything.
It made me wish I had paid closer attention when my nonna had tried to teach me Italian.
“Welcome to our bakery,” a woman close to my age said. “I’m Maria, and I’m one of the granddaughters. I’m here to translate for everyone. My grandparents are so excited that you’ve come. They loved your grandmother. And we heard you want to learn to make sfogliatelle? We make the best.”
“Please thank them for having me. I’m so excited,” I said.
Someone handed me an apron and pushed me toward the kitchen. Giovanna spoke in rapid Italian and Maria translated everything she said for my benefit. And as we started to make the dough, nothing about it was different than what I had been doing. I’d hoped that there would be some special ingredient, some technique that I didn’t know and the Mascarellis would show me.
But so far it all seemed familiar.
Giovanna said something and Maria turned to me. “My grandmother is asking what’s wrong.”
I explained my concern and how I had made them exactly the same way but mine never turned out quite right. Maria translated and Arturo started talking and gesturing wildly with his hands as he pointed at the countertop where we were working.
“My grandfather is asking what kind of flour you use.”
“The regular kind.”
Maria said this to Arturo and he made a face of disgust and spit on the floor. Then he launched into what looked to be a serious rant, his hands moving as quickly as his mouth.
“My grandfather says you are using American flour and that is the problem. Italian flour is superior to American flour. Our wheat is softer and it is more finely ground to remove all shards of the bran. Our flour is like velvety powder. It’s why our pizzas and pasta taste so much better than yours.”
I was stunned. Was this the answer? If I had used Italian flour, would my sfogliatelle finally turn out like my nonna’s? “I can’t believe the answer is that simple.”
Hunter said, “I know people who only eat bagels from New York because they think the tap water there is superior. Something about the mineral content.”
My heart was racing. I would import Italian flour and then I would finally be able to make my nonna’s sfogliatelle the way they were meant to be made.
I hugged him with excitement.
Giovanna began to roll the dough up. Maria turned to me and said, “The dough has to chill overnight. She wants you to come back tomorrow. And you are invited to come and eat with the family now.”
“Is that okay? If we stay?” I asked Hunter.
He kissed the tip of my nose. “I want whatever you want.”
So we ate with the Mascarellis, and through Maria, Arturo and Giovanna told me story after story about my grandparents, about how they had met and how they had fallen in love. I had heard the stories before, about how my nonno had been hired to deliver for the bakery and how he was late one morning and my nonna had thrown a wooden spoon at his head. It had been love at first sight for him. My nonna said he’d had to convince her and that, even though he hadn’t known it back then, she was more than willing.
“My grandmother says that your grandfather always said that Lucia was his lucky star.”
At that my heart stuttered in my chest. It felt like a sign from my grandparents. Like them giving Hunter and me their blessing.
“I didn’t know that,” I whispered back. My nonno had died when I was so young and I had no memories of them together.
Hunter’s arm tightened around me. I said to him, “My mom always told me that my nonna had picked my nickname, but I never knew the reason why.”
“Now you do.”
Even though I couldn’t understand most of the conversations happening around me, what I did feel was the love. The love in the food, in the company, and the love I had for Hunter, who had arranged this for me. Who had given me something I had thought was lost forever.
I laced my fingers through his and he kissed my hand while laughing at a story Maria was telling us.
This was turning out to be a completely perfect day. Laughter, family, love, and great Italian food.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this happy.