Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Sandra was taking her time getting out of the car.
She had the passenger side mirror down and was running her pinky finger along her bottom lip to smooth her lipstick.
I sat next to her with the driver’s side door open; one foot was in the car, one foot was on the pavement.
I used the opportunity to stare at the red brick building in front of us that housed Manganiello’s Italian Restaurant.
Nico was inside that building, and I had no plan.
I didn’t consider myself a control freak, but I always liked to be armed with a plan, especially when facing a boy—no, a man—who’d just declared his love for me the night before. And not only was it love; it was a lifetime of unrequited love.
“Hey—Elizabeth? Are you ready?”
My lashes fluttered as I was yanked from my contemplations. I nodded, “Yep. Guess we should get inside.”
I made no move to exit the car.
My father and I dined at Manganiello’s Italian Restaurant at least three times a week when I was growing up. It was the only time either of us ate a hot meal (as long as microwaved leftovers aren’t counted). The restaurant was one of my most favorite places on earth.
Sandra was watching me. I could feel her hesitate as she studied me. “Is there anything wrong?”
Weary was how I felt as I looked at the building now; weary and worried. The big deucey Ws.
My heart raced at the thought of seeing Nico; it was pounding so hard I could feel the pulse and throb of blood rushing through my veins in the palms of my hands and at the back of my neck.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
That was a lie. Everything was wrong. Niccolò Manganiello was in love with me—or thought he was.
I couldn’t fathom it. Reality had tilted on its axis, and everything in the world was now a different color.
All of our previous interactions, all of his teasing, everything that made me hate him while we were growing up required reassessment.
I had so many questions, the first of which was how could he spend his childhood being so mean and spiteful to a girl he supposedly loved? How could he spend years goading me, needling me, bullying me if he cared about me?
“Is this about your outburst at the reunion last night? Are you embarrassed?” Shrink Sandra said.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
I wasn’t embarrassed about standing on a chair and yelling, “The child is yours.” I wasn’t even embarrassed when I did it last night.
I was embarrassed about how I’d behaved when he told me he loved me. His confession of love reignited the guilt surrounding my abandoning him after we slept together and how I’d treated him afterward: I had basically cut him out of my life.
His confession last night further served to intensify my guilt. I didn’t know it at the time, but when I slept with Nico and gave him my V-card, he was in love with me. If I’d known then what I knew now…if I’d had any idea, then maybe….
I shifted in my seat and sighed heavily, my eyes narrowed at the red brick in hesitant speculation.
I didn’t want to see him—well, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to see him.
And I was certain we’d already spent more than enough time together over the last fourteen hours—well, more or less enough time.
I was planning to absolutely ignore him once we walked inside the restaurant—well, absolutely ignore him in the general sense.
Gah! Make up your mind.
I administered a mental kick to my backside and suppressed a growl, not wanting to raise additional suspicion.
“What did you and Nico talk about when you disappeared last night?” Shrink Sandra said.
“Stuff…things.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk to Shrink Sandra. I needed a friend, not a shrink. I needed to talk to Janie. But Janie was in Boston climbing all over her fiancé, Quinn, and I was in Iowa avoiding confrontation.
Maybe I do need a shrink.
“He told me he has a stalker.”
Sandra flinched, opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “He has a stalker?”
I nodded.
“Is he ok? Does he have security?”
I nodded again but said, “His security sucks.”
“Obviously. Last night he was nearly mangled. I hope he plans to do something about that.”
“I’m going to try to talk to him about it today.” I tapped my fingers on my thigh. “Maybe I can talk to Quinn, and get him to persuade Nico to switch security firms.”
Sandra sighed. “Sounds like a plan. Ok then, let’s go inside. I’m hungry!”
I bit the inside of my bottom cheek for courage and led the way to the front entrance, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans.
As soon as I opened the door to the restaurant, the smell of divinity enveloped me.
Ah, yes…this was what I imagine heaven would smell like: garlic, basil, and fresh baked bread.
The smell was one I associated with my childhood.
My nose was on sensory overload, and I was forced to blink against the darkness when we stepped inside.
I heard Sandra’s immediate gasp, and then whispered—almost moaned—a rapturous exclamation. “What is that heavenly smell? And why is it so dark in here? I can’t see a thing.”
Before I could respond, a booming voice swallowed all other sounds in the room. “Yeah, because that’s what everyone wants to do on their day off—go to the place where they work and cook for thirty people. Yeah, this makes complete sense.”
I recognized the voice as Nico’s oldest brother, Robert.
I blinked again. The room was finally coming into focus, and I was in a time warp.
Navy vinyl benches, gold carpet, silk flower arrangements that were just a little too big for the dark wood tables, the jukebox that played only the Rat Pack, with Frank Sinatra currently crooning about his funny valentine to complete the atmosphere.
I squinted, looked for, and found a fresh ball of mistletoe tied just above the archway between the two dining rooms.
I hadn’t been to the restaurant in eleven years, but everything was the same.
I half expected an eight-year-old Nico to rush out and take us to our table, or a sixteen-year-old Nico to ignore me in favor of chatting politely with my dad, only to pull my chair out too far when we got to the table, ensuring I fell to the floor, landing on my ass.
Robert’s voice, still booming, cracked through my reflections. He exited the swinging galley door that led from the kitchen to the dining room.
“Because if I were a secretary and my youngest brother came to town, I’d invite the entire family to the office, make them coffee, then clean up after they leave. Yay. Sign me up.”
“Robert.” Rose’s warning was sharp and immediately effective.
Neither son nor mother had noticed us yet. I could hear sounds of children and adults working feverishly in the kitchen, with pots banging and water running as they cooked and cleaned for a steady flow of customers.
Rose appeared to be absorbed in reprimanding her tall son. “You don’t see your brother for three weeks and this is how you behave? Shame on you, Robert Vincenzo Manganiello. And I want us all to sit in the dining room, not back in the kitchen.”
“What? Why sit in the dining room? There is more than enough room at the kitchen table.”
“Because I want to do something nice for your brother, that’s why. And I can’t arrange it if we’re all back in the kitchen.” She reached up and pinched his chin. “Don’t question your mother.”
His big shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “Fine…fine. I’ll go finish the manicotti.”
Sandra bumped her shoulder against mine and leaned into my ear, “Manicotti for breakfast?”
I nodded and shrugged. I couldn’t form an opinion about having manicotti for breakfast in my present state of panic.
Either Sandra’s question or my awkward movements alerted Rose to our presence. She glanced over, her smile immediate; her eyes were large and excited, as though seeing something delicious.
“Lizzybella, my beauty—it is so good to see you.” Rose charged toward us and engulfed me in a tight hug.
I tried to speak but found the task impossible. Words were caught in my throat. I was choking on apprehension, guilt, and anticipation.
Rose didn’t seem to notice. She released me and promptly pulled Sandra into a hug, “I made Nico promise. I told him you better come and visit me while you are here.”
Sandra was engulfed in a motherly hug. “I’m Sandra,” she said, somewhat stupefied, when Rose finally released her.
“Of course you are, dear.” Rose smiled at Sandra and patted her hand then turned her attention back to me. “Now Lizzy, please go to the kitchen and help get the settings for the big table out here. Robert, Franco, Milo, and Manny are in the back. I’m sure they want to say hi.”
Rose dismissed me by linking her arm with Sandra and pulling her in the direction of jukebox.
I watched them stroll away, leaving me by the front entrance.
I shook my hands to force them to relax, hoping to shake off some of my nerves along with them.
I glanced at the galley door to the kitchen, still feeling weary and worried, but resolved to get through this moment by playing the part of a mature adult.
I stepped forward when Franco and Milo—two of Nico’s brothers—burst through the swinging door. In their hands were large trays of food and, as was typical, they were arguing with each other.
“No, no—over here. Robert said over here,” said Milo, the tallest and second oldest, indicating a long buffet table with a tilt of his head.
“That’s stupid,” said Franco, third in the family. “Why don’t we just put it all on the big table? Why are we doing this buffet style?”
Milo shook a head full of dark curls. “Robert said that Ma said that Nico is—you know what, don’t ask questions, dummy. Just put the food down.”
Distracted by his rant, Milo let his tray slip, and I quickly moved forward to assist. His large green eyes widened when I stepped in front of him, steadying the tray.
“Well, hello.” Milo tried to balance the tray with one hand as he reached his other out to me. “I’m Milo.”