Look on the Bright Side

Chapter Three

On Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, Lark put on a blue-and-white sleeveless dress, braided her hair into a side ponytail, put on sunscreen, a little mascara and some tinted lip gloss, and stepped into her red espadrille sandals for that patriotic touch.

With Joy’s blessing, she’d raided the garden and made several bouquets, including one for Joy herself. For the past ten months, Lark had rented a tiny guesthouse from Joy Deveaux at a ridiculously low price. Situated on a protected inlet on Wellfleet’s raggedy bay side, the main house was utterly splendid—a gray-shingled, three-story charmer with five bedrooms, a chef’s kitchen (largely unused, since Joy didn’t cook much), a vast living room and sliding glass doors showcasing the view of the water. The yard featured lush beds of flowers, which Lark tended whenever she had the time.

Lark’s little house, to the south of the main residence, was no more than six hundred square feet, but it had everything she needed. Tiny kitchen, living room, bedroom and a little deck that gave her her own view of the sunset…not that she was often here to enjoy it, but still. It had been her lucky day when Joy offered her the place. The fact that she and Joy had become friends was even luckier. Joy was older—in her sixties—and treated Lark like a favorite niece, a role Lark was happy to fill, especially since Joy didn’t have family of her own. As part of the rental agreement, Lark dutifully injected Joy with Botox and filler every few months, saving the older woman a trip to the dermatologist in Hyannis.

It was an odd friendship, but it was refreshing, too. So many people knew Lark’s story; Joy had not. She was easy to talk to, completely without judgment, having lived a somewhat unusual life herself. Already, Lark had told her about her arrangement with Dr.Santini, knowing Joy herself had had unconventional relationships, too.

Right now, the smell of lilacs and peonies filled the car. One bouquet for Lorenzo’s grandmother, one for his mom, and one for each of his sisters, all wrapped in turquoise blue tissue paper and sitting pretty in the back seat of the Honda. Hopefully, they wouldn’t wilt on the ride. And hopefully, Connery wouldn’t eat them.

Joy had asked if she would take the dog today so she could run some errands, and Lark had texted Lorenzo to see if she could bring Connery with her. He hadn’t answered, so she took that as a yes. Connery would help ease the awkwardness, she figured. Who didn’t love a dog, especially one who knew myriad ridiculous tricks, such as “hiding,” where he’d put both paws over his eyes; fainting when Lark put the back of her hand to her forehead and said “Oh no!”; and dancing on his hind legs? A person had to have a hobby, and Connery spent most nights with her, since Joy slept late, and Conn’s little bladder couldn’t wait till 11:00 a.m.

Now the wee mutt sat happily next to her on the car seat, his silky fur ruffling in the breeze as he snuffled the wind. She was glad he was here. She was nervous. For one, she hadn’t met someone’s parents since…ever, really. She’d always known Justin’s parents, the way kids do.

“We’re not nervous, though, are we, Conn?” she asked her dog. He wagged in response, and she let her hand settle on his little square head, petting his soft fur. “Thanks, buddy.” A car passed on her right. (It was Massachusetts, and traffic laws were quaint suggestions from a gentler time, not something that anyone enforced.) The driver slowed when she saw Connery, then blew him a kiss and sped ahead. She had curly blond and gray hair, like Mom.

And speaking of Mom…Lark’s own did have a point. Being Lorenzo’s summertime honey was an uncomfortable exchange for an introduction to the gods of oncology. But it was, what? Five events, maybe? Pretending to date a guy for a couple of months so his ancient grandmother wouldn’t worry about his single state (or tarry soul) wasn’t the worst thing. Besides, she understood Lorenzo’s desire not to be solo during a summer full of wedding stuff. She’d endured that when Addie and Nicole got married, and having to explain why she wasn’t with someone every time someone asked had been agony.

This would be worth it. She’d make a fantastic oncologist. Her soft heart…that wasn’t a negative, no way. She’d never wanted to do anything else. This adjustment time, working in the ER, would help her toughen up. Darlene had said yes to doing a little hospice volunteering, and Lark could start by visiting patients. That was it. Just visiting and talking. No medical stuff, no bathing or feeding or administering drugs. Just being there.

In a few months, she’d go back to the oncology program and live out her destiny. Lorenzo’s introduction might not even be necessary. But even in the world of medicine, where everything should be based on merit and skill, there was an invisible club that helped you get ahead. Your father was head of surgery at that Ivy League hospital? Of course you got into their residency program. Your mother donated $40 million to a world-famous clinic in the heartland? What a coincidence! They just offered you a fellowship. Say again? Your uncle is the surgeon general of the United States? Your mom is the CEO of a big pharmaceutical company? Your brother is a full professor at NYU Langone? Well, well, well. Just pass organic chemistry and come right this way.

Lark didn’t have those connections. A dad who’d been an ER nurse was not medical royalty. Medicine still struggled with gender discrimination; while women made up almost 50 percent of doctors, most were in fields dealing with women or children. In neurosurgery, cardiology, urology and, yes, oncology, female doctors were a lot more rare. She wasn’t selling out. Hell, no. She’d endured four years of medical school and aced the MCAT, done almost two years of residency. Getting a possible introduction from Lorenzo was not selling out.

Nevertheless, she was strangling the steering wheel hard. She turned on the radio for distraction, and God was listening, because “Purple Rain” had just started. She cranked up the volume and sang along until the Chatham exit. And even better, the DJ had decided to run a Prince marathon, so happy thoughts kept her company until she pulled into Lorenzo’s driveway.

Showtime. She checked herself in the mirror, smiled, clipped on Connery’s leash and gathered up the bouquets of flowers, then made her way to the house. Connery stopped to pee on the emerald lawn. She hoped Lorenzo wasn’t looking.

God, the place was even more impressive in person. The smell of freshly cut grass, barbecue and salt air made her feel a little drunk as she approached the front door. There were several cars and a red pickup truck in the driveway, all sporting the usual Massachusetts bumper stickers—the Sox, Cape Cod, a shark, Tunnel Permit and, on the pickup, a Boston Fire insignia. Connery sniffed each vehicle before letting her proceed.

“Lorenzo!” came a female voice before she had a chance to knock. “She’s here! Open the door, hurry.”

Lark took another fortifying breath and smiled.

Lorenzo opened the door. “You’re late,” he said, glancing at a complicated-looking watch with many dials. “You were due eleven minutes ago. And what is that?” He looked down at her dog like he’d never seen one before.

“Hi. Nice to see you, too.” She widened her eyes at him. “Be nice,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to like me. And this is my dog, Connery. He’s a great judge of character, so be careful around him.” From behind him came the murmur of his family, and her nerves flashed again.

“Come in,” he said. “Everyone else is already here.”

He led the way through the spacious front hall and into the kitchen, where a small mob awaited, silent. Lark dimly noted that the décor was stark modern and the smells were incredible. A small ocean of smiling faces greeted her.

“Hello,” she said when Lorenzo said nothing. “I’m Lark. This is my dog, Connery.”

“He’s so cute!” said one of the sisters, and Connery tugged free and went over to her to prove it, standing on his stumpy little legs and wagging.

“Hello!” said a short, dark-haired woman. “I’m Anita, Lorenzo’s mother, and I’m very happy to meet you. You’re so pretty!” She gave Lark and her four bouquets a hug.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Lark said. “These are for you,” she added, handing her a bouquet.

Behind Anita, Lark spotted a tiny lady in a wheelchair under a blanket, bent with age like a tree worn down by the wind. “You must be Lorenzo’s grandmother,” she said. “He’s told me so much about you.”

“She’s might be asleep,” said Anita. “She doesn’t close her eyes all the time. Right, Noni?”

Not that being stared at from those faded blue eyes was creepy, not at all. “I hate dogs,” Noni whispered in a voice as dry as old paper. So, not asleep. “Why you bring a dog?”

Her Italian accent made the words sound threatening. That scene from The Godfather flashed through Lark’s mind, and she glanced back at Connery to make sure his head was still attached. Both sisters were currently fawning over him, so it looked like he was safe for now.

“Sorry,” she said. “I…well, I brought flowers, too. I hope you like flowers,” she said, extending them. Noni didn’t respond, just narrowed her eyes. She didn’t take the bouquet.

“Hi! I’m Izzy. This is our grandmother, Noni,” said one of the sisters. “She’s a little grumpy when she’s hungry.” Izzy held up a piece of bread, and without looking away from Lark, Noni opened her mouth. Anodontia, Lark noted. Not a tooth to be seen. The sister popped in the chunk of bread. “I’m the single sister. Nice to meet you.”

“Great meeting you, too,” Lark said, handing her a bouquet.

“These are gorgeous! From your garden?”

“My landlady’s.”

“Well, thank you. I’ll get a few vases.” She began opening cupboards.

While Noni chewed and Lorenzo stood silently glaring, Lark was hugged and greeted by Silvio, Lorenzo’s father; Sofia, his sister (and the bride); and her fiancé, Henry.

“Congratulations, you two,” Lark said. “I can’t wait to hear about the wedding.”

“Oh, you’ve opened a can of worms with that sentence,” said Izzy. “The wedding of the century. Look out, Priyanka and Nick. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“We promise to bore you with color schemes later,” Sofia said. “These are lovely, Lark. Thank you.” She gave Lark a beautiful smile.

“Which one of you is the nurse?” Lark asked.

“I am,” Izzy answered.

“I bow to you, as every doctor should,” Lark said.

“Lorenzo!” Izzy exclaimed. “She’s wicked nice and also brilliant. How did you trick her into dating you?”

Lorenzo stood there, brick-like, and didn’t answer.

Lark forced a laugh. “He’s not that bad,” she said. “If you squint, he’s kind of cute, even.”

“Finally he found someone,” said Anita. “We’d all given up, but here you are, Lark. Poor Noni wants to see him settled before she dies.”

“Don’t say that out loud, Mom,” Lorenzo said sharply. “Noni, you’re in great shape.”

“We’re just hoping she makes it till Sofia’s wedding,” Silvio murmured. “But she’s ninety-nine.”

“So,” Anita said, “you’re dating my son. This is so exciting. I can’t wait to get to know you.”

“No pressure, Lark,” Silvio said. “Hon, maybe we feed her first before we call a priest?”

“Oh, Silvio, stop. I didn’t say a thing about weddings.” She sparkled at Lark. “But sure, weddings are on my mind.”

Silvio pressed a cold glass of something pink into Lark’s hand. “Cranberry and club soda, but I can add vodka if you want.”

“This is perfect, thank you, Mr.Santini.”

“Silvio, dear, call him Silvio. Tell us how you and Lorenzo met.”

All eyes were on her. We met over anal fissures. “At the hospital,” she said. “Here on the Cape, that is. I know Lorenzo practices all over Boston, too.”

“Are you a surgeon, too?” Henry asked.

Lorenzo snorted, and Lark cut him a look.

“Or even better, a nurse?” Izzy asked.

“Right now, I’m doing my residency in the Emergency Department,” she said.

Then someone came in the back door. “Dad, you said you wanted to grill the steaks, so I—oh. Hi.”

Lark looked up, and there was someone who could only be Lorenzo’s brother, staring at her, tongs in one hand. Connery ran up to him, twining through his legs, tail wagging furiously.

An odd, dark warning flashed through Lark. The Santinis were still talking, but it suddenly felt very quiet. Dante Santini did not look away.

He wasn’t quite as perfectly handsome as Lorenzo, but he was much, much more attractive. Around six feet tall, more bulk on him than his runner brother, broad shoulders. Brown hair lightened by the sun, dark, smiling eyes. His navy blue T-shirt had a logo over his heart that read Boston F.D. Rescue 2.

Hence the decal on the truck outside. Lorenzo’s brother was a firefighter. Suddenly, her entire body flushed.

“Hi,” Dante said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m the brother.”

“Hi. I’m the girlfriend.” They looked at each other, and then, to cover the awkwardness, Lark reached for Lorenzo’s hand. Almost to her surprise, he took it.

“Now that the meet and greet is done,” Lorenzo said, “why don’t we go outside and have some food?” He dropped Lark’s hand, grabbed the handles of Noni’s wheelchair and pushed her outside, maneuvering her expertly through the French doors onto the deck.

Everyone else grabbed a tray or platter and followed. The smooth wooden deck was sheltered by an arbor dripping with purple wisteria. A hundred yards away was the Atlantic, tucked against the curve of Chatham and its ever-changing shoreline. They sat around a large table, Noni unblinking and silent at one end, Lorenzo next to her, the rest of them sitting and moving and pouring and passing, questions about traffic, food, how people wanted their steaks and burgers. Lark knew the drill. She was from a big family, too. She passed and dished and smiled and said “Not too bad, just a little slow at the rotary” when Silvio asked about traffic. Connery, like the good boy he was, curled up on a chaise longue and went to sleep.

“That dog, he on the furniture,” Noni whispered.

“That’s okay,” Anita said. “He’s adorable, Lark. And very clean, Noni. His fur is so silky.”

“People sit on furniture. Not animals.” Noni glared at her. One of her eyes was deviated about twenty degrees off center—exotropia—but the one-eyed glare was enough to do the trick.

“I’ll get him a blanket from the car.” She smiled and stood up, but Dante was already folding a beach towel for the same purpose. He picked up Connery, who licked his hand, and put him down on the towel.

“Thank you,” Lark said.

“No problem.” He cut her a quick look, then petted Connery’s head. “What’s his name?”

“Connery. He’s Scottish.”

“Like Sean. Got it.” He smiled and sat back down, and that dark, unpleasant jolt, like cold electricity, zapped her again.

There was green salad, burrata with beefsteak tomatoes, potato salad, pasta salad, a charcuterie board full of cured meats and cheeses, grapes and crackers. That was just to start. Then came a huge casserole dish of eggplant parm, a platter of burgers, pulled pork, hot dogs and steak, three loaves of crusty bread. A quartet of olive oils, two pitchers of water with lemon slices, and bottles of wine crowded the table. In a giant copper tub filled with ice, there were more bottles of wine, and beer and soda. Silvio filled up her glass with rosé, and Lark thanked him.

“What if we go hungry?” Izzy asked, tilting her head.

“We can always hit Kream ’n Kone after,” Sofia said, smiling at Lark. “You’re from the Cape, right?”

“Yes. Wellfleet,” she said. “I’m happily familiar with Kream ’n Kone.”

“Did you grow up here, Lark?” Silvio asked.

“I did, and my parents and siblings are all still around. I have three sisters, including an identical twin, and a brother. My mom owns an art gallery. My dad retired from nursing last fall—maybe you know him, Isabella? Gerald Smith? He worked in the ER.”

“Can’t say the name is familiar,” she said. “I’m mostly at South Shore.”

“Got it. And let’s see…my oldest sister and grandpa own the bookstore in town. Open Book. Have you ever been?”

“I don’t think so,” said Anita, “but we’ll have to take a drive. I love Wellfleet. Haven’t been for ages.”

“Where do all of you live?” Lark asked. “Is everyone on the Cape?”

Cape Cod was somewhat oddly divided into quarters—since the peninsula was shaped like an arm flexing a bicep, the towns closest to the mainland were considered the upper Cape—the upper arm, as it were. The next chunk moving eastward was the mid-Cape, where the hospital, big-box stores and mall were. Then came where they were now—Chatham was the elbow, considered part of the lower Cape, along with Brewster, Harwich and Orleans. Then came the most romantic and beautiful part (to Lark, anyway)…the Outer Cape, where she had grown up, where the national seashore began, where the best beaches were and fiercest storms hit.

The Santinis all lived in the upper Cape area. Silvio and Anita had recently moved from the house where they’d raised their kids in Sandwich to a bigger house near the water. “Lots of bedrooms for the grands, if we’re so blessed, please, God,” Anita explained. “That was our thinking, anyway.” She sparkled at Lark, potential provider of said grands.

Sofia and Henry were renting in Falmouth but hoped to find a starter home soon. Izzy shared a house with two other nurses and lived in pretty Barnstable. Lorenzo, of course, had the house here in Chatham and the apartment in Beacon Hill.

Only Dante was no longer a Cape Codder. “I live in Boston,” he said.

“Quincy,” Lorenzo corrected. “You live in Quincy. I live in Boston.”

“Sorry, Lark,” Dante said easily. “I should’ve been more specific. He’s right, I live in Quincy.”

“In a two-family house,” Lorenzo said, not looking at his brother.

“He’s on a roll. Correct again,” Dante said, unperturbed. “I think Lorenzo is trying to point out that he lives in a much nicer area because he’s a doctor, and I’m a lowly public servant.”

“Boston’s bravest,” Sofia said, smiling at Dante.

“That wasn’t what I was trying to say, but you’re not wrong,” Lorenzo said. “And I don’t apologize for having money. You’ll be glad I do, if you ever need a loan.”

Okay, then. Lorenzo obviously had something to prove. Dante sighed. Izzy rolled her eyes.

“Henry, do you have siblings?” she asked, and Henry told her he had a half sister thanks to his dad’s second marriage, fifteen years younger than he was. The conversation drifted to the wedding, which Lorenzo was funding. He made that clear by saying, “Just send all the bills to me.” On the one hand, so nice. On the other, so obnoxious, too. Noni seemed to be asleep. Or dead. But no, no, a little snore escaped her.

The sun was hot and lovely, and Lark took off her sweater.

“Oh, you have a tattoo,” said Isabella, tilting her head as she stared at Lark’s arm. “I’m thinking of getting one.”

“Over my dead body,” said Mr.Santini with a smile. “You might be twenty-eight, but you’re still my baby. No offense, Lark. Yours is quite pretty.”

“?‘We loved with a love that was more than love,’?” Izzy read.

“Guess it’s not about Lorenzo,” Sofia quipped, grinning at her brother. He almost smiled back. They were closer, Lark realized. Lorenzo seemed to like her more than Izzy or Dante. Interesting family dynamics.

“What’s it from?” Izzy asked.

“It’s from my favorite poem,” Lark said. The words were stacked in two lines on the outer side of her bicep. She ran her hand over the tattoo, which was discreet as tattoos went, just two lines of black cursive handwriting.

“?‘I was a child and she was a child,’?” Lorenzo said, “?‘in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee.’?”

Silence fell over the table. Lark stared at Lorenzo, stunned.

“Edgar Allan Poe,” Lorenzo said. “Everyone knows that one.”

“Not everyone,” Dante said. “Not me.”

“Big surprise,” Lorenzo said.

“Our brother memorized her favorite poem,” Sofia mock whispered to Izzy. “Somebody, get him to a doctor.”

“He’s smart, my boy,” hissed Noni, making Lark jump. “He know everything.”

“We call him God,” Dante said. “Everyone needs a nickname.”

“He goes by Dr.Satan at the hospital,” Lark said, and everyone laughed (except Lorenzo and Noni). “What does your tattoo say, Dante?” She had seen it flirting with the edge of his sleeve.

He pulled the sleeve up so she could see, but she was momentarily blinded by the perfection of his upper arm. Tan, chiseled, muscled, a badass tat showing words against a fireman’s cross, flames behind that.

“?‘Be not afraid, for the Lord thy God goes with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee,’?” Anita recited. “I actually made him get that when he became a firefighter. It made me feel better, with my little boy running into burning buildings.”

Dante lifted an eyebrow at Lark, then kissed his mother’s temple. “Still works,” he said, rapping the table with his knuckles, which caused his grandmother to stir. “Noni, do you want a burger?” he asked. “Cheddar? Provolone?”

“Too much fat,” Lorenzo said.

Dante sighed.

Lorenzo put a piece of grilled fish on her plate with some wilted greens and bread. Noni groped in her sweater pocket, pulled out some dentures and popped them in, then scarfed down the food. But Lark wasn’t thinking about Noni’s teeth (not much, anyway).

We loved with a love that was more than love— / I and my Annabel Lee.

Lark took a long pull of her wine. Dr.Satan knew her favorite poem by heart. That he had any poem memorized was shocking, let alone one so romantic and haunting. It didn’t match up with any other information she’d gotten so far.

Dinner progressed, and Lark ate and talked, charmed by and charming the Santinis (most of them). Lorenzo pretty much ignored her, but that was maybe because his mother was doing all the talking, asking about her parents and siblings. It was impossible not to like Sofia, who seemed a little shy but so sweet—she was a kindergarten teacher, Henry an accountant. They’d met online, as people usually did these days, and fell for each other right away.

“Love at first smile,” Henry said, gazing softly at his fiancée.

Isabella was spicier, funny and irreverent, sharing stories from her career, laughing easily with Lark, asking questions about medicine, where she went to school.

Silvio and Anita were sort of like Lark’s own parents—devoted to each other, but maybe a little more…normal than hers. Not quite as in your face with their love.

She insisted on helping clear the table, almost having to wrestle Anita to pitch in. Lorenzo remained seated at the table, talking quietly with his grandmother. Silvio asked if he could take Connery down to the beach, and of course Lark said yes. Women doing the work, Lark noted, though Dante helped by taking out the trash and recycling (without being asked, unlike her own brother, who needed a poke or a smack to motivate him).

Anita and her daughters got dessert ready—a platter of homemade Italian cookies, soft and frosted, sprinkled with red, white and blue jimmies. Lorenzo came in to make espresso from a very complicated-looking machine, and made a cappuccino for his grandmother. He did not ask anyone else if they wanted one.

Lark was learning quite a bit today.

“Lorenzo, what was it about Lark that made you ask her out?” Izzy said as they were nibbing on cookies, once again around the table. “Since you hate most humans, I mean.”

“Yes, Lorenzo,” Lark said, setting her wineglass on the table. “What was it exactly?”

He looked at her a minute, not answering; probably hadn’t expected that he’d have to say something nice about her. “I don’t hate humans,” he said.

“Maybe ninety-five percent of humans,” Sofia said, smiling at him.

“Ninety-eight,” Izzy said.

Lorenzo was not amused. “To answer your question, Lark is pretty. As you can see.”

“Boring!” Izzy said. “There are millions of pretty women in the world.”

Not entirely stupidwas the phrase he’d used when pitching this idea to her. She waited, enjoying his discomfort.

“She’s uncomplicated,” he said. “You get what you see. She’s a nice, kind person. Very caring.”

For the second time that day, Lark was a little gobsmacked. “Thank you,” she said. Almost added honey but couldn’t quite manage it. “That’s very sweet.”

“Okay, we’ll accept that answer,” Sofia said. “Lark, how about you? What drew you to my brother?”

“His desperation?” she said, and everyone laughed. (Except Lorenzo. And Noni.) She caught Dante looking at her.

“Seriously, though,” said Anita. “We’d all but given up on him finding someone. He’s forty already, and he can be a little…”

“Rude? Obnoxious? Cocky? Arrogant? Humorless? One-dimensional?” Izzy suggested.

“Shush! That’s your brother you’re talking about,” Anita said. “The one who paid off your student loans. And bought his parents a beautiful home, which—thank you, honey, as always.”

“He’s also generous,” Izzy added. “You’re not all horrible, Lorenzo.”

“Gosh, thanks,” he said.

“I think that underneath that hardened exterior, he’s a puppy dog,” Lark said. “He’s got a Mr.Darcy kind of thing going on. But we’re still getting to know each other. I may be wrong.” She smiled at Lorenzo. He, in turn, knelt down to say something to Noni in Italian, leaving her hanging. Dante, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at her slightly, as if he already didn’t buy it. That was fine. What had Lorenzo said? Five family events. Dante didn’t have to buy it for long.

All in all, the afternoon was less awkward than Lark had expected. She’d always had an easy time talking with people, and the Santinis (minus the firstborn son and slightly scary grandmother) were lovely. Connery had been a hit, chasing a tennis ball, lying on Izzy’s lap for his nap, sneezing on command, his latest trick. Silvio and Anita were warm and kind, asking about her family, admiring pictures of Esme and Imogen and, like most people, fascinated by the resemblance between her and Addie. People did love identical twins. Sofia and Henry cuddled up against each other, and Sofia and Izzy told Lark about the wedding, showed her pictures of the dresses and asked for her opinion on bouquets.

But Noni, the reason Lark was here, was a tougher nut to crack. She stared at Lark with her off-kilter gaze, her toothless mouth frowning. Lark smiled, asked if she could get her anything. No answer. Okay, then. She’d take a little more work. But the poor old lady was on hospice, and so old, and quite possibly uncomfortable for a plethora of reasons. Lark was not going to judge her.

There was also the palpable tension between the brothers. Dante seemed far more comfortable than Lorenzo with his family, teasing his sisters, talking about the Sox with his dad, making sure his mom’s wineglass never got empty. The sense of competition was thick, and every time Dante made his sisters or parents laugh, she felt Lorenzo’s irritation mushroom. When Noni asked to be taken in for a nap, Dante stood up to wheel her away, but Lorenzo cut him off and did the job himself.

Otherwise, Dante was polite, but he didn’t talk to Lark much. Whatever weird, uncomfortable sensation had flashed was no longer present, and Lark made sure not to pay him too much attention. But Dante Santini…there was something about him. She’d felt something, a tectonic shift, just for a second.

She’d ignore that. Her job was to be Lorenzo’s new girlfriend. She’d be done with that after Sofia’s wedding, but there was no reason that she couldn’t enjoy and get to know his family until then.

When the sky began to darken, Dante stood up. “I gotta get going,” he said. “I’m on tomorrow. Noni, I can take you back to your place, if you want.”

“Sure, kid,” she said. Her voice sounded like dry leaves rustling in the wind. This triggered the exodus, but not before Tupperware was packed and Lark had given her number to Lorenzo’s sisters and Anita said it was wonderful to meet her and she couldn’t wait to see her again.

Lark stood in line to hug Noni. “It was so lovely to meet you,” she said to the old lady, who sat there like a statue, not bothering to lift her arms to fake a hug back.

“I watching you,” Noni whispered so only Lark could hear. “I no trust you yet.”

Lark stepped back and smiled, as she often did in times of stress. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Nice meeting you, Lark,” Dante said casually as he lifted Noni out of her wheelchair and placed her carefully into the passenger seat of his truck. She didn’t clear the dashboard.

“Same here,” she said.

Lorenzo moved in to check that Noni was secure. Then the rest of the family piled into their vehicles, beeped horns and left as Lark and Lorenzo stood there, Connery tucked under her arm so he wouldn’t leave with Izzy.

“What a lovely family,” she said at the same time Lorenzo said, “Thank God that’s over.”

They looked at each other a minute. “Come back inside for a few minutes,” Lorenzo said.

“Sure. This house is really gorgeous, by the way. I wasn’t sure if this was supposed to have been my first time here, or if your family thought I’d visited before.”

“It hardly matters.”

“Mm. Well, it’s very nice, Lorenzo.”

“I had an interior designer deal with it.” He glanced around as if unfamiliar with the place. “Nice enough, I suppose. Kind of a stupid career, though, isn’t it? Furnishing other people’s houses.”

So condescending. “It’s not stupid to make someone feel comfortable and at home, Lorenzo.”

“Well, anyone could do it. Just order things from a catalog. It’s not exactly hard.”

Rather than argue the merits of that particular career, she said, “How do you think today went?” She sat down on the couch, Connery jumping neatly into her lap.

Lorenzo took a sip of water, the only thing he’d had to drink. No weekend beers for him. “Fine.”

“Did I sense some tension between you and your brother?” she asked.

“Probably. He’s always been jealous of me. He’s not exactly setting the world on fire.”

“No, he’s keeping it from burning down, isn’t he?” Lorenzo gave her a semi-irritated, semi-quizzical look. “Because he’s a firefighter, Lorenzo.”

“Whatever. It’s actually a cushy job most of the time. They sit around and play cards a lot more than you’d expect.”

Which brother is jealous, now?“Did you know that firefighter is the most respected career in America? Nurses come in second, and we lowly doctors rank fifth.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“No. It was from a study somewhere.”

“A study somewhere. That sounds reliable.”

“Hey. The poem, ‘Annabel Lee’…you have it memorized?”

“I have a photographic memory. I have a lot of things memorized.”

That killed any rom-com notion that their mutual love of the tragic poem hinted at a deeper connection.

“Anyway,” he said, “I imagine you have somewhere to go, so…”

She was dismissed. “Right. Thanks for inviting me.” She stood up and smoothed out the skirt of her dress.

“The next event is an engagement party,” he said. “In Boston at the Copley Square Plaza. Black tie. I don’t expect you to buy a dress out of the pittance you make, so I’ll pick out something decent and pay for it so you don’t look so…” He scanned her critically. “Pedestrian.”

“Wow. Rude, Dr.Satan.”

“Just stating a fact. I’d like you to look nice. You’re welcome.”

So many little paper cuts, so fast. She did have Addie’s vast wardrobe to choose from, and black tie would not be a problem, given the number of fundraisers and galas her sister attended with Nicole. But he wasn’t wrong about the pittance. And why borrow her sister’s dress when he wanted to buy her something new?

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“Get your nails done next time. Pale pink, nothing trashy. Maybe consider doing something with your hair so it’s not so…” He waved his hand in front of her. “So like that.”

“This is why you’re single,” she said.

“I’m very happy being single,” he answered.

“The entire world is very happy with you being single.”

“Do you have anything substantive to say, or can you just get going?” he asked, opening the door.

“Your grandmother isn’t quite sold on me yet,” she said.

“She’s not stupid. Try harder next time. To win her over, I mean. You don’t have to bother with my sisters or parents.”

“I really liked them.”

“Whatever. But it’s my grandmother who matters here.”

“Got it. Have a nice evening, Lorenzo.” She picked up Connery and her bag and went to the front door.

He did not walk her to the car. He didn’t say “take care” or “thanks.” In fact, he closed the door before she was even in her car.

“I can see why you had to rent me,” she called, waving to the house, though she was sure by now Lorenzo Santini had dismissed her from his mind entirely.

Once, with Justin, it had seemed so easy, the idea of a happy marriage. Love had been effortless. Even in high school, her siblings had called her and Justin Mom and Dad 2.0. She couldn’t remember her parents ever fighting. That was how she and Justin had planned on being. Had been, in fact. Happily ever after. A modern-day fairy tale.

It seemed so long ago.