Chapter 21
Warner
Bayetti.
Delaney’s kept me so busy that the only break I’ve had, I tried to fit some work in.
I didn’t get far on that either. But I should have done some research.
Despite my phone being another limb of mine, I haven’t been missing it as much as I thought.
It’s probably the woman keeping me preoccupied all the time.
Delaney Bayetti.
It’s a pretty name. I was growing partial to Landers, though. Which means I need to get my head examined as soon as possible. Side effect of the concussion? Side effect of starting to fall for this woman, I’m afraid.
As we travel the last block before arriving, I realize I’m going in blind. An error in judgment on my part. I’m not nervous, but I don’t understand how she plans to pull this off. Has she already involved her family? She mentioned brothers . . . “Who’s coming to dinner tonight?”
“The usual.”
Not the answer I wanted. But I must give it to her, even after sex, she’s still not cracking under pressure. So when we approach the restaurant on the corner, I hold her sweaty little hand a bit tighter. Because whatever happens in Bayetti’s, we’re in this together.
She stops before we cross the street in spite of the sign flashing to proceed.
Turning to me, she runs her hands down the front of my shirt.
The gesture is sweet when she stops and lifts to kiss me, but I look down to see if there’s a trail of perspiration on the cotton.
There’s not, allowing me to breathe easier. “You look nice. Don’t be nervous.”
“Am I usually nervous?”
She laughs, adjusting her weight to her left hip. Looking pretty in a red dress, she opted for flat black shoes. I would think short stuff would like a little height, but it’s sexy that she doesn’t feel the need to compete. With a tilt of her head, she replies, “No. Not usually.”
“Are you nervous?”
“I’m . . .” She glances off into the distance as if the answer will be found out there. “Optimistic.”
“Optimism is good. So is this dress on you. You look pretty, Sass.”
She smiles, lighting my world on fire. “Thank you.” When she takes the hand I offer again, I’m beginning to think she needs it more than I do.
I can only imagine how she thinks she’s going to pull off these shenanigans once her family gets involved.
While we wait for the next opportunity to cross, her eyes are set on the restaurant.
“We don’t have to stay for dessert.” Peeking up at me, she says, “We can leave any time you’re ready. ”
“Got it. We’ve got an out.”
“It’s not an out. It’s an option.”
“Okay.” The crosswalk sign begins to buzz. We step off the curb and cross. “We have options.” Trying to get some semblance of knowledge before I walk into this lion’s den, I ask, “My amnesia has made me bad with names. I need a quick refresher.”
Stopping in front of the window, she’s still holding my hand when she turns to me. “Pamela is my mom. Anthony, my dad. Joe is my oldest brother, and Lorenzo is every bit the middle child.”
“So you’re the youngest?” As her “husband,” I should know these things. But as the guy who she’s now sleeping with, I actually do want to get to know her.
“I’m the youngest.” Why does this not surprise me?
Placement in the sibling lineup determines everything from personality to how much they get away with.
Being the only girl only complicates matters more.
Toss in a big Italian family, and I’m screwed.
My usual charms won’t work on them. Listening more than speaking will be my friend this evening. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” That’s not saying much.
I hold the door for her, the smell of garlic and home cooking escaping through the opening as she walks in with me behind her. She reaches back with her hand, so I take it as she says hi to the hostess and weaves through tables toward the back.
“Delly bean,” a woman who mirrors Sass’s features—hair color and the same blue eyes—but older, slides out from a large red vinyl booth in the back corner. My hand is released as Delaney hurries into her open arms. I think it’s safe to assume this is Pamela.
Her father is easy to pick out from the lineup of other faces. One by one, the three men slide out to wait their turn to greet Delaney. There’s a lot of love to share between them. Even her brothers hug her, though I catch the way they both have a straight face when they eye me over her shoulder.
I’m fucked.
Although this is where things should fall apart for her, she turns to me and waves me off like I’m an old hand here. “Warner.” Smooth.
They’re staring at me like they’re missing a piece of the puzzle. Me too, Bayetti family. Me too.
Her mom captures my face in her hands just to get a good look at me. “So handsome.” She pulls me to her and embraces me in a hold that doesn’t leave much room to escape.
“Thanks, Pamela.”
“Call me Mom.” Releasing me like she got burned by the hot potato, she says, “Say hello to the others.” She slides back into the booth with Delaney sliding in after her.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, of course.”
One of the brothers looks me over and asks, “You look like a money guy. You have a man on the inside?”
“On the inside of what?” Clearly not Sass’s plan.
He slaps the back of his hand against my chest and laughs. “Business.”
Not what I was expecting, but not a topic I’m opposed to. Unless he’s trying to sell me something, which I’m getting the distinct impression he is. “I have a few. Are you in finance?”
“Top of my class over at NYU.”
“Ah, Stern School of Business. Impressive. I’m a Harvard man myself.”
The smile disappears as if I crushed his dreams. “Well, if you need a guy—”
“I know who to call, Joe.” Taking a wild guess paid off. He steps aside and then disappears into the back of the restaurant, leaving me to face Lorenzo on my own. I can already tell by the crossed arms and narrowed eyes that I’m about to get a talking-to or maybe a threat. Potentially both.
“Warner, huh?”
I hold out my hand. “Warner Landers.”
“Yeah, I know.” Okaaay. “You’re finally showing your face around here.”
What the fuck is this guy talking about? He whacks my arm and bursts out laughing. “I had him going. I really had him going.”
Delaney says, “He only has one good arm, Lorenzo. Go easy on him.”
“Right. Right,” he replies, staring at the cast. Cutting off my sleeve isn’t pretty, but it got me here looking the best I could on short notice since my tailor isn’t open on Sundays. He turns as if he’s lost interest and slides in next to his mom.
I turn to her father, who has been extraordinarily patient. I imagine he’d have to be with this rowdy crowd. “My cannoli tells me you were hit by a car?”
I send my gaze from him to Delaney. “Your cannoli?”
“How are you doing?” His concern wrangles his forehead and filters through his deeper tone.
Lifting the cast, I reply, “I lived to tell the tale.”
“That’s good. I’m sure Delaney’s taking good care of you.”
“She is, sir.”
“Eh.” He waves me off as he turns away. “Call me Pops.”
Pops? Mom? I don’t even call my own mother Mom. Something makes me think that their monikers are well-earned over the years. Mother has always just fit mine.
“Come on, Hotshot.” I look at my girl and see her patting the seat next to her.
I slide into the booth until our legs bump together under the table.
Her hand finds my thigh and rubs up and down like we do this all the time—eat dinner with her family and touch each other in public.
I was never one for PDA, but I’m not opposed to showing the world Delaney’s mine.
It’s barbaric to want to mark her as mine, but damn, the instinct is strong.
Joe returns and slips in next to me. I’m trapped indefinitely. Pamela sets a glass in front of me and pours in wine from a Chianti bottle. She’s not shy with her wine. It’s filled almost to the top. “Drink. Drink,” she says.
Cheap table wine isn’t typically my go-to when I eat at Italian restaurants, but I’m their guest, so Chianti it is tonight.
When the others are distracted with conversation, teasing Joe about a buyer at Macy’s, Delaney holds a basket in front of me. “Bread?”
“It’s okay. I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”
The chatter stops, and all eyes turn on me, at least at this booth.
Delaney hands me a fluffy hot breadstick and whispers only for my ears, “Please eat.” With everyone’s life seemingly dependent on whether I take a bite, I bite.
The volume returns, picking up right where they left off.
Delaney says, “So she dumped you for the delivery guy?”
“Yeah, he was flashing a bonus check he’d gotten like it was a fucking bar of gold. Not my loss.”
Note to self: Never say no to food when a Bayetti offers. I continue eating the bread because it’s really good, but it’s also given me a reason not to talk.
Pamela says, “I should think not.” Turning to me, she smiles. “Delly bean said you have a concussion as well.”
Cannoli and Delly bean? The love between them is evident. My mother and father called me Warner. And it stuck. “I’m healing.”
“That’s good. Hope you like meatballs.”
I don’t get the correlation, but I think if I hung around them long enough, I would start understanding a lot more about their transitions and probably end up with a nickname. “I love meatballs.”
Joe and Lorenzo hop up and disappear to the back again. I slip my red fabric napkin over my right leg and finish the breadstick. I pick up my wine to wash it down and feel eyes watching my every move. I look at my girl and ask, “What?”
“Nothing.” She smiles, but then says, “This is nice.”
“It is.” I take a drink of wine, regretting that decision before I swallow it down. But she’s still looking at me like she’s hoping for the best, so I grin. “I’m glad I’m here.”
Her shoulders slump in relief. “So am I.”
Just as the brothers return with plates of food they’re doling out, Anthony says, “You know what I always say.”
In unison, they all reply, “What’s meant to be yours will be.”