Chapter 11 #3
His good mood seeped away. Also, he should not finish the lasagna, no matter how fantastic it was. “My family is fine. I told you I didn’t grow up in the same house as my siblings.”
“That school for gifted kids sounded very cool.”
It hadn’t been cool. It had been a privilege, yes, but also utterly terrifying to a seven-year-old boy. Thank God he’d had Noni to help him manage that first year.
“So what does the Santini family do together?”
“We eat.”
“Yes, I would imagine.” She waited for more, her interesting eyes patient and interested.
The food was pleasantly heavy in his stomach, and the wine—because at some point they appeared to have ordered some—was softening the sharp edges of his mind.
“I don’t feel as…connected to them as I think I should be,” he said.
“It was always the five of them, and then me. I didn’t know the inside jokes.
I wasn’t there for the daily routine. I became an oddity within the family.
I lived with my grandmother, who was a very strong woman, very supportive, but it was… ”
“Lonely.”
He nearly flinched at hearing it put so bluntly. “Yes.”
“Did you like the school?”
“Also yes.” He started to speak, then pulled the words back.
He’d been lucky to go to St. George’s. Lucky to have had a grandmother who understood how fast his brain metabolized information, who encouraged him to be the best, who pushed his teachers to challenge him.
She had marked each of his accomplishments with a combination of pride and certainty.
Of course he was first in his class. Of course he scored perfectly on all standardized tests.
Of course he graduated early from both high school and college.
He missed her—that one person in his life who had seen him so clearly, put him on a path where he could reach his potential.
But whenever he’d gone home and seen Sofia, Dante and then baby Isabella, he’d felt like a stranger. Even his parents didn’t know him the way his grandmother had.
“The school was really great for a kid like me. But it also caused a split, I suppose. I grew up like an only child, living at my grandmother’s house. I don’t know my family all that well, to be honest, even now.”
He took a sip of wine—Winnie had chosen it, and the velvety texture was pleasant, as was the lingering taste of blackberries and smoke.
“How about Dante? You were best man at his wedding. You must be close.”
Lorenzo shrugged. “We had a…falling out a few years ago, but we’re past that now.” He still felt a flash of shame when he thought about it.
“Over what?” she asked.
He hesitated. “He was dating a vapid woman. She made a pass at me. I, uh, accepted.”
“Oh, my God, Lorenzo!”
“Keep your voice down. I only did it to demonstrate her lack of…character.”
“You slept with her?”
He looked at the floor. “Yes. Just that once.”
“Wow.”
“Yes. And before you lecture me, I know it was wrong, and I apologized. Dante let it go. He was head over heels for her. I thought he’d need indisputable proof that she didn’t actually love him.”
Winnie ran a hand over her head, smoothing her ponytail. “I bet there was a better way to show him that.”
“In hindsight, absolutely. In the moment, it seemed like a clear-cut and efficient way to prove the point.”
“Wow,” she said. “Wow.”
Like most men who’d made a mistake, it had taken Lorenzo a long time to acknowledge his.
But when he had finally gone to his brother and apologized, and said how much he regretted hurting him, Dante had just looked at him for a long moment, then hugged him.
“I know you thought you were doing a favor, Lorenzo. I dodged a bullet with her, and in some weird way, I have you to thank for it. We can let it go now, okay?”
Definitely okay.
“So now you guys get together and toss a football?” Winnie asked.
“Not exactly. My hands are insured.”
“Really? That’s wicked cool. I mean, a shame you can’t play ball, but so cool your hands are insured.” She gave a half-nod. “You know, I wasn’t sent to a school for smart kids, that’s for sure. But I get it, that feeling of being on the outside.”
“Really? You all seem very close.”
“Sort of, yes. I think I just got lost in the shuffle. Two of my sisters were valedictorian, Harlow resurrected our grandmother’s bookstore, Lark’s a doctor, everyone goes nuts over identical twins, Robbie’s the only boy and the baby.
Addie kind of sucks up all the air in the room with her perfect life and perfect children—by the way, they’re demons, never let them in your home.
And then there’s me. Competent, but otherwise unremarkable in just about every way. ”
It was his turn to pull back and look at her. “That’s not a word I would associate with you.”
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes were that fascinating blend of green and gray and gold, maybe a hint of blue now. Not unremarkable in the least.
“Mm. Well, that’s nice to hear, and thank you. But it’s not exactly the stuff of dreams, you know?”
“Being good at your job should be the stuff of dreams. You’ve made my life more organized and efficient, and therefore more pleasant. I appreciate that.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t just organization skills and efficiency.
It was her thoughtfulness. Those scented candles, even if they were somewhat ridiculous, the flowers, the bowl of oranges.
Every detail she’d been taking care of since he’d hired her had left him free to fill that space up with something more important, or just…
just to breathe, really. That first night in Chatham, when they sat on the deck, for example.
He needed to do that more. This very dinner, which had given him a reason to walk in the famed fog of San Francisco rather than stay in and order room service and review his notes.
Right now, he was doing something he never did—having dinner with an interesting, funny, competent and rather pretty woman.
One who hadn’t flirted back with the bartender—she was too elegant for that.
She asked questions without being nosy, listened to his answers and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him. In his eyes, she was quite…special.
But he had no idea how to say that, and the moment passed. It was better that way.
“Would you like to walk back to the hotel?” he asked.
“I think I’ll take an Uber,” she said. “The wine is making me sleepy. It’s also raining pretty hard.”
Normally, he would’ve said fine and walked himself, alone, briskly, to facilitate digestion and clear his head. But that would be rude, and while being rude was his trademark, he did not want to be rude to Winnie Smith. “I’ll see you to your door, in that case.”
They didn’t talk on the ride back, which was brief. At the hotel, he followed her to the bank of elevators, nodding to a few doctors he knew. They got off on their floor. “Which room is yours?” he asked.
“Right down here,” she said, pointing to the end of the hall. He walked her down, waited till she opened the door. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Lorenzo,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “You’re excellent company.”
She smiled a little, then said, “Sleep well,” and closed her door.
Usually, Lorenzo did sleep well. That night, he did not, and for the life of him, he could not understand why.