Chapter 4 #2
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but his response barely registers now that I’m sinking deep into planning mode. This is how we can turn the tide and save Hidden Italy.
“Nico’s gonna want no part of this,” he says, gesturing toward our brother, who has moved on with his tray of samples and is talking up a pretty redheaded tourist.
“You sure about that?” I ask. “We’ll sell it so he thinks that pretty tourist will bid on him.”
“The woman who wins him would probably be an old lady,” he says thoughtfully. “You were right about the people who showed up tonight.”
“Most likely,” I agree, clapping him on the back. “But you’re a man who likes to play the lottery, aren’t you?
“Not really, no, but I don’t mind who gets me. I can talk to anyone.”
He’s not exaggerating.
Rubbing my hands together, I nod in agreement with myself. This is happening. We’re doing it.
“Shouldn’t we, like, come up with different date plans for the women who win us?” he asks, gesturing to the people around us. “That’s what people do on the shows.”
“You watch dating shows?” I ask in disbelief.
He laughs. “I lived at home with Aria longer than you did.”
I nod, my mind moving rapidly again. “Nico can make dinner for his date. Something special. Four courses.”
“Can he also make dinner for our dates?” He smirks.
“Nah, we’ll play to the Hideaway Harbor hits. I can bring my date to the parade, and you can take yours to the Christmas market.”
“That would take all of five minutes,” he protests.
I laugh. “Consider yourself lucky, then, presuming your winning bidder may be an old grandma.”
He pauses, eyeing me with an amused smile. “You’re serious about this,” he says thoughtfully. “You think women will really pay to date us?”
“We are wearing sharp suits.”
He snorts. “You are so full of yourself, Enzo, God love you.”
“We’ll throw in a basket of delicacies from the shop for each of the winners. Come on, this is a good plan.”
“Sure. I’m game. You just need to convince Nico to play ball.”
No problem. If I can sweet-talk CEOs, I can sure as hell talk my little brother into compliance. “You get the baskets ready on the down-low, and make them good. I’ll talk to Nico.”
He gives me a salute, and I head off to cockblock our little brother.
I tell Nico there’s a culinary emergency and guide him away from the redheaded woman, who looks disappointed for half a second before striking up a conversation with some silver-haired guy I don’t recognize, dressed in a suit more expensive than Nico’s.
My interruption puts my brother in a real mood, I can tell, but desperate times and all that.
“What’s this about, Enzo?” he asks, giving the redhead a wistful glance. “Better be good.”
I tell him, and he starts shaking his head before I’m halfway through. “No way. We’ll make fools of ourselves. I’ll never live it down. The guys at the gym will be talking about it all year.”
I could point out that they work out at a place called Lobstah Lifts and have no right to make fun of anyone, but then again, my apartment building has a gym.
His doesn’t. “Come on, man, it’s going to be a huge success.
Do you want to be a part of that success?
” I nod in the direction of the redhead. “What if she buys your date?”
“It’s looking unlikely.”
I wave a hand at Silver Hair, not caring if he notices. “He could be her father. Maybe her grandfather. You’re Nico Fucking Cafiero. You look sharp in that suit. And you can cook. I’m told women love a man who can cook.”
He shakes his head, but his mouth is inching into a smile. “How the hell would you know?”
“From all the women who didn’t love it that I can’t cook.”
“I don’t like the thought of a woman paying for me.”
I lift my hands. “Aria would say you’re acting like a caveman. Besides, you’ll technically be paying for dinner. She’ll be giving the money to charity. Win-win.”
He considers this for a long moment, then says, “You have to help me make the rest of the panettone until Christmas. You’re better at kneading.”
I still remember the way our nonna taught us—
If you grab a woman like that, you pazzo, it’s the last time she’d ever let you touch her. You knead it softly.
Despite what the devil woman thinks of me, I’m a man who’s capable of compromise. I hold out my hand for a shake. “You’ve got it, brother. You won’t regret this.”
“Pfft. I regretted it the moment I let you and Giovanni talk me into wearing a suit.”
“But hey, the ladies like it, am I right?”
He groans. “Classic Enzo, wheeling and dealing.”
“You bet.”
I stride back toward my grandmother and the mayor, feeling more of a bounce in my step. Halfway there, I stop to talk up a cluster of people who are whispering about Santa Speed Dating.
“Hey,” I say, “we’ve got something special for you tonight, just you wait. I think you’re going to like it.” I wink at them, feeling the high of knowing I’ve done it. I’ve cracked the code.
These people want drama. They want the illusion of romance. Well, they don’t need to go next door to the matchmaker of Hideaway Harbor and her assistant to get it. We’ll give it to them here.
I sidle up to the mayor and my grandmother, who are in the middle of a fraught conversation about oil and vinegar.
I drape an arm around her shoulder. She pinches me. “Why do you look like il capo?”
“Can I have a word with you, Nonna?” I ask.
She might be the harder nut to crack, but if I tell her it’ll save our asses, there’s a chance she’ll only raise the usual objections—a sour face and barbed comments for the next six months.
I get her to a mostly deserted corner of the store, which is good, because she immediately gestures toward the mayor. “That man doesn’t know a good sandwich from a Happy Meal. Our Nico could make a sandwich so delicious it would make the angels weep, and still he’d say it was dry.”
“Nonna,” I say, deciding to circumvent the dry sandwich argument altogether, and quickly explain my plan for the auction.
I expect her first response to be no. Possibly even no, you idioto, why don’t you have the brains God gave a slug?
But she listens and then shrugs. “We’ll do it. It’s a good plan.”
“Really?” I ask, wondering if the wishing bridge made good on my miracle after all.
Devil Woman flits through my head, looking more like an angel with her hair blowing in the breeze.
“Really,” my grandmother says sternly. “It’s time for you boys to settle down.
Especially you, Madonne! Thirty-three and no wife.
” She makes the sign of the cross on her chest. “Your father was married at twenty-one, bless him, and he gave me four beautiful grandchildren. If selling yourselves gets you closer to the altar, then so be it. Our Lord God works in mysterious ways.”
Damn straight.
Because if I weren’t locked into a weird back-and-forth with Devil Woman, I never would have thought of this.
Your play, Devil Woman.