Chapter 8 #3
“Well, I’m here now,” I managed to choke out.
“Yeah, you are.” His expression turned serious and thoughtful as he added, “I like seeing you.”
The words knocked the air from my lungs, and I could actually hear my own heartbeat; it was as clear as though I was listening through a stethoscope.
“I like seeing you too.” The statement was out of my mouth before I realized I’d said it or thought it.
He blinked at me in obvious surprise; it made his eyes widen and his brows lift. “You do?”
I nodded. I nodded because it was true, but I felt a pang of guilt because I didn’t know what it meant.
He shifted an inch closer, but before he could speak, Robert’s booming voice reverberated from the galley door. “All right, everyone, the food is hot, and it’s time to eat, so stop what you’re doing and circle around the big table.”
Someone shouted, likely a teenage boy, “God’s neat—let’s eat!”
“Your grandmother does not approve of such jokes, Lello.” Rose’s authoritative voice reprimanded.
“Hey, guys.” Sandra, seemingly out of nowhere, was suddenly standing at my elbow. She tucked her arm through mine, drawing my attention from Nico. “I’ll need some introductions at some point, but for now, let’s get a move on so we can get some grub.”
Not waiting for my response, she pulled me toward the big table, and I allowed her to lead me away. It was a relief actually. I hadn’t meant to be so honest with Nico, and was trying to decide if I regretted it.
After a great deal of blustering and bustling, the buffet was laid, the large dining room in the main restaurant was set, and the Manganiellos—plus Sandra and I—had said grace and were now lined up to pile our plates with food.
I kept stealing glances at Nico. Two of his nephews were monopolizing him, speaking excitedly and animatedly in the way that only children do. I realized that I hadn’t yet seen Angelica—Nico’s niece, Tina’s daughter. The realization made me frown, and I craned my neck, glancing around the room.
My attention rested on a constellation of small children at one end of the big dining table; they were laughing, roughhousing, shouting, and just generally behaving like small children. Angelica was not among them.
I skimmed the crowd then finally caught sight of her.
She was sitting on Christine’s lap—Nico’s oldest sister—holding the same blue blanket that she’d been gripping at the hospital.
The four-year-old looked like her cousins, but she wasn’t laughing, shouting, and having a good time.
She was sitting very still, holding her blanket to her cheek, and though her face was a mask of indifference, she was watching her cousins with loneliness in her eyes and sadness beyond her years.
The image pulled at my heart, and I felt equal measures of frustration and resolve—frustration because there was nothing I could do immediately to improve her quality of life, and resolve because, even if she didn’t enroll in the study, I would find a way to do something for her.
With my plate in hand, I planned to select a seat near Angelica. I made it to the large arch that separated the two rooms when my path was abruptly blocked by Sandra and Rose.
“Oh!” I rocked backward to keep from spilling my food.
“Hey, Elizabeth, Rose was just telling me the funniest story about when you and Nico were kids.” Sandra placed her hand on my shoulder and pulled me about a foot and a half forward, as though positioning me to her liking.
I braced myself for the story and attempted a polite smile. “Is that so?”
“Niccolò. You come over here now and speak to your mother.” Rose caged me in on the other side and bellowed to her youngest son.
I took a deep breath and glanced over my shoulder.
Nico left his plate at the buffet and, rather reluctantly, I observed, walked over to where we stood.
I closed my eyes briefly so that neither of the ladies witnessed my eye roll.
I was sure whatever the story was would be an attempt to horribly embarrass me, Nico, or—more likely—both of us.
He sauntered then stopped a few feet away, his eyes moving from me to Rose then back again.
“Come over here.” Rose motioned with her hand. “Listen to your mother.”
Nico took two unenthusiastic steps forward and stopped just adjacent to where I stood, his arm almost touching my shoulder. “Yes?”
“Oh, look,” Rose and Sandra took three shuffling steps backward. Nico’s mother clasped her hands and rested them against her cheek. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.”
I blinked at her then noticed where Nico and I were standing—under the arch that separated the two main dining rooms. My eyes lifted upward and, sure enough, we were standing under a brand new bunch of mistletoe. It was even tied in place with an obscenely wide red ribbon.
“I must’ve forgotten to take it down after Christmas,” Rose said. The statement was, of course, a lie.
The restaurant was famous for keeping the kissing bough up all year. I glanced briefly at Nico and found him glaring at his mother. Growing up with this family, I’d witnessed that expression a great deal on each of the Manganiello children’s faces when dealing with their mother.
His stunned embarrassment quickly escalated to mortification when it met a healthy dose of anger. His scowl told me that this setup was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to me.
“You didn’t forget, Ma. In fact, not surprisingly, it looks brand new.”
“Well, I can’t very well have old mistletoe up, now can I? Anyway, you and Elizabeth are standing under the mistletoe now, and it’s tradition.”
Nico turned to me. He looked unhappy. He shook his head. “Just ignore her.”
“Don’t be a dummy, Nico.” Milo walked past Nico and purposefully bumped into his shoulder, then he winked at me. “If you don’t kiss her, I will.”
“No one is going to kiss her,” Nico growled.
“Someone has to,” Robert called over his shoulder from the buffet table. “It’s bad luck if you don’t. She’s standing directly under the damn thing.”
Nico’s eyes lifted briefly to the greenery above our heads then closed. I was rooted in place, holding my plate of scrambled eggs, manicotti, and melon. I watched the emotions that played over his features—annoyance, frustration, and exasperation.
“Fine.” Before I knew what was happening, he’d already brushed a kiss against my cheek, his eyes avoiding mine. He turned away.
I swallowed what tasted like bitter disappointment. But it couldn’t have been bitter disappointment because I didn’t actually want Nico to kiss me. I also noticed that I was sweating.
“No.” Milo placed his hands on Nico’s shoulders and turned him to face me again. “That wasn’t a kiss. If you can’t do it then, like I said, I will volunteer.”
“Fatti i fatti tuoi1 , Milo.” Rose snapped happily at her son.
“I am minding my business,” Milo said in his defense. “I’ll make it my business if Nico is unable to get the job done.”
I heard Sandra laugh. I glanced in her direction.
She was standing next to Rose. They were both grinning at us—like foxes.
If I’d had any doubts up to this point, I now knew that this was a setup.
I narrowed my eyes at Sandra, hoping to convey my disapproval.
She answered my scowl by lifting an eyebrow and widening her grin.
A silent communication passed between us in the span of a single second.
Me: I can’t believe you did this.
Her: Whatever. You know you like it. Mount that stallion.
Me: You shouldn’t have put him on the spot.
Her: Then you should just kiss him and get it over with—but use tongue or else you’ll have to do it again.
At this point everyone had stopped eating and talking and was staring at us. But these weren’t like the freakish stares of last night; most of these people had known us our whole lives and loved Nico. I noticed his sister, Christine, appeared to be debating whether to intercede.
Gritting my teeth, I faced Nico again. His eyes were cast downward; he seemed to be exceedingly interested in my plate of food, but his jaw was ticking like a bomb.
Someone needed to do something.
I could do this. I could kiss Nico, on the mouth, to everyone’s satisfaction, and walk away unscathed. I could put on my big girl pants and just get it over with.
I swallowed, held my plate to the side, gained a step toward him, tilted my chin upward, and captured his mouth with mine.
He jolted, and I knew he hadn’t been expecting the contact.
His mouth was soft and full, his bottom lip in particular.
I lifted my head a fraction of an inch, and pressed my lips more fully against his.
Abruptly, as though he’d just woken up, he took control, and my eyes drifted shut.
1 Translation: Mind your own business.