Chapter 15
Rhett
Other than the guys on the circuit, Jenkins, and April, I’ve never opened up about Dawson. I couldn’t. For months I couldn’t shake off the nightmares of that fatal day. It’s still troubling reliving the whole thing and telling Carina about it, but at the same time it’s cathartic.
I can’t bring Dawson back.
I can only honor his memory.
I veer the conversation away from me. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”
“I do. I come from a big family.”
“Three? Four siblings?”
“More like seven older brothers.”
“Sev—seven?”
Jesus. That’s a lot of men to impress.
Whoa.
Why does that thought even pop into my head?
“I’m part Irish American and part Italian. I’m Catholic on both sides. We’re talking about God-loving people who believe in big families, and rowdy Sunday dinners where people eat, drink, and argue a whole lot.” She laughs.
“Wow. Eight kids?”
She nods.
“How was it being the baby?”
“By the time I arrived, my parents had seen it all and there was no shortage of muscle to beat up a guy who’d done me wrong. At the same time, it was stifling.”
“How so?”
“It’s impossible for me to outshine my older brothers and since my parents had seen it all, a lot of my accomplishments were received with nothing more than a ‘Good for you, honey’. On top of that, my brothers knew exactly where they would land in life at an early age.”
“The restaurants?”
“You’ve been paying attention, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Everything about you fascinates me, Miss Callahan.”
I love how playful she is.
“You’re right. We have four restaurants and from the day they were born, my brothers knew they’d take over. We’re getting ready to open a fifth one and even with the addition, there’s still no room for me.”
“Is that why you moved to the west coast?”
“I wanted to make my mark,” she says. “LA was to get away from my family’s meddling ways. I needed a little breathing room… but there’s more…”
“I’m listening.”
“I needed to get out of New York after cancelling my wedding at the altar—”
My head whips towards her. “An asshole did you wrong?”
“Down, boy.”
“No, seriously. Give me his name, I’ll track him down, and rearrange his face.”
“I love how protective men are down here.”
“Damn right. What happened?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Everybody assumed Stefano Cecchetto and I would end up together. He was two years older. His family owns a successful chain of fine grocery and high-end catering stores. They lived in our neighborhood. They were Catholic. They went to the same church. They shared our values. Yadda-yadda-yadda.” She rolls her eyes. “Why not join forces, right?”
“Bad idea?”
“Terrible idea. Stefano and I saw each other at functions and parties. He went to an all-boys’ school.
I went to an all-girls’ school. When I turned nineteen, he asked me out on a date.
I said yes. We saw each other for two years, and then he popped the question right after I turned twenty-one.
Things were comfortable with him. It wasn’t passion that melted my insides and certainly nothing that rocked my world––unlike what I experienced yesterday with a certain country boy––”
“Well, well, well, the truth comes out.” I grin.
She grins back. “I figured if I said it in passing, you wouldn’t notice.”
“Good try.”
“In any case, flash forward to my big day. A year after he proposed, Stefano and I are standing in front of God and family. You know when the priest asks that question that’s supposed to be a way out?”
“They still ask that question?”
“Old school priests still do.”
“Got it.”
“Usually, no one objects at a wedding, right?”
“I assume,” I say.
“Not on my wedding day. All of a sudden, the backdoors to the church flew open and this woman, who was pregnant out to here”—she holds her hands in front of an imaginary belly—”came wobbling down the aisle, screaming, ‘You can’t marry her. You love me and our baby’.”
My eyes grow wide. “Shit.”
“Yup. The whole time we were dating, Stefano promised he’d save himself for me. I made the same promise. I kept my end of the bargain. He lied. He’d been with this woman for a long time. His parents knew. No one bothered to tell me––”
“Spawn of a bull’s right nut.”
“What?”
“Another way of saying son of a bitch.”
“Stefano is indeed the spawn of a bull’s right nut.”
“Why didn’t he just marry the other woman?”
“You mean why didn’t he get hitched to Cardi, short for Bacardi––”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She waves a finger around her face. “Does it look like I’m kidding?”
I chuckle. “Crap.”
“Cardi Ruffcorn––”
“Ruffcorn?” I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
“The whole family is completely off their tree. Cardi’s sisters are Quila, short for tequila, Brandy, this one is self-explanatory, and Grey, short for Grey Goose. Her brother is JD, which stands for Jack Daniels––with an S, but no apostrophe. Their mom is Margarita and their dad is Rusty––”
“As in the drink rusty nail?”
“I’m guessing.”
She’s right. Those people are off their tree. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Oh, it gets much better. Cardi’s cousin, Temperance––which means virtue––is in the adult entertainment business.
She’s fifteen years older and she’s been doing this for a long time.
She has a popular website with several hundreds of thousands of paid monthly subscribers.
You can also see her business all over the major porn sites.
So I’ve been told. Stefano’s father warned him years ago, ‘You keep seeing that piece of trash, Cardi, and I’ll disown you’.
He wanted his son to be with a respectable girl. That’s where I fitted in.”
“Sounds like Stefano didn’t listen to his dad.”
“He didn’t.”
“Was Cardi also in the adult entertainment business?”
“She’s a video editor. She does all the editing for her cousin.”
“That’s disgusting. And disburting.”
“Pretty much. In any case, I called off the wedding. After that, things blew up.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t.”
“That bad?”
“My brothers started arguing with Stefano’s siblings.
Fists were flying. My grandmothers were insulting his in Italian.
My grandfathers were nose-to-nose with his.
My cousins were in a brawl with his. My parents were so infuriated Stefano’s family knew and did nothing to warn us, they threatened to sue them for the exorbitant cost of the wedding—”
“No wonder they were spitting mad.”
“Stefano’s family told them to fuck off. No way they were going to give my parents a dime. Unfortunately for them, they forgot one of Dad’s cousins is a fierce lawyer. Donohue Callahan owns his Irish name.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Donohue, means dark fighter.”
“Oof.”
She nods. “The Stefano family had a quick change of heart. They reimbursed my parents their money in full—including the expensive wedding dress I shredded to pieces. They also paid for Uncle Donohue’s exorbitant fees.
They even threw in an extra eighty thousand dollars of ‘saving face’ money because the joke of a wedding made the neighborhood’s paper and website.
It was a fiasco for them financially because a lot of their customers boycotted their shops after the drama became public knowledge. ”
“Uncle Donohue doesn’t fuck around.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she says. “My parents placed the money in investments for when I get married to a man with balls and self-respect—both grandpas on both sides agree on that front.” She blinks. “I was so humiliated.”
“Did you love Stefano?”
She looks at me surprised.
“What?” I glance between her and the road.
She blinks once, twice, three times. “Why do you ask?”
“You never mentioned it. You said you were humiliated—not you were heartbroken.”
She lets out another long sigh. “Stefano was part of this whole notion of my family’s expectations in regards to what they envisioned for me and how vastly different that vision is for my brothers.
It’s my fault for not understanding I wanted more.
I liked Stefano. Maybe I loved him in some strange way.
Things were comfortable between us, but I wasn’t in love.
I was too young at the time to figure it out. Cardi was a blessing.”
“She was. Not only was Stefano not good enough for you, but neither was his family. They betrayed you by keeping his affair a secret. A baby with another woman? How can they let you walk into that fucking mess? Shame on them.”
“You must be my cousin Brenna’s kindred spirit.”
“I like her already.” I smile. “Brenna and I see eye to eye?”
“You do. Brenna felt I was allowing la famiglia—the family—to push me into something I didn’t want. Brenna is from Dad’s Irish American side, but she calls us la famiglia because there are so many of us Callahans, it’s like a clan.”
“It’s something I can’t even relate to.”
“It’s a great thing to be able to rely on a large family, but it can be a crutch.”
“In what sense?”
“Brenna moved to LA with her actor husband years ago to escape la famiglia’s meddling.
A few weeks after my sham of a wedding, she started campaigning.
She insisted I needed to get the hell out of New York.
She made some calls on my behalf. She’s a kickass sommelier—wine steward—at Spago restaurant, so she’s well connected.
She opened her home to me. To my parents’ despair, I packed and moved to LA.
Mom was worried, I’d end up floundering around, without a purpose.
But I didn’t. I found myself. Without the distance I wouldn’t be this independent.
I’d still be my parents’ baby girl. With my cousin’s support, I finished my culinary degree and got a decent job. ”
“And LA is where you met Riley.”
“That’s right.”
“You said you’d only been with one boyfriend. You met him in LA?”
She nods. “The first year and a half was all about adjusting to life on the West Coast, school, and my job as a chef at the Beverly Hills Hotel’s Polo Lounge.
I had just started dating my ex when my boss suggested I enter a Food Network competition.
I wasn’t sure about it, but she wouldn’t budge.
I gave in, not thinking twice I’d get selected. ”
“Was your ex a chef?”
“He was,” she says. “He always had a disdain for these types of competitions, stating any chef worth his or her apron would never stoop that low. When I told him my boss felt I had a good chance because of my creative sandwiches, all of a sudden, he decided to participate. During the four-month wait time, he kept repeating it was all a joke, and neither of us would get selected. I made it on the short list. When I told him, he broke things off. It’s inconceivable for him to be with a woman who’s more successful than he is. ”
“Donkey’s balls.” I sneer.
“Oh my God, that’s hilarious.” She laughs.
“If you can’t stand by your woman, you don’t deserve to be called a man.”
“I swear if this ranch hand gig doesn’t work out, you should definitely consider becoming a poet.”
“Your life story is giving me a whole lot of material.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“I assume your ex was your first?”
“He was. I…”
“You can share anything with me, Carina.”
“I had nothing to gage in terms of prior experience, but I always felt things were tame with him.” She looks up at me with doe eyes, reaching out for my thigh and caressing it. “Last night, you proved me right.”
And if I don’t just grin at her with pride.