31. Chapter Thirty One #2
“He knows,” Donna says.
Leonardo makes an excited sound and reaches toward him with an uncoordinated little jerk of his hand. Mocha leans closer, and Donna rests her palm lightly on his shoulder.
“Gentle.”
He sniffs Leonardo’s tiny fist. When the baby opens his hand and catches a few strands of fur, Victoria looks panicked, like she's going to snatch Leonardo back, but Donna’s calm palm out stops her. Mocha remains exactly where he is, apparently unconcerned by the sudden grip.
I glance at Mario and catch the subtle easing of his shoulders.
“You look relieved.”
“Lorenzo,” he warns.
“I am merely observing.”
“Observe more quietly.”
Julia shifts Cecilia higher against her shoulder. “You can bring him over here too.”
Donna looks down at Mocha. “Ready for another inspection?”
At her slight gesture, he rises and follows her across the room.
“She talks to him as though he understands every word,” Diego comments.
“I believe he does,” I reply.
Cecilia proves considerably less interested in Mocha than Leonardo was. She opens her eyes briefly when Donna brings him close, makes a tiny face, and promptly settles against Julia again. Mocha sniffs the corner of her blanket, apparently satisfied with whatever he learns, then sits beside Donna.
“There,” she says. “Officially baby approved.”
Mario exhales, and I grin at him.
He points toward the dining room before I can say anything. “Dinner.”
“Excellent diversion.”
“I am considering throwing you out.”
“And what about Donna?”
“She can stay,” he says.
Getting everyone from the family room to the dining room takes several minutes, because moving this family anywhere has always been a process.
Leonardo needs to be settled before Victoria can get up, Julia realizes something she wants for Cecilia is still across the room, and somewhere in the middle of all that, Alessio and Tomasso begin arguing about who moved a phone that turns out to have been wedged beneath a sofa cushion the entire time.
Dante finds it in less than thirty seconds.
Edoardo calls both of them idiots.
Matteo, meanwhile, reaches the dining room before most of us and steals a piece of bread from the table to eat while he waits, obviously accustomed to the process.
Donna and I detour to wash our hands and still make it back before half the family has made it to the table. She stands beside me, taking in the entire production with obvious amusement.
“You seem very happy,” I murmur.
“I am. I like your family.”
“They do grow on you,” I say. “Like a mold.”
Her mouth twitches, and she bumps my shoulder on the way into the dining room. “That's rude.”
Dinner has been laid out across the full length of the table, enough food for twice the number of people present, because apparently preparing food in reasonable quantities is unheard of in this family.
A large platter of roasted chicken sits in the center with crisp, golden skin, surrounded by bowls of pasta tossed with garlic and herbs, roasted potatoes browned around the edges, green beans, salad, and baskets of warm bread that immediately begin making their way around the table.
Donna takes the chair beside mine, and Mocha settles near her feet after a brief inspection beneath the table.
I glance down at him. “You trained him not to beg.”
“Yes.”
“That is impressive.”
“He knows better.”
Across from us, Alessio leans down slightly. “Mocha.”
Donna points at him without even turning her head.
“Don’t.”
“I was just saying hello,” he says innocently.
“You were about to feed him.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were.” Donna finally looks at him, eyes narrowed.
Alessio looks offended. “I resent the accusation.”
“He’ll survive without roasted chicken.”
Now he looks offended on Mocha’s behalf. “Will he?”
“He ate before we left.”
Edoardo reaches for the potatoes. “Stop trying to corrupt the dog.”
“I’m bonding with him.”
“I will let you feed him some roast chicken later. Away from the table,” Donna emphasizes. “If you feed him from your plate, that offer disappears. Got it?”
Alessio lifts both hands in surrender. “Got it.”
Donna gives him a satisfied nod and turns back to her plate as if the matter is settled.
My mind stays on the situation longer than it warrants.
There's something about the easy way that she handles the whole situation. About the way that she talks to Mocha, the way she bargained to settle the matter without a fuss, the amused affection in her voice. Once again, it’s very easy to imagine her with a child.
I look away before she notices me staring again, but the image stays with me anyway.
I try to force my mind back on the food and the rest of the people around the table.
Conversation spreads around the table as everyone settles in, overlapping in the comfortably disordered way it always does when we are together.
Matteo and Tomasso get into a disagreement over something happening at one of the businesses; Diego tells them both they are wrong, and Ricardo makes a point that somehow makes the entire argument worse.
Mario lets them go on until they have nearly exhausted themselves before offering a single observation that resolves the issue.
The silence that follows lasts about two seconds before Tomasso points his fork at Matteo.
“That was what I was saying.”
“It was absolutely not what you were saying.”
“It was the underlying point.”
“You had no underlying point.”
“I had several.”
“Let me correct myself,” Matteo says. “You had no underlying point that made sense.”
Donna turns to me. “Do they always do this?”
“Since birth.”
“Before birth, I believe,” Mario says from the head of the table. “Somehow neither one has ever developed the ability to understand the other.”
Matteo looks offended. “I understand him perfectly. He’s usually wrong.”
Tomasso mutters something under his breath and reaches for more chicken.
Donna laughs, and I find myself smiling, simply because she is.
I haven’t really brought women around my family before, though I'm certain they weren't ignorant of them. There was always a separation between whatever relationship I was having and the part of my life that belonged to my sons and brothers. I preferred it that way. It kept things uncomplicated.
Nothing about Donna has remained uncomplicated.
She has been in this house less than an hour and has already teased Mario, negotiated feeding rights to her dog with Alessio, inspected two babies, and settled into dinner as if she has been sitting at this table for years.
The remarkable part is that nobody seems to find her presence unusual.
Victoria asks Donna to pass the green beans, and while Donna hands them across the table, Julia asks Alessio whether he intends to spend the entire meal staring at Mocha.
“I’m making sure he’s comfortable.”
“He’s asleep.”
“He could wake up.”
Donna points her fork at him. “Remember our agreement.”
Alessio looks beneath the table, where Mocha has indeed stretched out beside her chair. “I remember.”
“He is twenty-four years old,” I tell her. “You do not actually have to supervise him.”
“I disagree,” Edoardo says dryly.
Alessio looks around the table. “So much for brotherly loyalty.”
“I'll take a bullet for you,” Edoardo replies, “but don't ask me to sacrifice my dignity.”
Alessio gives me the same long-suffering look he perfected when he was about twelve.
For a moment I see the boy in him so clearly that it catches me off guard.
Then he steals a roasted potato from Edoardo’s plate when his brother looks away, and the image disappears.
Dinner continues at the leisurely pace family meals always do. Serving dishes make several trips around the table, empty baskets are replaced, and conversations shift so frequently that I stop trying to follow all of them.
Donna is doing a fair job at following a few of them as well. It also seems she's enjoying the food, as she reaches for the pasta again. It is quite excellent.
I find myself watching as she tears off a piece of bread and uses it to catch the last of the sauce from her plate.
Naturally, she notices.
“What?”
“You like the pasta.”
“Yes.”
“You have had three servings.”
“Is there a problem?” she asks with narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to say something to me?”
“Uh oh,” Diego mutters under his breath. “This might be over sooner than we thought.”
I shoot him a glare, but I'm speaking to Donna when I say, “Absolutely not. I am merely gathering information.”
“For what?”