Chapter Twenty-One
James spun Mari around as they walked out of the studio and into the parking lot.
As he did, he caught her around the waist, not a move that they’d been officially taught yet, and pulled her close.
“A little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”
He buried his face in her hair. “Shhh, I’m counting here.”
He loved the feel of her laughing in his arms.
Rosa walked out behind them, saying something in Italian.
Mari laughed harder.
“Do I want to know?” James asked.
“She said she’s leaving in five minutes, with or without me.”
“Then we should make the most of it,” James said.
Mari lifted her chin, and James took advantage of the darkness. This time, he sunk in a little deeper, a little longer.
Her tongue met his, her hands explored a little more with each kiss.
When he broke away, her eyes were closed, and her breath was heated.
“My girls are with their mother this weekend. Let me take you away . . . even for one night.”
James knew what he was asking.
The fact that she didn’t deny him instantly was proof she wanted the same thing.
“We’re two grown adults, Mari. I don’t want to sneak around forever. I want to take you out and show you off.”
Mari placed a finger over his lips and silenced him.
Her quiet made him squirm. Until she said three words that changed everything. “Friday, after work.”
She said yes. Holy . . . He expected resistance.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Do you want to talk me out of it?”
He placed both hands on her shoulders. “No. Friday night it is. One night or two?” he asked.
“I need to be home on Sunday. I’ll tell my family about you then.”
James started nodding and didn’t stop. “This is good. Okay.” He kissed her again, briefly.
“Andiamo,” Rosa called from the car.
Mari rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving her home next week.”
“I can pick you up.”
Mari lifted a finger in the air. “One hurdle at a time.”
He could accept that. “This is good. So good.”
Mari laughed at him. “You make me feel like I’m twenty again.”
He could beat that—she made him feel alive.
The dome light on the car made him squint when he opened the door for Mari to get in. Once there, she said, “And congratulations again on Madison’s acceptance. I’m happy for both of you.”
James couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“Let it be just us until Sunday.”
He could live with that.
Rosa leaned over Mari and looked up at him. “Ciao, James.”
“Ciao,” he found himself saying.
As Rosa pulled out of the parking lot, James all but floated to his car.
It was turning out to be an exceptional week.
With her decision made, Mari set the intention of getting away for the weekend. This time, she didn’t use Rosa as the anchor. Instead, she told Luca and Brooke that she was going up to the mountains with someone she met through bunco. That they had a cabin and had invited her.
All of which was true.
Except that James didn’t have a cabin, he had rented one.
Salena agreed to be on Saturday night, and they were fully staffed for Friday.
Mari had nothing else to do but pack.
She held the negligee Chloe had hidden in her suitcase for the cruise and contemplated exactly what it meant to pack it for this trip.
Rosa, who was quickly becoming someone Mari hardly recognized, had shown up with a gift bag the day after their dance lesson.
When Mari went to open it, Rosa stopped her and suggested they open it in her apartment.
One look inside explained why.
“Rosa Mancuso. What have you done?”
Mari pulled out three tubes of lubricating jelly.
Rosa watched with laughter. “There is plain, heated, and flavored.”
“Flavored?” Mari had no idea they made cherry-tasting sex lube.
“You have options,” Rosa said. “Besides, we’re not young. You’re going to need it.”
“But flavored?”
Mari pulled out the next gift. A small box of condoms. “I can’t get pregnant.” She’d been postmenopausal for three years. One of life’s blessings as far as she was concerned.
“Use them. Don’t use them.” Rosa shrugged.
Last was a pair of lace panties. Which Mari especially appreciated. “I needed these.”
Rosa beamed. “I’m happy one of us does.”
Now Mari stood over her small suitcase filled with sexual intention.
The last time she’d had sex was with Paulo. And that had been nearly a year before his death. Between the medications, chemo, and the overall extent of his diminishing health, the desire and ability at times made it impossible.
Mari couldn’t help but look at the picture of her and Paulo that sat on the dresser in her bedroom.
She picked up the frame and ran a finger over his image. “This doesn’t make me love you less,” she said to the photograph.
Mari walked out of her bedroom and put his picture on the countertop that held multiple others. Wedding photos of her children. Pictures of Franny and Leo. The family celebrating Gio and Emma’s first harvest. Loving images of her past and the family she loved. Paulo among them.
But if she was inviting another man into her bed, she needed to take Paulo out of her bedroom.
Mari took one last look at her late husband, turned, and went back to packing.
Ellie and Madison parked several blocks from the restaurant where the woman their father kissed in the parking lot lived.
At first, they thought they had it wrong.
That maybe Mari was just going out for a late dinner after leaving the dance studio.
But the woman who drove Mari had dropped her off in what looked a little like a back alley. Or back entrance of the restaurant.
Madison thought maybe she worked there.
Ellie wasn’t convinced.
When they got home to their mother’s house, they’d huddled over a computer and looked up the restaurant online.
The website boasted the longevity of the family-owned establishment, along with a picture.
Mari D’Angelo standing in front of the restaurant with a menu in her hand.
In the “About Us” section of the site, a short history told Madison and Ellie what they were looking for.
Paulo and Mari D’Angelo took over the business from the founder thirty years ago.
Recipes from their Italian grandparents filled the menu with tastes of Tuscany.
Luca D’Angelo was now the head chef, and sommelier Giovanni D’Angelo, along with his wife, Emma, now supplied the restaurant with wine from their vineyard in Temecula.
And that was it.
Madison and Ellie read all they needed to.
Their father was having an affair with a married woman.
And now, Ellie had convinced her sister to walk into the restaurant and see the woman with their own eyes.
“Maybe he told her about us,” Ellie said. “And if she sees us, she’ll know we know.”
“And if he didn’t tell her about us?”
“Then we tell him that we thought we saw the woman in the picture he showed us. It’s Little Italy. We were hungry.”
Madison, still high on her Caltech acceptance, wasn’t as passionate about plunging into her father’s love life.
Watching their father kiss someone had a cringe factor neither of them ever wanted to see again.
Get a room already.
“We need an excuse for being in the city,” Madison told Ellie. “It isn’t exactly on the way home from school.”
“We’ll figure that out later.”
For now, Ellie practically dragged her sister into the restaurant and stood behind two other parties waiting to be seated.
Ellie craned her neck inside to try and find the woman.
For a Thursday night, Little Italy was busy. Instagram had put Little Italy on the map, and tourists were starting to descend on the city.
“Buonasera,” the hostess greeted them when it was their turn. “Two?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Madison responded.
“Inside or out?”
“Inside,” Ellie said.
The hostess led them to a booth that sat against a wall, giving them the perfect view of the inside.
After the hostess assured them that someone would be by to take care of them soon, she was off.
Ellie kept scanning the room.
Madison thrust a menu in her hands. “Oh my God, you’re so obvious.”
She picked up the menu and pretended to read it. Still, she scanned.
The bar sat in the center of the restaurant, there were booths like the one they sat in on the edges, with tables everywhere else.
The kitchen, which was obviously in the back, had a small window where you could occasionally see one of the chefs pass.
“You think that’s the husband?” Ellie indicated the man behind the bar.
“The bartender?” Madison asked.
“Yeah. Seems to be the right age.” Assuming this Paulo was close to their dad’s age.
“He looks Italian.”
As did many of the waiters and waitresses. The hostess was definitely Italian.
As the staff rushed by each other, they spoke in Italian, which Ellie thought sounded a little like Spanish. Only two years of that language in high school proved it wasn’t.
Ellie kept her eyes glued to the hall that the waiters disappeared behind, only to return with plates of food.
A waitress approached the table and introduced herself.
They both ordered Coke, and she walked away.
“I don’t see her.”
“She may not be here,” Madison said.
Ellie looked at the front door. “It’s busy, and she owns the place. I bet she’s around somewhere.”
“We can’t sit here and just drink Coke.” Madison hit Ellie’s menu with hers.
She set it down without looking. “I’ll have the spaghetti.”
“That isn’t on here.”
“It’s an Italian restaurant, they have to have spaghetti.”
“Pepe e olio?” Madison asked.
“Pepper and oil?”
“It says it’s with spaghetti.”
“Does it have tomatoes?” What kind of spaghetti was made with only pepper and oil?
“I don’t know.”
Ellie stopped searching for Mari and looked at the menu.
Yup, it was pepper, olive oil, and parmesan cheese. It sounded gross. And if it was, she could ask to talk to the manager . . . or owner.
Sometimes Ellie thought she’d make a great spy. If the big leagues didn’t want her, maybe the FBI would.
The waitress returned with their Cokes and took their order. All the while tossing in a few words in Italian.
“Where is she?”
“Maybe we should have come on the weekend when it’s busier,” Madison suggested.
“The place is packed.”
And only got more so.
While they waited for their food, Ellie made a trip to the bathroom to scope out the back of the place.
She lingered in the hall where the bathrooms lived, then glanced around a corner that said “Staff Only.” There was an office door, but it was closed.
Footsteps made her double-time her return to her table.
Then the food came, which Ellie had every intention of sending back.
Only . . .
“That looks wrong,” Madison said as she picked up her fork to dig into her ravioli.
Ellie slurped up a noodle. “It’s really good.”
“How?”
She pushed her plate in front of her sister and waited for her to take a bite.
Her face lit up.
“Weird,” Ellie said, pulling her spaghetti back.
Convinced that Mari wasn’t there, they ate their food, annoyed that it tasted so good.
They procrastinated with dessert, which was worthy of licking the plate.
That sucked, too.
“Why can’t the food be bad?”
Neither of them wanted to like anything about this woman. They wanted their dad happy, not hooked up with the wrong woman.
Unable to stay longer without looking suspicious, they paid the bill and headed out the door.
Ellie hesitated in front of the bar.
“I have an idea,” she said and stepped in front of one of the free barstools.
“What are you doing?” Madison asked between clenched teeth.
Ellie scowled.
The old dude on her left looked her up and down.
Cringe.
The bartender finally took notice of her and walked over. “We don’t serve minors.”
“I hope not. I just wanted to see if the manager was here, or owner?” Ellie waited for the man to say that it was him.
He didn’t.
Instead, he waved his hand in the air and called out in Italian.
There was an exchange between him and a woman across the room.
The bartender left her and moved aside to take an order.
“What are you doing?” Madison hissed.
“He isn’t the owner,” she whispered.
“Oh.” Finally, Madison understood.
A woman stepped up behind them and smiled. “Is everything okay? I’m Salena, the manager.”
Tall, stunning, and belonging on a magazine cover and not in a restaurant. Ellie cleared her throat.
Damn it.
“I, ah . . . I just wanted to compliment the chef.” Ellie shifted off one foot to the other. “I had the pepper and oil pasta. How do you make that so good? I thought all spaghetti had to have tomato sauce.”
Salena smiled. “Italians have many ways of eating pasta. Almost like Americans eat potatoes. Baked, fried, smothered in cheese.”
Ellie wasn’t sure what to say next. This wasn’t the person she was hoping to talk to.
“Well, I’ve never had it before. I guess that’s one of the family recipes.”
“Yes, it is.”
Madison pleaded with her eyes to leave.
“My dad said to always compliment the chef,” Ellie said.
Her sister squinted.
Their dad never said that.
Salena looked over Ellie’s shoulder and pointed behind her. “You can do that yourself. Mari, these girls wanted to applaud your food.”
Ellie’s smile fell as she and her sister slowly turned around.
Mari stood behind the bar, wearing a chef uniform and a smile.
One that started to fall when she looked at them.
Madison grabbed Ellie’s hand.
For several seconds, they all stood there staring at each other.
Dad is going to kill us.
This was a horrible idea.
Maybe they could just pretend like they didn’t know who she was.
“Uhm . . .” Maddie muttered.
Ellie’s palm grew damp.
“The food was good,” Ellie shot out so fast the words almost tripped on themselves.
Mari said nothing.
It was then Ellie realized the bartender and the manager stood close by, and no one was talking.
Mari let a deep breath go, and her full smile returned. “You must be Ellie,” she said directly to her. “And you’re Madison.”
Ellie’s mouth went dry.
“Congratulations on Caltech.”
Ellie looked at her sister to see the same shock in her eyes.
“Thank you,” Madison said.
“You know these girls?” Salena asked.
Mari looked to her right at the bartender, then to Salena, then back to them.
“I’m dating their father.”
Even with all the noise in the restaurant, the space around them fell completely silent.