18. Nico #2
I take a deep breath and count to three. “Is this what Valeria wants to be doing?”
I imagine my sister inspecting her nails. “It’s what she needs to be doing. I’m seconds away from firing Ruth and hiring one of my people.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“I’m putting you on speaker, so don’t be weird.”
“Nico.” Valeria’s voice is like warm honey dripping down the back of my head. My chest squeezes when I realize I haven’t heard her alert, daytime voice in days. “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way home. Do you want me to come by to help you pick out a wedding dress?” I desperately need a nap, but I don’t want to miss my chance to see Valeria in the sunlight.
“The groom isn’t supposed to see. It’s bad luck for the wedding,” she says. The slightest hint of her flirty teasing zips all the sleepiness out of me like a shot of espresso.
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” I say. Joey grimaces next to me at my tone of voice. “Just don’t stay out too long, or I might come by anyway.”
“I’d like that.”
There’s a rustling on the phone, and then Alessia’s voice pipes in, “Wow, you somehow managed to make that weird and gross. Make sure you stop by to see Mamma—she’s leaving today.”
Mentally, I wave goodbye to my sweet nap.
“Later, loser,” Alessia says and hangs up.
Goddamn it.
An hour later, I’m knocking at the door to Mamma and Alessia’s hotel room.
“Come in,” Mamma calls out.
A bouquet of pink peonies are on the table.
Mamma smiles warmly at me as I stop to stand by the small dining table. She follows my gaze to the flowers. “A gift from Giovanni when he came by to check on us this morning. Isn’t it thoughtful?”
Giovanni’s always been smart enough to treat Mamma with the utmost respect. It’s no small part why he’s lasted as long as he has—Mamma is his first defender, treating him almost like a second son, though he’s got more than ten years on me.
I roll my eyes. “Very sweet.”
She steps forward, dressed impeccably as usual in a cream blouse and beige trousers, and hugs me. Vanilla and cookie dough fills my nose. The restlessness of the past few days dulls a little.
When she pulls away, her eyes are shining.
This can’t be good.
“Ma,” I groan. “What is it?”
She smiles and dabs delicately at her eyes. “I’m just so happy. I never thought I’d see you like this.”
“Unshowered, tired, and unfed?”
She pats my arm and walks off to the kitchen. “No, darling. In love.”
It feels like lightning strikes my body. I’m stuck there, unable to move or say a damn thing as the electricity courses through me.
She looks over her shoulder as she pulls out a carton of eggs. “Did you know?”
“Of course,” I say weakly, and move to the kitchen to lean against the counter. “That’s why I’m marrying her.”
She passes me a plate of cold antipasto from the fridge and sets herself to whipping up a few eggs. “No, it’s not. That wedding is just something to ruffle your papà’s feathers.”
That’s one way of putting it.
“If you’re talking about me protecting her during the drive-by—”
“I’m talking about the way you’ve been working yourself to the bone these past few days. How you fussed over her tiny cut. At dinner, the way you looked at her every time she spoke.” She meets my eye. “Darling, you were hanging off of her every word.”
I smirk. “Well, she doesn’t speak much.”
“I saw the way you left your hand on her chair, the way you took every chance to touch her with affection. And darling, she loves you too.”
Emotion surges through me. I grip the edge of the counter so I don’t float to the ceiling.
“She’s a tough nut to crack,” Mamma says, smiling down into her cooking pan. “But Alessia tells me she only had kind things to say about you. She’s a good match for you. She’ll keep you at peace and ground your more reckless decisions.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
She walks over with the plate of eggs. “I know you and your sister think that the marriage between your papà and me is… unconventional.”
“The relationships with your tennis instructors seem much more conventional, if it helps,” I say through a mouthful of eggs.
Mamma slaps my arm. “That’s between your father and me. What you and your sister don’t see is that your papà and I have a partnership. We have an understanding of each other. And what I see between you and Valeria can be the same thing.”
“So, you’re saying I should let her pick up tennis?”
Mamma sighs. “Darling, please. What I’m saying is, you and Valeria have something special.
I think you two could form a formidable partnership, but also have what your papà and I did not.
Affection. Love. You need to let that woman know how you feel, and do whatever you can to keep her at your side. ”
I shrug, trying to act unaffected, even as every cell in my body lights on fire at her words. The final puzzle piece has snapped into place, and now I can see the entire picture.
This isn’t about Father or intense chemistry with a beautiful woman—it’s more. It’s about choosing the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
I love her. She loves me.
I wonder if she knows.
Mamma touches my forearm lightly. “Nico, there’s something else I need to tell you.”
My gaze snaps to hers. There’s never been good news in history that starts with that phrase.
“I’m going to come out and just say it. Papà is not well.”
I set the plate of eggs down on the kitchen counter. “Ma, please, for fuck’s sake.”
“He hasn’t wanted to share this with you or Alessia, because he doesn’t want you to worry. He has cancer.”
A buzzing sound erupts in my ears like a gun has just gone off.