by Hazel Parker
“Alf? Mary? You have your sports all-star here.”
“Oh, the man of the hour!” Grandpa said. I looked at my mother with a slightly curious look as to why I was suddenly the man of the hour, but she played dumb. “How are you, my Willie Mays?”
“I’m good, Grandpa, and I’m no Willie Mays,” I said as I bent over for a hug. “But thank you, though.”
“You’re right,” he said. “You’re better than Willie Mays!”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. It wasn’t PR posturing to say I wasn’t better than arguably the greatest player the Giants had ever had, but it was certainly nice to have Grandpa play the part of the unconditionally supportive fan.
“Well, I’m always trying to get to that level. And grandma.”
Grandma just beamed as I leaned forward to hug her.
“I heard that you’ve personally overseen the menu for tonight.”
She nodded. Grandma had a thing where she tended to wait a beat longer than most people before she engaged. It didn’t reflect a decline in mental faculties so much as it did just her wanting to take the time to make sure she said exactly what she wanted to say.
“For all of us getting together for the last time before you start traveling, I had to make sure it was a true Ferrari feast.”
“And speaking of, let’s get this damn thing going, shall we?” Grandpa said, rising from his chair. “The grandkids have had enough time playing around.”
“We should wait for Leo,” Grandma said immediately and in a tone that suggested she was not going to compromise.
“Be my guest; you’ll be waiting for him into the twenty-second century.”
The scowl my grandmother gave to that remark went ignored by Grandpa. He put his fingers up to his mouth and let out his trademark shrill whistle. It could cut through any level of conversation at any time; heck, I could hear it when he did it during baseball games. I couldn’t shift my eyes from the pitcher to look for him, but that whistle always gave me a boost of confidence and a little surge in performance; I would bet anything hearing that whistle increased my batting average at least ten percent.
“Dinner!” he shouted when the place got quiet. “Come on, don’t make this old man wait for his food!”
Grandpa didn’t have to say it out loud. We all knew the drill.
Within a matter of seconds, everyone had gathered at the long main table, with grandma and grandpa at the head, my parents and two uncles near them, and the three of us there. My grandparents also kept about five empty seats open, apparently under the premise that such visual cues would get us to hurry up and get married. The whole thing seemed a little ridiculous, but, then again, it wasn’t my grandkids trying to get married.
We said a quick prayer of thanks, my father gave a toast honoring all of us for making it, and like that, we were off to the races, starting with some salad before the kitchen staff brought out the main course, something that only Grandpa would know about.
“So, Nick, dear,” my grandmother began. “Tell us about last night.”
I didn’t bother hiding my glare for Layla, who pretended to be far too enamored with her salad to answer me.
“Well,” I said. “I met this woman at one of my speaking engagements. She is quite beautiful, works pretty high up in her marketing department—”
“Ohhh,” my grandmother said. “Does this mean one of my grandchildren is finally going to get married?”
I laughed, doing my best to make it seem more good-natured and less ridiculing.
“Well, it’s the first date, so we have to give it time—”
“You know, I didn’t even need a first date when I saw Mary to know I was going to marry her,” my grandfather said.
I swore that story had to be apocryphal, but it was said so often by now that no one really bothered to question it.
“In fact, we didn’t even really call it dating back then. We just knew we liked the other person—”
“He understands, Alf,” Grandma said.
“Well, if he understands, then he can go and marry this girl and give us some more children!”
“Oh, she’s already got…”
My voice trailed off, but it was too late. The entire table stopped what they were doing, including eating, and stared at me. Even Brett and Layla had concerned looks on their faces, although their likely came from knowing the shitstorm that was about to hit.
“She already has what, Nick?” my grandmother said, the judgment in her voice sounding like a nun who was about to get a delinquent student to confess.
The only thing worse than what I had just admitted out loud would be to lie about it.
“She already has a child.”
I could practically hear the winds go out of the sails. Just seconds ago, my grandparents had felt confident one of their grandkids had finally found love—and now, they had learned that, supposedly, that love was tainted.
“I see she makes wise choices,” my grandmother said. “I suppose women these days don’t know how to contain themselves.”
“Mom,” my father said, but he wasn’t defending me. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Oh, we will,” she said. “But Nick, dear, do yourself a favor and find yourself a wholesome woman. Not one of these girls that thinks babies can be had without consequence.”
I bit my lip and just nodded. I didn’t agree at all with what they had said, obviously, and even if I had felt knocked back a bit by Izzy’s revelation, I would have seen the whole picture and understood Izzy was worth it.
I was just pissed I didn’t know more. I couldn’t defend her. If I tried, they’d ask even more questions, and with even more questions came topics I wouldn’t have any good answers to. My parents’ and grandparents’ judgment wouldn’t get me to change my mind about anything, but it sure would have been nice to at least have an explanation I could give them.
“Women have always been like that,” my grandfather said, continuing this awkward topic for as long as it seemingly took to get me to crack. “You just have to find the good ones. I happened to find the perfect one.”
“So—” Layla said, trying to change the topic, but absolutely no one paid attention to her.
“I just don’t understand girls today, they don’t know how to behave like women!” my grandmother continued.
I was more than a little surprised it was grandma leading the charge, but I tried to think of it as her protecting me rather than casting judgment onto Izzy. The Ferraris were ferociously protective of their own and did not let others in easily; my father had never outright said it, but he had hinted at troubles between Grandma and Mom more than once, suggesting that grandma made it very difficult for my mother to feel welcome into the family.
I supposed it was just her being old-school. I did my best to give her credit with her outdated beliefs.
“So!” Layla said, this time with enough force that people finally did pay attention to her. “I’ve got some contacts in Europe; we might be able to make some partnerships to spread Ferrari Wine.”
“Ohh!” Grandpa said. “Even east of Italy?”
Layla nodded, but only after she had thrown me a wink while my grandfather was effusing about what it would mean to get such wines into Eastern Europe. I told myself I could have handled it, but that was only true up to a point.
“Yep, I’m just doing my part to help build Ferrari Wines. Unlike these boys.”
“Hey!” both Brett and I said at the same time.
“Just saying,” Layla said with a smirk.
“That actually raises a good point,” Uncle Nick said. “Nick, what are your plans for the Ferrari Wine business?”
Though there may have been a hint of questioning and maybe of guilt contained in that, truthfully, I was just happy to talk about anything other than why I was considering dating, let alone marrying, a single mother.
“Just to keep on being a visible presence for the company through my face.”
“Well, we’re go
ing bankrupt,” Brett quipped.
“And I do think next offseason—it’s too late with this season coming up, but next offseason for sure—I want to get more involved and learn the ins and outs. I can only do baseball for so much longer.”
“Jeez, you sound so old,” Layla said with a sarcastic eye roll.
“Old enough that you all should be married by now!” Grandpa said.
And now all three of us were rolling our eyes when we had our heads turned enough.
“You know what the will says. You better be married—”
“They know, Dad,” my father said.
I didn’t worry so much about the will. I had more than enough money to care for me and all my siblings. But certain siblings obviously had greater need for that money than I did.
But as discussion raged about the future of the business and how long my father and uncles would oversee it, I just felt glad I could recede into the background. I hadn’t changed my mind about Izzy just because of some words from my grandparents. If anything, I felt more inclined to pursue her.
I just told myself I needed to be careful. It was only date one and I was getting swept up like mad. Her being a single mother wasn’t a concern for me, but there was always the possibility of someone or something lurking in the shadows, making life hell for me—and by extension, my family.
But for right now?
Shit, I was as happy and excited for the future as I had been since the day I got drafted into the big leagues.
Chapter 8: Izzy
One Week Later
It was time for the second date, and once again, I had put on a sexy dress—this time a pearly white one—some black heels, a black necklace, and just a touch less makeup than before, but still plenty enough to make me look good.
My phone buzzed. I took a brief second from applying the last of my blush to look down. Nick—who else?—had texted me.
“I’ll be in the booth in the back corner. Can’t wait to see you!”
I smiled, but I still couldn’t say that I felt a hundred percent on-board with it. Part of it was just me and my refusal to completely let go of the notion that this could somehow come back to bite me in the ass; life had given me a lot of good things, but life had also royally fucked me over in others. Part of it was Nick’s behavior—he was sweet, but it was all just a bit much.
Maybe if things got a little more seductive and a little hotter, it would be much easier. I’d chosen not to kiss him a week ago, so I was ready to admit it could have been me, but I also needed to see more of the unbridled, shameless Nick. I was getting charmer Nick Ferrari, and that was fun, but it wasn’t sustainable. I needed something more.
And also…
Well, let’s just say looking up the “Ferrari” name had returned more than a few questionable results, and I didn’t mean unfounded rumors about steroids or sign-stealing in baseball.
But if that was something that had crossed my mind, it definitely wasn’t something I was going to say out loud on the second date. If I wasn’t going to spill everything about Malcolm up to this point, I couldn’t justifiably expect Nick to do the same here.
“Can’t wait to see you either :-)” I wrote back to him. The more aroused part of me wanted to put the kiss emoji, or at least some emojis with hearts, but common sense thankfully won that battle.
I put on the last of my blush and looked at myself in the mirror.
“You’ve got to take some chances, Izzy,” I said. “Let yourself experience this.”
Easier said than done. But not impossible to do.
With that, I headed to my car. This time, I decided in advance I was going to do valet parking.
* * *
Of course, as soon as I got to the destination—a quiet cocktail lounge, very simply named Downtown Cocktail Lounge—I realized that the place was too small to provide valet service. Fortunately, by this point, the excitement had overcome the anxiety, and I felt more amused detachment than I did annoyance or rising anxiousness. It also helped that there was plenty of street parking available.
It almost seemed too good to be true, in fact, that I pulled up to an open spot right behind a fancy blue Tesla—a Tesla which Nick emerged out of as he saw me approaching. He leaned against the car, looking every bit the part of a GQ model posing for his cover spread, and tucked his hands into his jeans as he waited for me to get out.
“Did you plan this?” I said.
“Could I have?” he said. “I’m not one to question or try to understand things, but seems to me that these lucky breaks are something of a sign, huh?”
I rolled my eyes, as I knew Nick was cheerfully playing along. He embraced me in a hug that lasted more than a few beats, and as I wrapped my arms around him, I took note of the muscular build of his that I had somehow failed to notice before. His back, his arms, his chest and abs—obviously, the sports coat only let me get hints of it, but I felt curious enough that my mind went to some places it needed to retreat from if I were to behave.
“So, tell me about Downtown Cocktail Lounge,” I said.
“Well, we got ourselves a private booth,” he said.
“What, like Las Vegas bottle service?”
“Kind of, except without the blaringly loud DJ music and other distractions.”
His hand brushed against mine as we walked toward the lounge, and I felt every inclination to take it. Nick wasn’t exactly hiding his intentions, either, which was pretty damn hot. I wasn’t ready to give in yet, but I knew that I wasn’t going to behave nearly as well on this date as I had on the previous one.
There were only so many times I could resist kissing a man this handsome before I just threw caution to the wind.
And that was doubly true when he opened the door for me and placed his hand on the small of my back, escorting me inside. The warm glow that radiated from my lower spine felt like I’d jumped into a massage inside a gentle sauna.
The setting of Downtown Cocktail Lounge was exactly the kind of place that a budding couple went to light the spark for their chemistry. The lighting was very dim, just above that of a club with strobe lights; the music was upbeat and catchy, but not overwhelming; and all of the bartenders and waitresses were dressed like they had come out of a wedding. The various booths had purple decor, and the one that Nick guided me to really was in the corner of the bar.
Yeah, it’s probably going to happen tonight. Just what “it” was remained to be seen, but early returns were promising for Nick.
“Can I get you a drink?” he said.
“Just a margarita, please,” I said.
He smiled, nodded, and turned around, leaving me with my thoughts as I saw him go around the corner. I knew that I couldn’t get through the evening without discussing two things—one, my ex, and two, the supposed family ties of his. I knew the first one, I could easily bring up, but the second seemed like a black box of sorts. How would I have reacted if he’d come to me and said, “So, rumor has it that your grandparents killed people?”
But I didn’t have long to think, because before I could decide on the best course of action, Nick had already slid into the booth next to me, his jeans brushing up against my leg, his left hand patting me on the knee.
“You didn’t get me a margarita,” I said teasingly.
“Because they’re going to bring it to us,” he said. “That’s the perk of having a private booth. We actually will have someone coming by to fill us up whenever we need it. I just figured that I’d get the ball rolling.”
Initiative. Nice.
“So what’s on your mind, Izzy Saunders?”
I laughed at how he said my name, as if he and I had switched roles—now he was the reporter or marketer speaking to me, the supposed center of the spotlight.
“What’s on my mind?” I said with a smile back. “I want to know…”
No, don’t get too deep this quickly. Save it for later.
“I want to know why you have never wanted to live anywhere but San Francisco.”
“Ah, the question my agent asks me all the time so he can get a bigger contract out of the Yankees,” he said with a smirk. “The truth is family is everything to me. I’ve got three younger siblings, and we all grew up in a very tight-knit, loving family. I have to travel enough as it is with spring training and going on road trips; the notion of having to be in San Francisco be, at most, a once-every-three-months deal rather than it being the default just doesn’t sound fun. And frankly, not to sound arrogant or snotty, but I’ve got enough money from enough places that I don’t need to sign with the Yankees.”
“I see,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, so now I have to play this game too? How unfair that I have to do the thing I asked you to do!”
I giggled and found my hand resting on his. We were getting closer by the minute, and there was nothing that could stop us—nor did I want anything to.
“I want to know…”
He put his hand to his lips as if debating whether he wanted to say what was really on his mind. I hoped that it was him asking a question he thought was serious but wasn’t, but I had a gut feeling he was going to ask the question.
“I want to know what you would think if…”
Again, he hesitated. The phrasing of his question threw me for a bit. If it wasn’t ex-related…
“What would you think if I told you I came from a conservative family of sorts?” he said. “I know for some, in this area—”
“What, like politically?”
“Well, yes, but mostly just in tradition and religion.”
“Oh, no, I don’t mind that at all,” I said, relieved I wasn’t getting roped into a discussion about my ex. If anything, I saw it as an easy way to “joke but really seek the truth” about his family. “Heck, if you believe the internet, the Ferrari family is really just a division of the Italian mafia!”
