by Nina Singh
He should have said them long ago, when little Enzo was first born. He wanted her to understand that there were some things he was just barely coming to terms with himself. In his efforts to avoid falling into the trap his father had, Marco had subconsciously chosen avoidance. Rather than confront his fears of being a bad father himself, he had chosen to stay away. He’d learned as a child that it was easier and better for everyone involved if you kept your emotions in check.
Except that approach hadn’t exactly worked out for him where Brianna was concerned. So he had to make the effort. He had to find a way to tell her that he would try. He would do everything he could to not only become a better husband and father but also a better man. And he would do it for her.
Brianna clutched Enzo to her chest and turned away as she nuzzled his cheek.
And the words escaped him. Yet another moment to say anything was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHE’D NEVER BEEN this nervous preparing a meal before. Brianna glanced at the kitchen clock hanging on the wall above the sink. Marco would be home soon and it looked like she had pretty much timed everything perfectly.
The birds were ready to come out of the oven, the wine had been suitably aired, the salad adequately chilled. She had just enough time to shower and dress while the main course cooled. Thank the heavens.
He would be pleased. He had to be.
Though if she were being honest with herself, she had to admit this was as much for her as it was for her husband. Meal preparation had become almost a chore for her, part of her career aspirations. She had let her professional ambitions color the entire reason she’d wanted to become a chef in the first place. For the sense of home and family inherent in sharing a meal with loved ones.
Sighing, she took off the stained apron and undid her hair as she made her way up the stairs.
Yes, this evening was about more than simply preparing a meal. Hopefully, Marco would see that too. This was about Brianna Stedman proving her skills, her determination, and the sheer number of obstacles she’d overcome in her life.
So while Marco might not share much in common with her in terms of background or privilege, maybe that wasn’t so bad. Maybe that was what had drawn them together in the first place.
Maybe it was what would keep them together.
* * *
Brianna was waiting for him when Marco walked through the door after returning from the office. Whatever she had in mind, Marco wasn’t sure he was up for it.
It had been a hell of a day. A simple deal had hit all sorts of snags and one of his vendors had threatened not to renew a very lucrative contract. The type of contract that would immediately affect his profit margin if Dirici Foods lost it. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Marco would now have to fly out to Paris as soon as he could to meet with the man personally. So he wasn’t quite ready with a response when his estranged wife greeted him as he entered.
But then he noticed she was dressed up. Very dressed up. In a sleek, shimmery little black dress that fit her form like a glove. A pink pearl choker adorned her neck. Her hair was piled atop her head with just enough wisps escaping to soften the effect.
She took his breath away. Marco had to tighten his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. A better man would have figured out how to keep a lady like her by his side. A better man would have moved heaven and earth to make the marriage to her work out. He’d failed.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked her.
Her smile was subtle, her lips curved in a sensual way. “Yes, as a matter of fact. But it’s not far.”
He’d never be able to figure this woman out. “And do you need something from me before you go?”
She walked over and took him by the arm. “You’re coming with me.”
What was she playing at? He really was in no mood for any shenanigans after the day he’d had. If she knew him even a little, she would have sensed that.
“Brianna, I’ve had a rather long day. I just want to eat some dinner—”
She cut him off by actually touching a finger to his lips. The unexpected contact sent a shock wave through his cells. She hadn’t so much as touched him in days.
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” she told him. But instead of the main dining room, she led him over to the veranda.
What greeted him there looked like something out of a foodie magazine spread. A table covered in white linen sat where normally the patio lounge furniture would be. A warm, comfortable fire had been started in the fire pit. The table had been set with full place settings.
For two.
Brianna reached for a bottle of Cabernet sitting on a side table and began pouring it.
Well, this was all unexpected. “What is this?”
“Dinner.”
Okay... “Where is everyone?”
“Nonna took Enzo with her to visit some of the ladies from church. And I gave everyone the day off.”
Marco couldn’t guess what she was up to. Nor could he quite figure out what to make of it. Deciding the easiest course would be to just let her explain, he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on one of the chairs.
“I know it’s a little earlier than our regular dining time, but I don’t know how long Nonna and Enzo will be gone.” She handed him a full glass of wine then held hers up. “Cheers.”
The explanation wasn’t forthcoming any time soon, it appeared. Marco took a large swig of his drink.
Setting his glass down he met her eyes. “Brianna, what is this?” he repeated.
“I told you. We are having dinner.” She motioned for him to sit. He did so and she took the seat across from him. Several covered platters and bowls sat in the center of the table.
She cleared her throat. “It occurred to me that the only meals I’ve ever made for you were entrees like lasagna or piccatta. Or something along those lines.”
“And?”
“My specialty is Spanish tapas. With some Mediterranean fusion incorporated, I’ve trained extensively to perfect such meals. Or I was before we...met.”
Marco steepled his hands in front of his face as she started serving. “Is this some kind of attempt to convince me of your talent? Because I assure you it’s hardly necessary. I don’t even see the point—”
She cut him off. “This is arugula and basil salad with candied pecans and aged feta cheese. It’s our first course. This won’t be the traditional Italian menu. Like I said, as luck would have it, that’s not my specialty.”
“Am I to just accept that you woke up this morning and decided that what you wanted to do most today was cook for the two of us?”
“I’ve actually been thinking about it since we argued.”
She had? “You’re serious. You just up and decided that the thing we needed right now was to have you prepare a meal so that we could eat together?”
She nodded, swallowed her bite of salad and took another sip of her wine. “Partly. Our main course is to be young game hen with a raspberry coulis sauce and a side of truffle creamed paella. As for dessert, that’s also not in my area of expertise. Therefore I just ran out for some chocolate gelato earlier this afternoon.”
Yet another evasion. Was she trying to make him crazy? Here she was talking about gelato and game hens when he had no idea what was happening between them at the moment. “What do you mean ‘partly’?”
She slowly set her fork down on the side of her plate. “We never really had romantic dinners, or date nights, or even went to the movies for that matter. Did we, Marco?”
“No, I guess we didn’t.” He was starting to see her point. What little he and Brianna knew about one another, even after all this time, had been learned on the fly. After they were already husband and wife. Almost like a modern-day arranged marriage.
A spark ignited in his chest. She was making an ef
fort. It surprised him how touched he was.
“Do you want to know why I became a chef, Marco.”
He swallowed. “Very much so.”
“Remember that foster mother I was telling you about?”
“The ex-dancer?”
She smiled at him, clearly pleased that he remembered. “Yes, that’s the one. See, she had this routine. Despite all her faults, she was good to me and the other children. Her lifestyle wasn’t the best but she did a lot of things right.”
“Such as?”
“Such as always making sure we had a warm meal. Every evening, no matter what was happening, she ensured something hot was on the table.”
“She sounds like a remarkable woman.”
“She was. I lost touch with her over the years. After a while, it was too painful to keep in contact.” She gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “And she didn’t try very hard either. Who knows, maybe my days in her home meant more to me than they did to her.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “The day they pulled me out of that house, the most secure, stable one I’d ever been in, I swore I would never forget the importance of having that meal on the table.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally told me.”
“I should have told you before.” She wiped away the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I realize now that I put too much in your hands. You weren’t exactly ready for marriage and a child either.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “It’s just that you’ve always seemed so strong to me, so capable. I figured I’d lay most of the burden on your shoulders. But now I’ve come to realize that I’m both those things as well.”
She picked up her fork again, but didn’t continue eating. Just sort of twirled it around her fingers. When she spoke again her voice was stronger, more firm. “You were right that I wasn’t very open myself. See, I thought I had an excuse. I was ashamed. Embarrassed about who I was and how I’d grown up. But that doesn’t matter. I’m me. I may not know much about Italian cooking. I’d like to work on that.”
“Bree, you don’t need to—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I want to. But in the meantime, I’d like you to discover and enjoy what I do have to offer.”
Marco’s mouth went dry. His wife was one brave and remarkable woman. How could he have ever doubted that about her? How could he have doubted her strength or resilience?
He owed it to her to be brave in return.
The parallels in their respective pasts were striking if one thought about it. Why she was so determined to make her own way, to be successful in her own right. Also the reason she was so afraid that their marriage might not be successful long-term.
Whatever it took, he would prove to her that it could.
She took a large gulp of her wine and looked into his eyes. “So you see, Marco. We’re much more alike than you would have ever guessed. It appears we both need to draw on some patience until we figure all this out. Are you willing to do that? With me?”
His mind went numb, he had to scramble for the right words. “Yes, cara. More than anything. And there’s no one else I’d rather share my life or a child with.”
A wealth of emotion cascaded over her face. “We’re so lucky to have our boy, aren’t we? And he’s growing up so fast.”
He couldn’t help his grin of pride. “Like an active vine during harvest. Bree, I don’t want either of us to miss a moment of it. I want both of us to be there for him when he attends his first day of nursery school, when he makes his first best friend.” He gave a mock shudder. “When he throws his first pitch of a baseball.”
“I want all that too,” she said with a rasp. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To truly live as a family. With our son.”
Marco itched to go to her, to lift her in his arms. He forced himself to remain seated instead. There was so much more he owed it to her to say. “But Enzo deserves a mother who feels fulfilled.”
Her eyes grew wide. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want you to give up your dreams, Bree.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself to say his next words. “If you still want to make a name for yourself in New York, we’ll find a way. We’ll make it happen.”
Her eyes filled with tears once more. “You don’t know how much that means to me, Marco. But I’ve been thinking. And I’ve had a change of heart.”
He could only blink at her. After all her training, all her drive, she couldn’t mean she was ready to give up her career. “You have?”
She nodded. “Working on those marketing recipes gave me a taste of what it would be like to be independently employed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’d like to keep coming up with recipes for your product line. If you could still use them.”
She had no idea. “Of course. But will that be enough for you, Bree? That was meant to be just a temporary plan.”
“I’ve also got some ideas for another project.”
“What kind of project?”
Her face lit up like a child on Christmas morning as she began to speak. “I’d like to work on a cookbook. To be published under my maiden name.” She searched his face. “So there isn’t any influence based on the Dirici brand. You do understand that, don’t you?”
Rather than answer, he stood and walked around the table. Gently taking her hand, he pulled her up to stand next to him.
“Si. And there’s something I’d like you to understand.”
“What’s that?” she asked as he took her by the waist and pulled her to him.
“That about three years ago, when I inadvertently walked into that kitchen, I met the woman I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I was meant to fall in love with.”
Brianna sucked in a breath and leaned against him. “And I met the man of my dreams. The man I’ve been in love with ever since.”
As if on cue, the fire behind them sparked, sending bright golden embers shooting into the air. He watched over Brianna’s head as they drifted and fluttered on the breeze.
“There’s one more thing,” he added, rubbing her cheek. “I just decided I really rather like poultry served cold.” Then he took her lips with his own.
“You do, huh?” she whispered, breathless from his kiss.
“Si. And another thing, I don’t want dessert either.” He took her by the hand and headed inside. “Not until much, much later,” he added, as he led her upstairs.
EPILOGUE
HOW IN THE world had she been talked into this? Brianna took Marco’s hand and allowed him to help her up the steps and onto the boat. Immediately, she felt a small tickle at the bottom of her stomach. They hadn’t even left the slip yet.
“I don’t know about this,” she declared and gripped his fingers tighter.
“It will be all right, cara. Trust me.”
“If you say so.”
He pulled her up against him, his back to her chest. Then he tilted her chin up to look out at the ocean. “There are lots of ways to avoid the seasickness. I’ll show you.”
Brianna bit back the apprehension that only served to make her nausea worse. “Fine. What do you suggest?”
“Okay, first of all, keep looking at the distance. It’s like being up high. Do not look down.”
“All right. What else.”
“Keep your knees slightly bent.”
He couldn’t be serious with this, could he? “My knees?”
He nodded against her cheek. “Si, cara. It helps to maintain your center of balance.”
She did as she was told. “What else?”
“As soon as you feel an inkling of dizziness, pinch the inside of your palm.” He took her hand and demonstrated. “Do that as often as necessary. All that will certainly help.”
“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s
all I need to know to keep the seasickness under control?”
He seemed to think for a moment. “Wait. There is one more thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bottle. The label had Italian lettering and pictures of a plane and a ship. “You should also just take one of these. Then you won’t have to do all that other stuff I just told you. It’s all actually pretty useless.”
Motion sickness medicine.
Brianna gave him a playful slap on the hand. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”
He kissed her then, and she felt the heat clear through her core. The man’s effect on her would be her undoing. And she would love every minute of it.
“I’m serious,” Marco told her. “You need to have a good supply of these on hand. A good portion of our honeymoon will involve quite a bit of sailing.”
Had she heard him correctly? This morning, he’d surprised her with an invitation to the marina, so she could get accustomed slowly to being on the water. Was it possible this was more than that?
“Honeymoon?”
“It occurs to me we never really took an official one. I’d like to rectify that.”
Words failed her. The act was so thoughtful, so heartfelt she felt tears spring to her eyes. She didn’t realize Marco had actually cared about the informal and rather rushed way they’d begun their marriage. “I’d like that very much.”
“There’s also something else I’d like to rectify.”
“What’s that?”
“I never actually offered you a proper proposal,” he said, then shocked her by getting down on one knee.
Reaching once more into his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box. Then opened it to reveal a shimmering emerald surrounded by diamonds on a delicate gold chain.
Enzo’s birthstone.
Marco cleared his throat, his voice hoarse when he spoke. “You already have a ring. So I thought this might be more appropriate.”
Brianna’s fingers trembled as she reached for it. “Oh, Marco. It’s lovely.” So beyond merely appropriate, this delicate piece of jewelry was the perfect symbol of the renewed bond of their marriage as well as their devotion to their child. He had put so much thought into the gesture.
