It was Frankie who broke the spell. “What’s wrong, Nonna? Why’re you yelling at Uncle Vince?”
Angela shook her head and put her finger to her lips to shush the little girl. “Not now, Frankie.”
“Fine, then.” Vincent’s father stood up, sending his chair clattering across the floor. “Fine. They want you so much? You want to leave so much? You think it’s all going to be sunshine and roses working for these people? Go, then. Just leave. We don’t need you, anyway. Any of us can make cookies and cannoli. It’s not like it’s anything special.”
I sucked in a quick breath. I knew, on some level, that Mr. DiMartino was reacting, that he was spewing words out of his own pain, but that wasn’t going to help this situation one bit. I felt horrible for all of them—for the DiMartinos, who clearly were bewildered about the suddenness of this revelation and for Vincent, who was just as clearly acting out of his long-carried hurt. At the same time, I was just as blindsided by what Vincent had just shared. He’d had an interview in Philadelphia? And he hadn’t told me? He’d been offered a job, and he hadn’t thought to share that information with me?
Vincent stood up, too, slamming back his chair. “Good. I’m going.” He turned to me and reached out a hand. “Come on, Amanda. We’re out of here now.”
I didn’t have a choice, except to let him pull me to feet and drag me along out of the room and into the kitchen, where I managed to snag my purse from the table on our way out. Vincent stomped outside and slammed the screen door, and then we were striding across the lawn, with me stumbling alongside him.
Neither of us said a word as we got into his car. He turned the key in the ignition and peeled away from the curb, his speed alarming me. I sat very still, clutching the edge of my seat, as he made a squealing turn and then floored the car.
“Vincent—” I began, but he quelled me with a glare.
“Not now. I don’t want to talk about this now. I just want to get home.”
“Okay. I get that. But please remember that I’m in the car with you, and I’d like both of us to get there in one piece. Having an accident isn’t going to solve anything.”
His jaw clenched, but he slowed down to a reasonable speed, and I began to relax slightly.
A few moments later, the car bumped into the driveway to his house. We both climbed out of the car without speaking. The minute he’d unlocked the door and let us in through the front door, Vincent began pacing the kitchen, running one hand through his hair.
“Fucking crazy, that’s what I am. Why the hell did I put up with that as long as I did? Why the hell did I ever go work for them in the first place? I could’ve had a job anywhere right out of pastry arts school. I could’ve worked for anyone. But no, I gave them years, working the hours they wanted and never feeling like I could fucking do one thing right.”
I sat down in a kitchen chair, feeling as though I was numb all over. “Vincent . . . the job in Philadelphia. Were you . . . were serious about that? You really had an interview there?”
He glanced at me, frowning. “Yeah. I mean, of course I was serious. Why would I joke about something like that? The guy—Peter Romano. He and his wife were here last year, before Ava’s wedding. He gave me his card and asked me to get in touch if I ever thought about leaving Cucina Felice. I didn’t do anything, not for a long time, because I thought I was—I thought this was where I belonged. But then . . .”
His voice trailed off, and he exhaled, bracing his hands on the back of the chair next to mine. “I started thinking last month. I hate how far apart we are. I want to see you more than just two or three times a month. I want to be with you all the time, Amanda. Or at least as much as we can both handle. This distance thing, it’s killing me, and I thought maybe I had a way to get around it.”
I swallowed. “But you never said anything to me about that. You never mentioned wanting us to live in the same city. I didn’t know that. We could’ve talked about it, and we could’ve figured out how to make it all work. It didn’t have to mean you giving up your job here.”
“But see, it was more than just wanting to live closer.” His brow furrowed. “It’s about needing to move ahead. If I keep working here at my family’s place, that’s all I’ll ever be—the pastry chef guy. As long as my dad is alive, I’ll be the one who makes the sweet stuff that no one cares about anyway, apparently. And then when my dad is gone, I’ll be the same for Carl, because he’ll be the one running the restaurant, and he’ll do it just like Pop. They’re the same.”
“You don’t know that. And maybe if you’d said something to them, rather than started yelling about it in the middle of a family dinner, you could’ve worked it out. I think you really hurt them, Vincent, just by the fact that you would even consider working somewhere else. I saw your dad’s face. He was devastated.”
“But what about me? What about how they hurt me, and undervalue me, and make sure I know how much they don’t need me?” He glowered. “And why do I get the feeling that you’re less than jazzed about the idea of us living in the same city? Don’t you want me to be closer? Or is it that you like your freedom, and you thought we’d just go on like this forever?”
“Of course, I didn’t think that, and of course, I would be so happy for us to live closer. Hell, if you moved to Philly, I’d want you to move in with me, not just near me. I want that, Vincent. I want us. But why didn’t you tell me? About the interview, I mean. Or even just about Mr. Romano giving you his card? This came at me out of nowhere. So yeah, just like your parents, I’m a little shocked. I feel like you hid this from me, and I don’t like that at all.”
Both of his shoulders lifted, and he threw up his hands, a gesture reminiscent of his mother. “I didn’t hide it from you. I just hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet. I had the meeting the day we went to the party with the governor, and I didn’t want to talk about it on the way there, and then after . . .” He paused, and I remembered what had happened after that party. He’d told me that he loved me for the first time, and we’d had hours of joyous celebratory sex. We hadn’t come up for air until midway through the next day.
“Okay, I get that, I guess. But you could’ve said something so many times since. We’ve talked on the phone. We’ve seen each other in person.” I shook my head. “I just don’t understand.”
“What you need to understand is that this is my decision. Mine. I’m the one who gets to decide if I want to leave my family’s restaurant and work in the city. So telling you would’ve dragged in yet another variable, and—” He glanced away from me. “What if I told you about it, and then I decided not to take the job? You would’ve been hurt. You would’ve wondered why you weren’t important enough to make me move closer to you. I didn’t want to take that risk until I’d come to a decision on my own.”
My own irritation abated slightly. I could see how Vincent had reasoned this out—I didn’t agree, but I could see it. “So when there’s something that you think might hurt me or something you don’t want to know my opinion on, you’re just not going to tell me? Is that how this relationship is going work?”
His face was impassive. “If I think it’s for the best, then, yeah. Maybe. Or maybe not, maybe that was just this one time. For fuck’s sake, Amanda, we’re not married. I can still call my own shots without running every little thing by you.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t!” I jumped to my feet, my voice climbing several decibels. “I didn’t say I wanted input. I just wanted to know. I know we’re not married, but Christ, Vincent, I’m your girlfriend. I think there are some things I have a right to know about. And this is one of them.”
“And see, this, right here, now—this is why I didn’t want a relationship. This is why I never got tangled up before. I make my own choices, and I live my own life, on my own terms, and no one gets to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. I never wanted a fucking girlfriend!”
I was silent in the wake of the words Vincent had just yelled. I didn’t know what to say. H
e’d taken something that I’d held precious—something I hadn’t realized I’d wanted until I had it—and crumpled it up, turning it into an ugly and painful accusation.
Wheeling around, I grabbed up my purse and made for the door. Part of me was silently begging Vincent to stop me, to keep me from leaving . . . to tell me that he hadn’t meant it. But he didn’t move as I re-enacted our departure from his parents’ home, slamming the door behind me as I stumbled to my car.
I’d just sunk into the seat when he came flying out of his house. “Amanda! Wait. Don’t go. I didn’t mean . . .” He stopped and raked his hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t drive when you’re upset. Just . . . just wait a minute.”
But my anger was burning bright now, and I didn’t want to stay with him another minute. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Just leave me the hell alone, Vincent. You have a good time, calling all the shots on your own. Enjoy the freedom you’ve apparently been missing.”
I swung my car door shut and turned to look behind me as I backed out of his driveway. When I ventured a glance back to the front of his house, Vincent was still standing there, hands on his hips, watching me leave.
I drove away.
Fucking idiot.
Those words echoed in my head as I watched Amanda’s car pull away from my house, from me. I heard them louder when I slowly walked back into the kitchen, into the loud stillness that reminded me I’d just chased away the only woman I’d ever loved.
“Jesus Christ!” I grabbed blindly at a glass on the counter and threw it against the wall, wincing when it shattered with a loud crash, exploding all over the floor. Great. Now I was not only miserable, I had a mess to clean up, and the action of throwing the damned glass hadn’t made me feel one bit better.
Above me, I heard the sharp click of a closing door, followed by the staccato sound of shoes coming down the stairs. A few seconds later, there was a sharp rap at my door.
“Vincent. Open this door and let me in.”
I heaved a sigh. This was what I needed. A lecture from Mrs. Literandi. Briefly, I considered the idea of ignoring her, but I knew it wouldn’t work. She was aware I was in here. There was no way she hadn’t heard Amanda and I yelling if she’d been upstairs in her own home, which apparently, she had been.
I dragged my feet to the door and opened it a crack. “Hey, Mrs. Literandi. Sorry about the noise. Everything’s okay. No need to worry.”
“Clearly that is not the case. I could hear the argument between you and that lovely young woman who’s been coming around. Now, mind you, I don’t approve of her staying the nights as I’ve noticed she has been, but still, better a nice girl like her than your typical parade of questionable females.”
Talk about digging in the knife and twisting it. “Okay, well, good talk, Mrs. Literandi. I’ll keep it down, I promise.”
“Like I said, I heard every word. And she was right, you know. The girl. You didn’t tell her about your interview because you wanted to—what is that phrase? Oh, yes—hedge your bets. If you’d told her, you would’ve felt forced into taking the job in the city or explaining to her why you didn’t. Now, from what I can tell, if you’d had a good reason for not taking it, seems to me this dear girl would’ve understood. Even if you’d told her you didn’t want to leave your family’s business—that’s a good reason. But you didn’t give her the chance to be supportive, did you?”
I shook my head mutely.
“And now, you’ve hurt her feelings.” She shook her head, clicking his tongue against her teeth. “Well, you’re going to have to grovel now, Vincent. That’s all there is to it. You’ve messed up, and now you must do your penance.”
I rubbed one hand over my hair. “I guess I do. I’m not sure I know how. I’ve never had to make up with a girl before now.”
“It’s something any man should be able to do. Believe me, you’ll have occasion to use this skill for the rest of your life. You simply admit you were wrong, apologize, and promise to try to do better in the future.” She glared at me over the top of her glasses. “And mean it. It’s worthless if you don’t mean what you say. Understand?”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Literandi peered over my shoulder. “Threw a glass, didn’t you? Well, we all act in anger at times. Now you clean that up and be careful doing it. You don’t want to cut your hand or your fingers. You have a broom and dust pan, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. I can handle it.”
“All right then. I’ll let you get to it. While you sweep, you might consider offering up a prayer of confession to the Lord and ask for His forgiveness and guidance, too. It wouldn’t hurt you a bit.”
“Okay.”
My neighbor’s expression softened a bit. “Vincent, you’re not a bad boy. You just have some things to work out. My late husband, may God rest his soul—” At this, we both crossed ourselves. “He worked in his family’s business, too. Did you know that? Hardware. And it wasn’t easy. He felt as though he could never do enough to please his father. And he thought his sister was always the favorite. Of course, then he goes and married a nun, and that about capped it for him.” She chortled. “But you know, after my father-in-law passed away, my husband and his sister were talking, and they realized that they’d both had the same feelings. All that time, she’d been feeling Hal was the favored one. And their father had left them a letter, saying that he couldn’t be any prouder of them and their hard work. So don’t you be thinking you’re the only one who has to deal with this. Family is messy, and it’s painful, and it’s hard.”
I smiled a little. My mother and father had expressed this same sentiment before.
“But it’s also worth it. Listen, you clean up that glass, and you make it up with your girl, and you talk to your parents. Make it right now, Vincent. Don’t let it fester. Don’t drag it out.”
“I will. I promise.” I held my hand as though taking an oath.
“Good. You do that.”
She wheeled on one heel and began climbing the steps back upstairs, while I shut the door quietly behind her and went in search of my broom. I had a lot of cleaning up to do. And the glass was as good a place to start as any.
Vincent: Amanda, did you get home okay?
Vincent: Seriously, just answer me. One letter. Y for yes. N for no. I’m worried about
you.
Amanda: Y
Vincent: Thanks for that. I want to talk to you. Can I call? Or I can be there, at your
door, in an hour.
Amanda: N
Vincent: Please. I need to see you.
Amanda: Vincent, I have three finals starting tomorrow. I need to focus on those right
now, so I can graduate. I don’t want to see you right now. I’m mad and I’m hurt and
you’ll just distract me.
Vincent: Okay. I understand. But please know that I’m sorry and I love you and I want to
talk this out.
Amanda: Uh huh.
I tossed down my phone with a frustrated sigh. I couldn’t blame Amanda for not wanting to see me just now. She had a right to be mad for as long as she wanted. I planned to push that issue—I wasn’t going to let her keep me away forever—but I wasn’t going to fuck up her final exams, either. She had too much riding on the line just now.
Since the glass was cleaned up, that left only one situation I could handle now. Reaching onto a nearby shelf, I took out the envelope that contained the Romanos’ offer to me, and for about the twentieth time, I read it over.
It was an excellent, tempting plan, making me an integral part of expanding their restaurant and food services branch. I’d have autonomy and input, and I’d also have a generous benefits package and salary. There was not a thing wrong with what they wanted to give me in exchange for becoming part of their team. The Romanos weren’t a big corporation or an impersonal business. They were a family.
They just weren’t mine.
The ride to my parents’ house felt longer than it ever
had, and dread grew heavier in my stomach with each passing minute. I was relieved to see that all the cars there earlier were gone; I had no desire to eat crow in front of everyone at once. I’d make apologies to the others individually.
I circled the house to go in the backdoor, as I always did. My parents were sitting on the back porch on the double glider, moving back and forth gently, holding hands. When they spotted me, they didn’t stop the motion, but I was aware of their eyes on me as I climbed the steps and leaned against the railing.
Taking a deep breath, I began. “Ma, Pop . . . I wanted to apologize for what I said this afternoon. For the way I acted. I was out of line, and I’m sorry. I hope you can both forgive me.” I ventured a glance at my father’s face, and when I saw the smile there, something deep inside me broke. My throat swelled closed, and I had to bite back tears of relief.
“What’s to forgive?” He lifted his shoulder. “We’re family. We’re Italian. We yell. We say things we don’t mean, but that doesn’t change the fact that we love each other.”
I wanted to get down on my knees, lay my head in my mother’s lap and cry like I had when I was little boy. I could still feel the soft stroke of her hand against my hair. But I stayed where I was, waiting. Listening.
“The only thing I want to make sure of, son, is that you remember the most important things.” Ma cleared her throat, and I saw a tear leak from one side of her eye. “We love you. We love all of you, no matter. You all have your moments, and you all have your faults. So do we. We get over it. But we never stop loving. We work it out.” She raised her eyes to mine. “You’re precious to us, Vincent. Not because of what you can cook or what you bring to the business, but because you are who you are, our son. We love you. We’re proud of you, all the time.”
I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear those words until my mother spoke them. I nodded, shocked to feel tears running down my own cheeks.
Just Roll With It (Perfect Dish Romances Book 4) Page 21
