Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  Rosalie knew she shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty; she hadn’t meant to hurt him. He’d made the mess to begin with. If he’d only come clean. . .

  The door swung open, and Nick walked in. She wasn’t even going to think about the feeling of utter relief that washed over her when she saw him. She also chose to ignore the urge to run to him and wrap her arms around his unbelievably sexy, albeit sweaty, body. He pulled off the Polar fleece jacket, revealing a wet T-shirt clinging to his chest. To think she used to drool over the pond scene in Pride & Prejudice. Even Colin Firth, with his soulful eyes, sexy voice, and to die for English accent, had nothing on a sweaty Nick.

  He walked into the kitchen and pulled a water out of the fridge. He held her gaze but said nothing as he twisted the cap off, and without breaking eye contact, drank the whole thing. He tossed the bottle in the recycling bin, walked toward her, and lifted her off her feet.

  She found herself clinging to him as he walked backward to the bathroom, all the while kissing her in a way that made all thought impossible. Well, not all thought, just all thought that wasn’t explicitly sexual.

  “Nick, I need my car.” Rosalie checked her watch. Shit, she was already late.

  Nick rolled over in bed looking so damn appealing, she was tempted to call her mother and tell her she’d had a relapse.

  “No, you don’t. Take mine.”

  “I can’t take yours.”

  “Why not? Don’t you know how to drive a stick?”

  “I know how to drive a stick; that’s not the issue. The problem is that it’s your car.”

  “Yeah, I think we’ve established that.”

  “What if you need it?”

  “Why would I need it? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Not unless you want me to.”

  Oh, no, she wasn’t going to touch that one with a hockey stick and protective gear.

  She fluffed her wet hair. If she were any later, she would risk a slew of questions. She had to leave right that minute.

  “Where are your keys?”

  “In my jacket pocket—the one you had on this morning. It’s in the closet.”

  “I didn’t put it in the closet.”

  “I know.” He climbed out of bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Drive safe. Call me if you have any problems or need anything.”

  “Right. Um, okay. ’Bye.” She didn’t know what came over her, but she kissed him good-bye, an honest to goodness “See you later, honey” kiss. Now, a different person would be fine with that, but neither of them were into domestic scenes. Still, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed her, too.

  Focusing on the kiss the whole way to her parents’ house helped her keep from overanalyzing the symbolism of driving his car. She knew he probably had a lot of cars, literally parking lots full, but still, she’d never dated a guy who let her drive his car.

  She parked on the street two houses down from her parents’ and took a deep breath before climbing the steps. The door opened before she hit the top.

  “Where did you get that car? It’s hot. Is it the rebound guy’s car?”

  “Hi, Annabelle. I’m fine. How are you?”

  “You know, busy. I’m making wedding plans and trying to spend time with Johnny, but he’s been working a lot. This is his busy season.”

  Rosalie pictured Johnny rubbing his hands together with one of his smarmy grins on his face. It was not pretty. The man was so pale that he looked like a corpse. Actually, now that she thought about it, he kind of looked like a cross between Count Dracula and Danny Aiello— only heavier and with bad teeth. “I didn’t realize morticians had busy seasons.”

  “Oh, yeah. I swear, they practically pray for a flu epidemic. It’s kinda sick when you think about it.”

  “Now there’s an understatement.”

  “Anyway, he says he’ll get them all in the end. Everybody dies.”

  “And on that happy note, where are Mama and Papa?”

  Rosalie set her purse on the table by the door and checked out the hair situation, hoping it had dried on the way over. She’d had the heat blasting. Damn! She looked like the recipient of a botched home permanent or a poodle way overdo for a trip to the groomer. She had a feeling the day would head downhill from there, which was a scary thought.

  “Ma and Aunt Rose are in the kitchen. Johnny and Papa are watching TV.”

  “Hockey?” She hung her coat on the hall tree.

  “No, synchronized swimming. Of course, hockey. They’re watching the pregame stuff; you know, the male version of Oprah.”

  They walked through the empty living room and into the dining room. Rosalie gave herself a mental head slap. She should have asked Nick to tape the game for her. “Yeah, I like the part where Dr. Phil discusses their feelings about the fight in last night’s game. Stay tuned for a very special Sports Talk—The Cause of Unnecessary Roughness.”

  They passed the dining table. There was no food out, but at least it was set.

  “Rosalie, is that you?” She heard her mother call from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Ma,” she answered and whispered to Annabelle, “Are you helping Mama?”

  “As little as possible. She’s in a mood.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  “She and Aunt Rose have their heads together, and you know what a nightmare it is when the two of them are in cahoots.”

  “Yeah, if only they’d use all that power for good instead of evil.”

  Her mother yelled again. “Rosalie? Come in here. What? I have to do everything myself? I didn’t spend eighteen years teaching you to run a house for no reason.” She rushed into the dining room, set the antipasti down, wiped her hands on her apron, and gave Rosalie the once-over. “You’ve still got bags under your eyes. You need more sleep. And for Pete’s sake, do something with that mop.”

  “What does it matter what my hair looks like?”

  “What? You need a special occasion to look presentable?”

  Rosalie had a bad feeling. Whenever her mother brought up her appearance, there was a reason—one having to do with her lack of a wedding date, a marriage partner, or interest in either. “Ma? What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I did nothing.”

  “You tell me what you did, or I’m leaving right now.”

  Mama turned and went back into the kitchen. Rosalie followed, with Annabelle on her heels. God forbid Annabelle should miss the show.

  Mama checked the roast in the oven. “Come. Time to eat. If we don’t sit down, my roast is going to be overcooked.”

  “I’m not moving until you tell me what is going on.”

  Mama did the breast-pounding thing again and said a prayer to the Virgin Mother under her breath. Aunt Rose arrived carrying an empty beer bottle. She must have been upstairs in the den telling Papa and Johnny to come down.

  She looked at Mama, then at Rosalie. “What happened? Someone die?”

  Annabelle got a wineglass, filled it, and leaned against the counter. “Not yet, but there’s still time. Mama was just going to tell Rosalie that Joey Manetti is coming to dinner.”

  Before Rosalie could lay into Mama, Papa came in. “What’s going on here? Rose told me supper’s ready. There’s no food on the table. What am I to eat? Plastic?”

  Annabelle laughed. “There’s enough of it out there. The tablecloth, the seat covers . . .”

  Rosalie looked at Mama and then at Papa. She couldn’t decide which one she wanted to strangle first. “Hi, Pop. What’s new?” He was waiting for his kiss. He wasn’t going to get one.

  The doorbell rang. Mama had the dish towel wrung tight between her hands. “That’s Joey. Annabelle, get the door and keep your mouth shut. Rosalie, you be nice to Joey. He’s a guest.”

  Annabelle grumbled about always missing all the good stuff and stalked off. Rosalie took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice down. “Mama, how dare you invite Joey ov
er. You know I’m seeing someone else.”

  Papa looked at Mama. “Maria?”

  “A cafone. You’re seeing an animal.”

  “I’m seeing a nice man who treats me well and respects what I do, unlike Joey. He even takes me out to nice places. As a matter of fact, Thursday night he took me to Pane e Vino in Nolita. You and Papa should go when Pop isn’t too busy . . . working.”

  Papa’s eyes bulged. Blood drained from his face. He grabbed the chair beside him. Rosalie wondered if he was going to fall over. That might have gotten her out of dinner, especially if he’d hit his head on the corner of the table and required stitches.

  Mama was too busy wringing her hands to notice Papa’s shock. Who would have thought olive skin could change color so quickly? Papa turned the color of that grayish stuff Rosalie used to fill nail holes in the wall. It was probably a good thing Mama was stewing in her own juices. If she’d seen him, she’d have called 911. He looked about ready to pass out, but Rosalie couldn’t summon any pity. The way she looked at it, he was lucky Nick had kept her from going after him with the champagne bottle.

  Aunt Rose didn’t miss a thing, though she kept her mouth shut, which, when Rosalie thought about it, was even scarier than if she’d screamed and smacked someone upside the head. She surveyed the situation and, as usual, took charge. They didn’t call her “The Colonel” for nothing.

  “Maria, you go make nice with Joey. I don’t know what you were thinking inviting him, but now we have to make the best of it.”

  Mama shot one last scathing look at Rosalie and rushed out of the room.

  Papa took a deep breath and straightened. His face, which had been gray a second ago, turned red. Rosalie hadn’t seen him look like that since the day after she’d gotten her learner’s permit, took the car out by herself, and hit a police cruiser.

  Rose pushed past Rosalie to get to the stove. “I’m going to take the roast out of the oven so it doesn’t end up tasting like cardboard. Paulie, take this pasta to the dining room and sit down.” She handed him the bowl. “We don’t need you getting in our way. Rosalie, you stay and help make gravy.”

  Rosalie shut her mouth and did as she was told while Aunt Rose pulled the roast out of the oven and placed it on a plate before deglazing the roasting pan with wine.

  She took a deep breath and continued. “It isn’t easy being your mother. She don’t know what she don’t know, and she don’t know you. You go your own way; you always did. She tries to make you go her way. She thinks what she’s doing is right. She does her best. She worries about you.”

  Rosalie gathered the ingredients for gravy. “I know.”

  Aunt Rose continued to scrape the drippings with a wooden spoon. She pulled the spoon out of the pan and pointed it at Rosalie, swinging it back-and-forth, splattering everything in the area. “When you go out there and eat, be polite and forgive your mama for what she’s done.”

  “Okay.” Man, the way that woman wielded a spoon, who needed guns?

  “And leave your papa alone. You already said what you needed to say.”

  She handed Rosalie the spoon to continue with the gravy and picked up a knife.

  Rosalie took a deep breath and a step back—the woman was a menace with a spoon, with a knife she was downright terrifying. “Aunt Rose, I know.”

  Rose crossed herself and looked up to heaven. “Yeah, so do I.”

  “You know?”

  Aunt Rose nodded as she scraped the knife against the sharpening steel. “When men get to be a certain age, they do something stupid. Some buy an expensive sports car; some buy a toupee. Your father, he has all his hair, and he can’t afford a second car.”

  “But Aunt Rose. . .”

  She pointed the knife at Rosalie and shook it. “You stay out of it, Rosalie. No good can come from getting in the middle of something that has nothing to do with you.”

  “But Mama—”

  Aunt Rose made a slashing gesture with the knife, effectively cutting off the rest of the argument. Rosalie stepped back. Aunt Rose looked as if she’d been one of The Three Musketeers in a past life.

  “Your mama made her own bed years ago. She’s content to sleep in it. Who are we to judge? Wait until you’re married, you’ll see.”

  “Oh, yeah, like that’s going to happen. I’m never getting married.”

  “That’s what you think. I see the man you’ll marry. You’ll be married within the year.”

  “I see you’re crazy. Why would I do something stupid like that?”

  “Amore, Putto, Cupido. You can’t run from your fate, and you can’t stop it. Love dumbs you up, takes your eyesight, and changes you. You could get a little dumber. You’re too smart for your own good. You always were. You take after me.”

  Good Lord, Rosalie hoped not. She watched Aunt Rose slice the meat in perfect thin slices and stayed well away from her. “Yeah, well, you’re wrong, old lady.”

  “You think calling me what I am is going to change your stars, you’re the crazy one.” She picked up the roast and carried it into the dining room. Rosalie was left stirring the gravy and contemplating slipping out the backdoor.

  “Okay, Rosalie.” Annabelle strode in. “Things are getting tense out there. Mama’s wringing her hands, and Pop looks as if he wants to kill someone. Joey’s nervous. Even Johnny’s starting to shake. You better get out there.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the smart one in the family. You’ll think of something.”

  “Bring out more wine. That might help. And for God’s sake, take that knife away from Aunt Rose. We don’t need weapons at the table.”

  “Good point.”

  Rosalie filled the gravy boat, grabbed the ladle on her way to the dining room, and took a deep breath. Someday she’d laugh about this. Not now, but someday.

  “Gravy’s done.” Rosalie set it on the table.

  Joey jumped out of his chair. “Hi, Rosalie. It’s nice to see you.”

  He pulled out the chair for her; of course, it was the chair next to Johnny the Octopus. She looked up into Joey’s eager face and mentally winced. What was she supposed to do? Lie and say it was nice to see him, too? Nope, she couldn’t stomach it.

  “Thanks.” She smiled and sat. “Hi, Johnny.”

  Johnny never stopped stuffing his face full of pasta. He nodded with spaghetti still hanging out of his mouth. God, how did Annabelle put up with such a pig?

  Aunt Rose gave Johnny the evil eye. “Johnny De Palma. What? Were you raised by wolves? Don’t your people say grace?”

  “Sure. Before we eat. But I’m already on the second course.”

  “We wait until everyone is seated to say grace and eat nothing until the food is blessed.”

  Johnny looked around and saw he was the only one eating. He shrugged and put down his fork and spoon.

  Grace was said, and Joey stuffed his face after a fast “Amen,” not even bothering to make the sign of the cross. Mama passed Rosalie the pasta, puttanesca. How appropriate that she’d made a dish that, if translated into English, would be whore’s pasta. Rosalie assumed it was a not-so-subtle hint. She put about one-tenth of what she wanted on her plate. It was all she could do to ignore the urge to eat right out of the damn serving bowl. The pressure was killing her.

  Rosalie watched Joey, who sat across from her, between Papa at the head of the table and Annabelle. She didn’t know how she’d spent two years looking at Joey’s face. Not that anything was wrong with it, but it was suddenly annoying, and that was before he opened his big mouth.

  Aunt Rose told her she was getting dumber—ha! Joey was living proof that Aunt Rose was wrong. The smartest thing Rosalie had ever done was refuse to marry Joey. Of course, since meeting Nick, the title “the idiot” had replaced Joey’s name in her thoughts. She could see Nick in thirty years asking, “You remember the idiot you used to date before you met me?”

  Rosalie dropped her fork and spoon at the same time. The cl
atter made everyone jump. Oh, God! What was she thinking?

  “Sorry.” She reached across the table—she knew it was bad manners, but hey, these were desperate times— grabbed the wine bottle, and filled her glass.

  Damn, why couldn’t her family get with the program and serve wine like the rest of the world? In wineglasses with stems. Italian wineglasses were what everyone else refer to as juice glasses. They don’t hold enough to deal with a dinner like this. Maybe that was why Italians had the world’s lowest rate of alcoholism—stingy wine glasses.

  Rosalie downed her wine and would have refilled the thimble-sized glass, if Aunt Rose hadn’t been staring. Rosalie heard Aunt Rose’s voice in her head. “Drink all the wine you want, little girl. It’s not going to change your stars. It’s only going to show you how dumb you can be. Salute.”

  Hearing Aunt Rose’s voice as clear as if she’d spoken was enough to cause nightmares. She gave Rosalie a knowing smile.

  Johnny nodded toward Joey. “Hey, Joey, what are you doing here?”

  Johnny must have swallowed the huge amount of pasta he’d stuffed into his mouth. Either that, or he was talking with his mouth full, which would have surprised no one.

  “I thought Rosalie dumped you. Are you trying to get her back?”

  Joey wiped his mouth before answering. “She didn’t dump me. We’ve decided to take a break.”

  Rosalie didn’t correct him. She hoped he was only saying that to save face and wasn’t delusional. But in either case, it was no longer her problem.

  Johnny laughed. “It sounds like a permanent break to me. The guy she’s dating let her drive his brand-new Mustang. You see what I’m saying?”