by TJ Hamilton
She takes them. “Thank you, bella. Now please, call me Ma. None of this Mrs Fratelli.” She tsks.
There’s an instant familiarity I feel around her. She puts the flowers in a vase and directs Pacer to put the platters on the table outside. I stay in the kitchen and offer my help, even though I don’t have a clue what I’m doing in the kitchen. But it’s a nice change to watch Mrs Fratelli in the kitchen.
“Sure, how about you help by opening the vino,” she says with a wink. “Glasses are just back out in the bar near the balcony.”
Just as I wander back out to get some glasses, two high-pitched squeals pierce through the air, followed by the pushing and shoving of a boy and a girl, no older than five. They continue shoving one another as they rumble past in a flurry.
“Nonna!” they shriek in unison.
A woman with silky dark hair flowing all the way down to her bum balances a baby girl on her hip as she yells after the toddlers in Italian. The both of us stand, staring at one another for a moment before she smiles wide.
“Chelsea. Hi! I’m Lucia, Pacer’s sister.” She holds her free arm out for me and I hug her.
“So great to meet you.” I kiss her on either cheek, and can’t help but be drawn to the big brown eyes of her daughter. “And who is this little angel?”
“This is my little Camilla.” She holds her out to me with one hip. “Do you mind holding her for a moment while I grab the food from the car?”
“Sure,” I say as I take the little darling in my arms.
She’s a solid little cutie and looks perfect in her little white fur jacket. She stares at me through her gorgeous long dark eyelashes while I stand slightly bewildered by the bustling family already. Lucia comes back through to the kitchen with a box overflowing with bread and vegetables.
She smiles at me as she passes. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the twins that you saw race through to see Ma.”
I nod. Speech has already failed me, and this is just the beginning. Walking back through to the kitchen, I find Pacer with the little girl twin in a football grip, while he holds the wildly swinging boy twin back by his head. Pacer catches me with baby Camilla in my arms and we both stare at each other for a moment. This is weird. I feel the smile rising, but it quickly vanishes once the boy twin stomps on Pacer’s foot, causing him to yell out in pain.
“Antonio! What did I tell you in the car?” Lucia grabs his face and fires off the rest of the sentence in angry Italian.
The little boy drops his eyes. “Sorry, Mumma. But Zio …”
“Eh!” She holds her hand out to stop him and points to me.
Pacer puts the little girl down and the two come over to me, standing shyly in front of me.
“Hello, Chelsea.” The two singsong my name together.
I smile back. “Hello. What are your names?”
“Are you going to marry Uncle Pacer? My mumma wants to know,” The little girl asks while pulling at her pigtails.
Lucia holds her hand to her mouth in shock. I am now definitely speechless … and still holding a baby … in front of the man I only confessed my love to last night, with his mother and sister staring at me—this is so many levels of awkward. Holding a baby was a very bad idea. Say no to holding babies.
Lucia rushes over to me, the crimson in my face definitely obvious. She quickly takes Camilla and scowls at the twins. “Kids say the funniest things sometimes.” She mouths sorry. “This is Antonio.” She points to the curly-haired little boy. “And the one with the big mouth is Anabella.”
Anabella stretches her mouth out wide, taking her Mum’s words literally. Kids are so strange. Pacer thankfully comes over to my rescue. “How about you come and help me with the cases of wine before the others arrive.”
Others. Why do Italians have to have such big families? Like this wasn’t bad already.
He holds my hand as we walk out and the Italian gossip picks up in the kitchen the moment we’re out of sight. Pacer chuckles at whatever it is they’re saying.
“Sorry about that. The twins are a real handful,” he says as he takes out the first case of wine from the car.
I take the box from him. “Yeah, I see that,” I say, trying to find the fun in that moment. Whatever that is.
“My sister has five kids. Two older boys to her late husband, Pauly. He was a pillar of a man. We were best friends from babies.”
“Were?” Dare I ask.
“Yeah. He was murdered in front of the two older boys, Giorgie who you met the other week, and his brother, Rico. Rico’s even quieter than Giorgie. Lucia re-married and this new husband is fucking useless. She thought by marrying someone who wasn’t in the familia, she wouldn’t worry about him dying. But those brats are the result, and her life isn’t the same.” He tips his chin in the direction of the screams within the house. “Her husband doesn’t respect her. I know he treats her like shit. She comes to ma’s at least once a month, upset.”
I don’t want to tell Pacer that I read about his brother-in-law dying the other night in the archives. He needs to be the one to tell me things like this. There are probably things I know about Pauly’s murder that not even Pacer knows. But none of the words I read can ever give me the emotion of the case that Pacer just delivered. I see the hurt in his eyes, the real in the situation.
“I’m sorry about Pauly. That must be terrible for her two older sons.”
“We don’t talk about it much. Ma doesn’t like us filling the house with negative spirits. She’s had all sorts of priests in here, blessing the house and trying to lift the curse she thinks we have on our family. That’s when Lucia found her new husband.” He sighs.
“So what does her new husband do?” I follow Pacer back inside.
“He’s a computer wiz. Works for one of the investment banks in the tech department. He’s a fucking soft-cock nerd, and my sister deserves better.”
“Maybe she’s happy?” I question.
Pacer looks back at me for a moment before grinning. “Does she look happy to you?”
I shrug. “Maybe the kids just stress her out?”
“Always defending someone.” He shakes his head as he drops the boxes down next to the bar, in the large lounge area.
Just when I thought the house couldn’t be any more Italian … It looks as if every Italian designer has puked their entire fabric collection all over the furniture and carpet. I instantly recognise the patterns of Versace and Moschino on the cushions. A golden Versace circular floor rug sits in the centre of the room with a marble coffee table on top. More Versace medusa heads on vases and coffee table books on Italian designers are stacked around the coffee table. If Mrs Fratelli was keeping it all in theme, then I’m pretty certain the leopard print in the curtains and arm chairs would have to be Dolce & Gabbana.
“Ma likes Versace.” Pacer smiles.
“Couldn’t tell,” I joke.
He laughs too. I wonder what his house is like? If it’s anything like his treetop love-nest, then he does have some taste.
Holding his gloved finger to his mouth to shush me, Pacer takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to the lower level of the house. This level leads down to a boathouse and jetty. There are always two kinds of rich families in the city—those who live on hills and those who live on the water’s edge. I don’t know what it would be like to live on the water, but I could always tell the boys who came from harbour-side mansions. They drove boats. Boats are hot.
Pacer points to the boathouse down a pathway … and they have boathouses.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Pacer wiggles the latch of the boathouse door and it opens. We both grin at each other, like a couple of naughty schoolkids. Once inside, Pacer pushes me against the door as he closes it. Sliding his gloved hand under my sweater and shirt, he finds my already hard nipple in my bra. The coldness of the leather feels so sexy against my skin. I yearn to feel it against my clit. Unbuttoning my jeans, I push them down my thighs. Pacer’s wandering hands pause for a mome
nt. His eyes meet mine and he smirks. His sex appeal and leather glove have me bamboozled. I turn into a super-charged sex fiend.
Running my fingers around the back of his hair, I pull him to me and kiss. We kiss hard, and we kiss hot. Taking Pacer’s hand that’s been merrily flicking at my nipple, I direct it down to my sodden underwear. The coldness of the leather hits my clit and my knees weaken. As he makes circles around it, the leather lightly catches against my skin, making me flinch from the delicious vibrations it fires off every time it happens.
The leather feels hard against my sex. I want that coldness inside me, before we have to stop. My squirming doesn’t go unnoticed, and his gloved finger squeaks its way inside me. I’ll never tire from the feeling I get every time the leather grabs at my skin. The juddering is like little earthquakes inside me. It’s an incredible feeling. He pulls his gloved finger out slowly, and a whimpering moan sizzles out of me.
The leather of his glove always feels foreign and hard compared to his naked finger. I love the feeling of it. I want it. He drives his gloved finger in and out of me, the leather rubbing against my skin again and again. I can feel my orgasm building, the deep pulsing forcing my legs to strain stiff and straight.
His leather catches against my clit and my knee quivers. Just one. That quiver spreads the next time I feel leather brush past my lips again. The leather is warm now, absorbing all my juices. His leather glove slides around my sex with lubricated ease. His presses his palm hard against my clit as his finger punishes me underneath with fast strokes. The eruption reaches its breaking point and I moan a little louder than intended.
“Shhhh.” He kisses me to muffle my involuntary sounds.
I kiss him back as the full force of my orgasm takes over. The heat from my body is trapped in my head and my face feels flushed.
He slows his finger and gently cups me, rubbing the gloves against the lips of my sex. My body trembles as I come down from the climax.
We grin at each other for a moment before I realise that he’s missed out on the pleasure. “Your turn?” My fingers find their way to the top of his pants.
“I got plenty out of that, don’t worry.” He grins through his words. “I love watching you squirm with pleasure.”
“Pleasure is an understatement. Those gloves are a direct link with the celestial.” My breath is still heavy as I speak.
We laugh together and Pacer slips his glove from my underwear. I re-button my jeans as he opens the door to the boathouse, and I wipe the beading across my brow. His nephew, who drove us to the seaplane, casually strolls down the jetty, smoking a cigarette.
“Mum and Nonna sent me to find you.” He looks completely unbothered by what he was about to walk in to, so hopefully he’s oblivious to it.
“Found us,” Pacer replies, lighting a cigarette. “Giorgie, you remember Chelsea.”
He nods. “How’s it going?”
Feeling a little flushed in the face, I try my best to hide it. “Good to see you again.”
“Are you ready for this?” I see a hint of a smirk.
Holding onto my hand, Pacer squeezes. “He’s just messing with you. Ma and Lucia are about the worst of it.”
Walking back up the sloping lawn, Lucia is placing small vases of flowers on top of the long trestle table. The twins run frantically around on the lawn next to her. The sound of voices inside is louder than before; there must be more of the family here.
“There you are. I just need a hand dressing the table.” I don’t know if she’s talking to me or Pacer, so I grab some wine glasses from the box on a chair just to be safe.
“I’ll go and help upstairs.” Pacer and Giorgie both head inside.
We decorate the long wooden table with posies of flowers, wine glasses and bottles of wine, lots of bottles of wine. The three huge antipasto platters are the beautiful centrepiece, giving a gorgeous rustic Italian feel to it all.
“So your Dad’s the judge, John Tanner?” I know exactly why Lucia’s asking me.
Not only did he sentence her Dad before he was murdered, but he put her husband behind bars when she was heavily pregnant with her second son. I know so many intimate details about this family, but try to act as unaware of it as much as I can.
I nod and try not to be fazed by her question. “Retired Judge.”
Lucia doesn’t look me in the eye. She doesn’t seem as approving of me as Pacer’s Mum.
“You’re not the first person to question why Pacer and I are together, and I’m sure you won’t be the last,” I add. “But I really like your brother.”
She nods. “He really likes you too. Being involved with this family isn’t going to be easy for you.”
“And being involved with my family isn’t going to be easy for you, either,” I fire back.
She looks up at me from across the table. “So your folks. They’re okay with you and Pacer, then?”
Her interrogation doesn’t waiver me. I shake my head, but offer a smile. “They were never going to be okay with it. I was prepared for that though. I was hoping your family weren’t going to be as sceptical.” I place the cutlery down on the table. “I’m risking a lot to be with Pacer. My family, career … everything. It could all blow up in my face.”
“Then why risk it?”
Is Lucia’s outlook on love jaded by her own experiences?
“Because. Love.” My whole face beams with an uncontrollable happiness at the thought of how in love I am with her brother, despite everything that’s being thrown at us.
Her smile matches mine and she giggles. “Ah, I’ve forgotten what that feels like.”
I continue setting out the rest of the cutlery. The table is set for eighteen. That’s one big family. I’ve had big dinner parties at Dolorous, but when it comes to family gatherings, we’re lucky to have five of us in attendance.
“Just for the record, I’ve never seen my brother this happy before.” She winks.
Did I just pass my first Fratelli cross-examination?
***
My mouth is sore from smiling and my head feels fuzzy from the full glass of red wine that keeps appearing in front of me. When an Italian tells you that it’s going to be an intense day, you really do have something to be nervous about. The discussions in Italian are loud and passionate, the food seems to be endless and the clinking of glasses is the soundtrack to it all—along with the crooning Dean Martin who continuously sings in the background.
I haven’t ever felt so welcomed into a family as I do here. Pacer’s two Aunts have asked me about all the details of Pacer and I meeting. I’m sure they read it all in the newspapers, but I’m happy to relive every moment again. His Uncle was so excited to see me a second time, but insulted that I haven’t been back to his restaurant since I was there over a week ago, and I’ve even managed to stir a handful of words out of his quiet nephew, Rico. Pacer has remained at the helm of the BBQ all day, pausing only when we catch sight of each other through the crowded gathering. My heart’s rhythm skips every time. I’ve always wondered what a true sense of family felt like, and today feels like no greater definition.
Pacer’s cousin Franco sits down beside me. He’s a taller and rougher version of his father, Carlo.
“So how’s Pacer’s case looking? He tells me you think he’ll get off all these charges?” It’s the first work-related conversation I’ve had all day.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m pretty confident it will all be cleared up soon.”
It reminds me about Jackson Reed. I need to find a way to get to him. I watch Franco for a moment, and decide that I’ll touch the subject to see if he’s willing to offer more information on the man than his cousin.
“There’s a couple of things that have popped up, and I’m not sure how to approach it with Pacer.” I watch Franco’s eyes. They flick to Pacer, who is occupied by the BBQ and his Uncle. “It’s about Jackson Reed.”
He shifts in his seat and grabs the bottle of red wine in front of him. Topping my glass up and pourin
g his own, he turns his attention back to me.
“Tell me more,” he says as he sips the wine.
“All the investigations on Pacer have documents missing. I don’t know why, or what significance they have to the investigations. I just find it strange that they’ve vanished … into thin air.”
“And what do you think Reed has to do with that?”
Looking towards Pacer, I catch him frowning at me with Franco, but I grin to conceal the seriousness of our conversation.
“I’ve managed to trace who was in contact with the paperwork last, which alone took a lot of digging. But what I found was those detectives in charge worked directly with Reed during Pacer’s trials.”
“Interesting,” Franco coolly replies.
Something tells me he knew all of this already.
“Why did Reed have this information removed? Was it to keep information on Pacer? Information that could put him in prison? Why?” The questions fire off in succession.
“These are things that you need to discuss with Pacer. But let me warn you, Pacer was dead against you being involved in any of this.” He takes a gulp from his wine to finish it, and gets out of his seat. “It sounds to me like you know quite a lot already.”
Franco has confirmed everything I already thought. There is more to Pacer and Jackson than just a crook and a QC. There is something between them that I need to find out.
A female singer blasts from the house’s speakers and Pacer’s Mum comes out, arms waving as she yells something in Italian. All the women clap and grab their disgruntled men for an impromptu dance on the terrace. Pacer grins and takes my hand, leading me to the coupled dancers, swaying in their embraces.
He guides me in a gentle dance together. “This is nice,” he says and kisses my forehead.
I nod. “It’s more than nice.”
“No, I mean it’s nice to not be dancing with one of my nieces or Aunts for once.”
It makes me laugh and he pulls me tighter to him. For the first time since the boatshed, I finally feel as if we’re alone, even though we’re amongst the bodies cocooning us.
