by Lauren Layne
She searched for words. “I—”
He turned away, swearing. “Sorry.” The apology was gruff. “I shouldn’t throw your family issues in your face like that.”
But he shouldn’t be the one apologizing, and they both knew it. “Luc—”
He turned around quickly, his gaze sharp, and Ava realized he was responding to her use of his first name. She’d used it before. But this time felt different.
Because this time, she was thinking about him as a person instead of the story subject that could make or break her career.
She moved closer, and taking a risk, put her hand on his arm. “I’m not here to sell you out. Or your family.”
His eyes flitted briefly to her fingers against his arm, and she swore she wasn’t imagining that the air around them grew hot, even in the cool spring breeze.
A loud horn noise made her jump, and Luc took a quick step back, killing the moment. “Ferry’s here,” he said gruffly. “And it looks like Anthony’s on the same boat as us.”
She followed his gaze to the tall, gorgeous guy who watched them approach with a scowl. Good looks definitely ran in the family. So did the go-fuck-yourself scowl.
“Anthony can be irritable; try not to piss him off,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Sure, I’ll just tape my mouth shut,” she snapped, all warm feelings of before evaporating.
For a second, he looked hopeful. “That’s an option?”
She gave him a withering look before pasting a smile on her face for Luc’s older brother. Up close, the family resemblance was startling. Anthony’s eyes were brown instead of Luc’s deep blue, and he was taller by a couple of inches. But there was the same strong jawline, the same broad shoulders and sculpted torso.
Anthony Moretti was gorgeous.
“You’re staring,” Luc whispered in her ear.
Ava jumped, holding out a hand to Anthony.
He glanced down at it in amusement before giving his brother a look she couldn’t decipher. Only then did he shake her hand. “You’re the Sims woman.”
Luc rolled his eyes. “Nice, bro.”
Anthony shrugged, looking her over. “You know, I was trying to figure out how the hell you finagled an invitation to family dinner, but I think I get it now.”
The look Luc gave his brother was lethal. “Seriously.”
Ava smiled. “It’s all right. I came prepared. I’ve seen you in action. It makes sense that your brothers share your same…charm.”
Anthony’s eyebrows crept up. “Luca, do my ears deceive me? Is there actually a woman alive who hasn’t fallen all over herself in love with you?”
“Trust me,” Ava said before Luc could respond. “That is definitely not the case.”
Anthony smiled then, slow and sexy. And practiced, if Ava was reading it right. He offered her his arm. “Well then, Ms. Sims. Come. Walk with me. I think I like you already.”
“That makes one of us,” Luc muttered from behind them.
But when Ava glanced over her shoulder at Luc, he didn’t look as irritated as his words implied.
Instead he looked thoughtful.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was a weird thing, watching your sexy enemy join forces with the people most dear to you.
Ava had all but charmed the pants off Anthony on the ferry ride over to Staten Island. Anthony, whose condescending, big-brother routine practically seeped out of his pores. Anthony, whose volatile temper and legendary glare had sent more than a handful of rookies to therapy.
Anthony who distrusted all women, everywhere.
Except, apparently, Ava Sims.
By the time they’d gotten to his parents’ house, Luc was grinding his teeth, and Anthony was in all-out charm mode (which Luc hadn’t even known was a thing), and Ava was practically simpering.
To punish her, he’d nearly left her in Anthony’s oh-so-doting care for the evening. That would show her.
But then Luc had seen it. He’d seen her, with the sassy layers stripped away.
It happened when Anthony opened the front door, and just as Luc was inhaling the familiar aromas of his mother’s cooking, he caught Ava’s expression out of the corner of his eye.
She hesitated, her bright, ever-present smile slipping, and she’d looked lost and completely unsure of herself.
Her description of her family flitted through his mind. After meeting Miranda, Luc had been hoping the bad vibes with her sister had been a fluke.
But the tension in her shoulders when she’d talked about her family looked decades old.
In other words, the Sunday dinner that had always felt like coming home to him was completely foreign to her.
Luc mentally sighed. He wanted to leave her to the sharks.
To let her sink or swim as she went about interviewing his family, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, stalking his baby pictures to see if he fixed the wings of baby birds, or something she could use for her stupid hero story.
Her finger fiddled with the sleeve of her cardigan, as a loud burst of laughter came from the kitchen. White teeth nibbled nervously on the corner of her bottom lip, and Luc broke.
Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out a hand to her.
Ava blinked in surprise, staring in confusion at his outstretched hand. When her eyes lifted to his, they were confused and wary.
“Come on, Sims, it’s just a bit of kindness,” he said, intentionally keeping his voice light. “You’re about to be sucked into the Moretti vortex.”
“Is the rest of your family as cranky as you?”
Luc frowned. “You still think I’m cranky?”
“I think if there was a boarding school for personality makeovers, you’d probably get a scholarship.”
He let out a little laugh before wiggling his fingers. “Sweetheart, I’ll have you know that I’m the charming one of my family.”
She frowned. “Anthony was lovely.”
“I assure you. He’s not. Vincent’s worse, my sister’s a pain in the ass, my mom will probably ask to measure your hips and utter the word womb at some point during the evening, and my father was the New York Police Commissioner for twenty-seven years, which pretty much says it all.”
“And what are you?”
“Your savior for the evening.”
“Well all right then.” She slipped her hand in his, and the sensation of her fingers against his was oddly calming.
He ignored it, tugging her down the hall toward the kitchen, which had always been the heart of his parents’ household.
Luc meant to release Ava’s hand before entering the kitchen. No need to give anyone—especially Ava—the wrong impression.
But somehow his fingers didn’t release when he meant them to, and when they walked into the kitchen, the usual fighting, laughing, and yelling tapered off so there was only Nonna at the counter muttering about how her daughter-in-law “still couldn’t cut tomatoes for the life of her.”
Ava quickly tugged her hand away, but not before his entire family had seen exactly what was going on. It was times like this that being part of a family of cops sucked. They missed nothing.
And while his mother’s experience in law enforcement had been as a dispatcher, she was a mom. Her observation skills put her cop husband and sons to shame.
At least when it came to her flock.
“Bambino,” his mom said, giving him a beaming smile before holding her arms to the sides.
“Ma.” He moved toward her, kissing both cheeks.
“Bambino?” Ava asked.
“Baby,” Vincent translated from the corner of the room where he stood with his back leaned against the wall. His serious face as unreadable as ever as he studied the newcomer.
“Luca’s the youngest of the family,” Elena explained, moving toward Ava and swooping her into a hug.
“Oh!” Ava said in surprise before giving his sister an awkward pat on the back. Luc almost grinned at her discomfort. Ava appar
ently wasn’t a hugger, which Luc didn’t find all that surprising. For all her bright smiles and talk-to-me! expressions, the woman had a veritable force field around her.
“Yeah, we do that,” his mother said, explaining the hug, even as she followed up her daughter’s hug with one of her own. “We like to blame it on the Italian, but mostly we’re just pushy.”
“You guys, um, know me, right? Know what I’m doing here?” Ava said, shooting Luc a nervous glance.
He responded by going to the sideboard and pouring them both a liberal dose of wine. They were going to need it.
“That you’re showing the world just what kind of man my son is? Of course we know. We couldn’t be more thrilled.” This from Tony Moretti.
Luc closed his eyes briefly, jarring only slightly when a big hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Hi, Dad.”
“Son.”
His father’s fingers squeezed on his shoulders, and although Luc knew the gesture was fatherly…protective…it was also a warning. Not to say too much. Not in front of her.
Then his dad moved away from him, descending on Ava with a broad, genuine smile before he, too, kissed both of her cheeks.
Good God, was the woman blushing?
What was it with her and the Moretti men?
Was she enamored with all of them except him?
Luc hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was the charming one. Well, he and Marco.
But Marc was in another time zone, and his two Moretti brothers that were here had the gruff, growly kind of vibe that didn’t appeal to vivacious, straightforward women like Ava.
Unless he was wrong.
Too late, he realized that his mom was threatening her with a tour of the house and an invitation to come stay with them any time.
Jesus.
“Ma, how about some introductions before you start monogramming her a towel?”
He moved beside Ava to hand her the wine he’d poured. She accepted it with a murmured thanks, and the normal thing to do would have been to step back.
He stayed where he was.
“Ava, these women who ambushed you are my mother, Maria, and my sister Elena. The grump in the corner with the social skills of an eggplant is my brother Vincent. Then there’s my dad, Tony, his namesake, Anthony, whom you’ve already met.”
“Forgetting someone, bambino?”
“Just saving the best for last, Nonna. That old crone cutting tomatoes is my grandmother. Her name’s Teresa, but I’m pretty sure she’ll insist you call her—”
“Nonna,” his grandmother proclaimed, pointing the knife in Ava’s direction for emphasis. “And it was my idea to invite you. Remember that when you’re deciding who to give the most screen time to in your little TV special.”
“Wait, is you inviting me supposed to be a good thing?” Ava asked. “Because jury’s still out on all of this.”
Nonna snickered. “I like this one. She doesn’t smooch my butt like half the girls you bring round here.”
Ava lifted her eyebrows. “Other girls, hmm?”
His eyes locked on hers.
Her tone had been joking, but the way she’d phrased it had seemed distinctly couple-minded. If the hand-holding hadn’t set his family into a tizzy, this would.
And they didn’t even know about a certain two dozen white roses.
“Nonna, what are you doing to the tomatoes?” his mother demanded, pressing her palm heels to her temples. “You’re mangling them.”
“Posh. You never do a good job of releasing the juices.”
“Those ‘juices’ are all over my floor.”
“So I’ll clean it.”
“You’re eighty-two.”
“But I do yoga, which is more than I can say about some people—”
The Moretti siblings exchanged an exacerbated glance. Their argument over tomatoes was pretty standard.
And if it wasn’t tomatoes it was the brand of ricotta Ma bought, or that Nonna oversalted the pasta water, et cetera, et cetera.
Luc’s mom had been born in Italy and, although she’d only lived there until she was two, considered herself real Italian.
Unlike Nonna who only had a long-lasting marriage to the late Rico Moretti.
Still, Nonna didn’t let a little thing like genetics undermine her authority.
And when it came to cooking methods, the animosity between his mother and grandmother was mighty.
“What’s going on?” Ava whispered.
“If you’re wondering if they’re going to kill each other…maybe…” Luc’s father said, not looking the least bit perturbed by the escalating argument between his wife and mother.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Elena said, wiggling her way between Ava and Luc and linking arms with Ava. “I never get any girl company. Except when Jill joins us.”
“There are more of you?” Ava looked ready to pass out, although no doubt she was just peeved that there was a player that her research hadn’t uncovered.
“Jill is Vincent’s partner,” Elena said with a nod toward Vin. “She joins us for dinner whenever she and Vin aren’t fighting.”
“Which is never,” Vincent said, finally pushing away from the wall and snagging an olive from the charcuterie board. “The woman’s a menace.”
“Ah, so all of the Moretti men are good with the ladies then,” Ava said with a pointed look at Luc.
“Oh God, no,” Elena said, missing Ava’s sarcasm. “Vincent’s lucky to get through a first date without a woman breaking into tears. Not even kidding. And Anthony’s got that tall, brooding thing happening that women think they want, but then he remembers that he’s married to the job, and he forgets his girlfriends’ names at inopportune moments—”
“That happened once,” Anthony broke in with a warning finger pointed at Elena. “And you know I was in the middle of that Weedleton case.”
“Yawn,” Elena shot back. “No cop talk at dinner, remember?”
“Is that even possible?” Ava murmured.
No, Luc thought to himself.
“No,” Elena said with a sigh.
“So you were never tempted to go into the family business?” Ava asked, taking a sip of wine.
Luc nearly smiled. The reporter was definitely still there under all her pretty manners.
“Hell no,” Elena said. “For starters, Dad wouldn’t let me, because he lives in the Middle Ages—”
“Because he loves his only daughter,” Tony corrected.
“But it’s never been my dream job anyway,” she continued.
“What is?” Ava asked politely.
Elena shot a cheeky grin at the men of her family. “I’m an attorney. Defense.”
Luc watched as Ava’s lips pursed. Her research already had revealed Elena’s career, but he could tell she was just now putting together the pieces of what Elena’s job meant for family dynamics:
Four brothers and a father on one side of the law. A lone sister on the other.
This was why they didn’t talk shop at family dinners.
“Anyway,” Elena said. “Vincent and Anthony are terrible with women. It’s Luc that’s always been the ladies’ man.”
Luc groaned. For the first time ever, he actually wished his sister would keep going on about her career.
“Oh, do tell,” Ava said, giving Elena her full-on attention.
Luc plucked the wineglass from Ava’s hand.
“Wait, I wasn’t done,” she said, her voice just a tiny bit desperate.
“I’m getting you a refill. Trust me,” he said, heading back toward the side bar, “you’re going to need a big-girl pour tonight.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As far as Moretti family dinners went, everyone was on their best behavior. Mostly. Sure, Elena checked her phone under the table, and Vincent was short on smiles, and his mom and grandma dropped a few too many hints about wishing Luca had a nice girl like you.
But all in all, it was as good as Luc could have expected.
&nb
sp; And yet still, Ava was nervous. Not that she showed it outright. She was perfectly pleasant, smiling at all the right things, making all the appropriate small talk. But more than once he’d caught her fingernail sneaking up to her mouth where she nibbled it lightly before catching herself and taking a sip of wine.
It broke his heart a little. This confident, successful woman who was so clearly out of her element in a family setting. After meeting Miranda, he’d definitely suspected that they weren’t exactly one big, loving family, but seeing how uncomfortable Ava was around hugs and compliments and laughter confirmed it.
Luc sincerely hoped he never met the Sims family, because he’d be hard-pressed not to give them a piece of his mind.
Ava was sitting to his right and fidgeting so much that Luc longed to reach under the table and touch her…just to calm her. But he wasn’t sure that wouldn’t make her more jumpy.
There was a rare silent moment at the table as everyone devoured the food, and Ava jumped to fill it. “Mrs. Moretti, this roast is amazing. And the pasta—”
Nonna broke in. “You like this, you should come to my place for some good cooking. I don’t dry out my meat.”
Maria Moretti ignored her mother-in-law and smiled warmly at Ava. “I’m glad you like it, dear. And please, call me Maria.”
“Okay,” Ava said, her smile quick and shy. “I’d like that.”
His mom caught his eye and winked.
“Ava, you said you’re from Ohio?” Luc’s father asked.
“Oklahoma.”
“Okay no offense,” Vincent broke in, “but aren’t those like the same thing?”
Elena made no efforts at subtle as she kicked her brother under the table. “Seriously? Don’t be a douche bag.”
“Yeah, don’t be a douche bag,” Nonna chimed in.
“We all remember how we feel about name calling at my dinner table, yes?” Maria asked quietly, taking a sip of her water.
Elena gave her mother an exasperated look. “But—”
“So, Ava, you’re from Oklahoma,” Tony Moretti interrupted.
She smiled. “Yes. Darrington. And don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of it. Most people haven’t.”
