by Robena Grant
“Sure. Sure.”
Dia smiled at Tony, really smiled at him.
Tony watched them for a few seconds and then backed away. “It’s almost time to close shop.”
“No problem, Tony. Say hi to your mama for me.” Dia shivered slightly. Her whole life she’d rejected every thought of Italian men, and now she couldn’t get close enough. She turned toward Carlo, all businesslike. “So about the wedding…”
“Well, I thought dinner first. That way, if you don’t think it’s worth spending an entire evening of dinner and dancing, plus sitting in church, we’d have time to find someone else.”
He grinned at her and another chunk of ice fell away from her ribcage. Okay, he’s a hottie. Not enough reason to get all bent out of shape. He’d still be a volatile, overly passionate, Italian man underneath the good looks and charm, and with her coolness toward romance they’d be a poor fit. “Perfect. Name the restaurant, and I’ll meet you.”
“I’ll pick you up. Is seven okay?”
She dug into her purse for paper and a pen. “Let me give you the address.”
“Not necessary. I know where you live. We’ll go to Bijou, if that suits you…continental cuisine. We get enough Italian fare at home.” He gave her a slow wink.
Dia’s stomach did a little flip. He thought of everything. He seemed more formal than the men she’d dated pre-Jason, and she lacked experience since the break-up. She was about to ask him how he knew her address when Tony came outside.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He rubbed a hand across the back of Carlo’s neck. “Mama’s already gone upstairs, and I need to close up.”
“Be right there. Just a couple more details to discuss.”
He and Tony were comfortable with each other; affectionate even. Italian men were like that, but she also knew Tony was gay. Dia felt a twinge of sadness. She’d kill Tony if Carlo was his secret date. No, she wouldn’t. She bit back a grin. In some weird way it was perfect. If both men brought along a female date to the wedding, and the four of them sat at the “friends” table, well, it would be safe. It might even be fun.
She hitched the purse higher onto her shoulder. “Bijou sounds nice.”
Carlo tilted his head. “Thank you for considering being my date for the wedding.”
“No, thank you. This will make Mama very happy.”
Carlo must be Tony’s secret lover. Dia appraised him covertly. Nice. Neatly dressed, and he smells good, kind of like sunshine and lemons, and he’s tall. He’d mentioned dancing, so she figured he wasn’t against it. She’d play along, have a cute date, and maybe some decent conversation. Surely that would satisfy Mama, the neighborhood, the relatives—and she wouldn’t have to fight off a groper.
“If we decide to accompany each other, would you mind meeting my parents first?” Carlo asked. “I figure it’s best to get that out of the way. They’ll be at the wedding as guests of Maria’s parents.” He shrugged. “Less awkward to meet in advance, I think.”
“Sure.” He was so formal, she almost laughed. It sounded like he was from a traditional family. Mama will be thrilled. “I’ve got to get home for supper.”
“And I need to get upstairs.” He glanced up at the building. “See you tomorrow evening.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Dia gave a quick wave, walked to the car, and looked back.
Okay, this won’t hurt. He’ll be the safest and best thing ever.
She wasn’t ready for a real date. She skimmed over Carlo’s broad shoulders, trim waist, and that perfect ass. Tony rushed outside, threw his arm around Carlo’s shoulders, and then hurried him inside the market. A twinge of envy ran through her.
She eased the car onto the main street and drove past the market. So Carlo is gay. As long as they were both on the same page, then no second-generation Italian-American girl, or guy, would be harmed at the wedding. She laughed.
Her phone rang. Dia pulled over, welcoming the distraction. “Anna, hey what’s up?”
“I got the hotel booking for you in Naples. Remember, it’s summer. Hotels book fast.”
“Thanks. I haven’t figured out where else I want to visit.” She reminded herself not to go wild or spend too much money. “I’ll call you in a day or two.” She eased back onto the road. Why Italy? She could have chosen another European destination, although the honeymoon trip had been booked for Rome. Jason had wanted her to take both tickets, but she’d said no. One was enough.
When she parked in the driveway, Mama hurried out onto the front porch carrying two glasses of wine. A cigarette dangled from her lips, as she set one glass on the small table. She looked flushed. Mrs. C. must have called. News travels fast through Little Italy.
As she strolled up the path, Dia sensed something was different. Mama fidgeted. Cigarette ash fell onto the porch. That was so unlike her normally “fastidious to a fault” mother. Strains of a Dean Martin tune, Mama’s favorite, Mambo Italiano, floated through the screen door.
Dear God, please do not let there be dancing.
Chapter Two
“You’re back early,” Uncle Frank said softly, from behind the screen door.
Dia glanced from Mama, to Frank, and then back again. As long as Dia could remember, she’d called this man uncle, though he was really no relation. He was a nice, gentle man. Dia had kept her thoughts of him eventually becoming her stepfather to herself.
Mama took a long drag on her cigarette, and blew smoke toward the rose garden.
“Didn’t stop at the bookstore, did you?” Frank asked.
Mama’s eyes gleamed when Frank spoke. She gave him a quick smile.
“No. I ran out of time.” Dia hesitated on the top step, her hand resting on the iron railing. Did I interrupt something? Nah. Mama was drinking red wine, and they’d probably been dancing, practicing their moves for the wedding.
“I’ll take a shower, if you don’t mind, Rosetta. Kind of hot up in the attic.” Frank pointed up toward the staircase and beyond, like nobody knew where the attic was.
“Sure, sure. You know the way.” Mama waved the hand that held the cigarette, dropping even more ash onto the porch. “Use my shower, Frankie. There’re clean towels in the cupboard.”
“Thanks. See you kids in five minutes.”
“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, Frank?” Dia called after him.
“You can bet on it.”
Mama was happy. What a difference an hour made. Frankie? Okay, so something wasn’t right. Mama handed her the glass of wine. Confused, Dia sat gingerly on the chair. Frank had never showered here before. Not that she knew about. She wondered what could be up in the attic that had needed fixing.
“Mrs. C., she called me.” Mama took a drink of wine, her brown eyes peeping over the top of the glass.
Dia nodded. “I figured she would.”
What a strange afternoon this was turning into. She sipped her wine, vowing not to mention the friends table would have two gay guys as guests. Mama and Mrs C. had strong opinions on such things, and stronger opinions about sex outside of marriage. She took a gulp of wine and held it in her mouth for a minute…if Mama only knew.
“So tell me.” Mama leaned closer, obviously unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
Dia let the wine slide down her throat. “You probably know more than I do.”
“Come on, come on.” Mama beckoned with her fingers. She placed the cigarette in the ashtray, and scowled for a few seconds at the mess on the floor. “Spill.”
Mama sounded like Marco. He always said that to get them talking. “Okay, so…looks like Carlo Antonelli needs a date for the wedding.”
“A nice boy. Good family.”
“You know him?”
“He was friends with Marco, but they moved away before the boys went to high school.”
“Oh.” Dia frowned. “I remember Susan Antonelli. She was a couple of years ahead of me.”
“The father was at Camp Pendleton. I think he went to…is the father still al
ive?”
“I guess so. He mentioned parents.”
So that’s why Carlo knew where she lived? He’d probably thought of her as some chubby, snot-nosed kid, or worse, one of those kids who jumped into backyard swimming pools naked and screaming, “Look at me!” Dia shook off that thought. “Yep, well I think I’m going to Marco’s wedding with him.”
“What do you mean?” Mama ground her cigarette butt into the ashtray. She leaned in even closer. “You think you’re going with him…you only think?” She waved her hands around. “Did you tell him that?”
“Wait a minute, Ma, and I’ll explain.” Geez, by the thunderous look on Mama’s face, any minute now Dia would get a swift slap to the upper arm. It was obvious Ma and Mrs. C. had confirmed that she and Carlo were going to the wedding together. She wondered if Carlo had said anything to Mrs. C. and Tony when he went inside. Her cheeks warmed as she imagined the conversation.
“What? What you looking guilty about?” Ma asked.
“Nothing.” Dia pressed the glass to her cheek. “I said I’d explain, and—”
“If you gals are gonna fight, you better bring it inside.”
Frank stood in the doorway, his hair wet and plastered flat to his scalp. He wore the same shorts, brown flip flops, and a yellow shirt. He looked nice. Thank heavens for Frank and his five-second shower. Dia took another quick sip of wine for courage.
Mama shot him a fiery glance. “Stay outta this, Frankie. She’s being stoopid. So stoooopid. I…I can’t even speak.”
Dia raised her eyebrows. Frank gave a quick shake of his head.
Mama was doing a pretty darn good job of speaking, but she’d hold her tongue. Dia stood. “Let’s go in. I’ll tell you everything, and then you can tell me what you think. I’d like your advice. Okay?”
Mama’s eyes narrowed, but then she nodded. Dia knew she was unable to resist the offer to give her opinion. Balancing the ashtray and the wine glass, Mama bustled inside. She pulled dishes from the oven and platters from the refrigerator and lined everything on the countertop.
Frank winked at Dia. They both knew to stay out of Mama’s way; the kitchen was her domain. They filled their plates with antipasto, lasagna, chicken cacciatore, and salad. Chairs scraped on the tile floor, napkins were unfolded and placed on laps. Dia’s stomach gave an appreciative rumble right in the middle of the blessing. Please, at least let me fork in a few bites before the questions start. She took a big bite of lasagna and almost sighed. Everyone ate in silence. The only sounds were the clink of silverware.
“Excellent.” Frank cleaned the sides of his plate. “I’ll have seconds. You’ve outdone yourself, Rosetta.”
“Yes, it’s wonderful, Mama.” Dia stuffed a chunk of homemade bread into her mouth and chewed. She looked down at a sudden movement, her eyes widening. By the position of his arm, it looked like Frank’s left hand had found Mama’s knee and given it a pat. Something big had changed in their relationship. She had disturbed them earlier. It would be wonderful if they were a couple, but…pious Mama doing the horizontal without sanction of marriage? Now that would be interesting.
“Thank you,” Mama said, her voice stiff.
Dia tore off another chunk of the bread. How would Mama explain this to the daughter she thought of as sinful for having slept with her fiancé? Her lips twitched.
Mama took a sip of wine. “Explain to me everything.”
So Dia did. She left out that Carlo was probably Tony’s lover. It was their business. It was best to let Mama down easy though, and do some prep work for when she had to walk away from Carlo.
“He’s handsome.” Dia smiled. That was no lie.
“Oh, yes.” Mama nodded. “Mrs. C., she tells me that.”
“He’s a bit older than me, more like Marco’s age. Yeah, and he has a problem,” she said, warming to her story. “This is what I need your opinion on. I think he’s Tony’s bookie. It seems he does some stuff on the side. You know how it is, right? The accounting firm is just a legit cover.”
Frank nodded. Mama clutched at her chest. “No.”
Dia shook out her shoulders and crossed her fingers under the table. When she knew Carlo better, she’d explain. She prayed he had a sense of humor.
“This is not good.” Mama shot Frank a frown and then looked back at her. “You sure?”
“I’ll double-check on it.”
Mama nodded her approval. “Yes. We say nothing until for sure.”
“Don’t say anything to Mrs. C. I think it will be okay to go to the wedding with him.”
“Good.” Mama clapped her hands and muttered a couple of sentences in Italian.
Spurred on by the slick handling of that situation, Dia made a snap decision. If she was right about Mama and Frank being an item, her news would be more readily accepted. She told them about her upcoming trip, knowing Frank would have her back if Mama gave her a hard time. Mama for once was quiet.
“Italy?” Mama’s expression turned thoughtful. She took a sip of wine. “Alone?”
Dia nodded. Mama almost looked happy. That was a surprise. “It’s only for two weeks. I haven’t booked it all yet, a couple of nights in Rome, a few in Naples.” Ah, what the hell. She was in so deep. “And, ah…when I get home I’m moving into a place of my own.”
“You are right. It is time.” Mama enunciated clearly each word. “At first, I worried. I did not like the neighborhoods you looked into. Not safe.”
Frank’s hand definitely sat on Mama’s thigh or knee. They gazed softly at each other.
“Anna’s helping me plan the trip.” Dia focused on a picture on the opposite wall. “And I saw a nice apartment on Broadway—”
“Good neighborhood,” Mama said.
“Go over to Corsica.” Frank got up and carried his plate to the counter. “There’s a lucky gate there, overlooks the sea…you let the winds wash away the old, cleanse your mind, make a wish for the future.” He heaped more lasagna onto his plate. “Your wish is swept out over the water, and when it lands where it’s supposed to, it comes true.” He shrugged as he ambled back to the table. “An old folktale.”
“Corsica?” Mama frowned.
“Yeah. I told you about my trip last year. I visited my cousin and his family.”
“Isn’t Corsica French?” Dia asked.
“Yeah, but it used to be Italian,” Frank said around a mouthful of bread.
How interesting. She wasn’t normally into legends and fairytales. She was into history with its dates and facts. But this had been an entirely too strange day. She thought about Frank’s family. Most of them had come to San Diego as fisherman.
“Ummm, what does this gate do…I mean, what kind of wishes have come true?”
Frank’s neck reddened. Mama tilted her head to one side.
“I’ll give you the information.” He kept his eyes on his plate. “If you decide to go, you’ll meet Nico and his family. Take a wish. See what happens.” He looked at Mama. “Capisce?”
“Capisco,” Mama said, her voice soft. She stood, smiled, and trailed a hand over Frank’s shoulders. “Anyone want dessert?”
Ah, so that’s when this romance started.
Dia recalled she’d moved back home before New Years. Frank had taken a trip in the late fall. Mama had wanted the traditional daughter getting married from home thing, but she’d expected her to only stay for one week. Poor Mama had been making do with quickies for six months.
Dia cleared her throat. “Do we have ice cream? You stay, Mama, I’ll get it.”
“You sit. Talk with Frank,” Mama said.
It was obvious Mama needed her love nest back, but she’d been torn between her needs and making sure that her daughter made good choices. No wonder she’d been so cantankerous.
“So, you and Mama, huh?” Dia wriggled her eyebrows and smiled.
Frank leaned across the table and put his hand on hers. “Do you mind?”
“Not in the least. In fact I think you’re perfect together. I’m thr
illed for both of you.”
“Enough talk,” Mama called from the kitchen. “Two scoops?”
“Yes, please.” They’d both spoken at the same time. Dia smiled at Frank. She was happy for them. Happy that Mama was taking a chance on love again. She wouldn’t embarrass her mother. She’d say no more. There’d be time for conversation in the weeks ahead.
****
When Carlo pulled up to the curb the following evening, Mama dropped the corner of the curtain she’d discreetly pulled aside. She’d kept watch from a chair—one not usually in that position—for the last thirty minutes, and explained to anyone within hearing distance, which meant Dia and Cat, it was easier to read by the evening light.
The doorbell rang. Dia moved to get up. Mama darted out of her chair, and poked one finger into Dia’s shoulder. “Sit. Not good to look too eager.”
Mama’s eyes were brighter than Dia had seen them in a long time. She guessed that’s what love does to you. Or is it the promise of more love once your adult daughter leaves home? She sucked in her cheeks to hold back her laughter.
Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor in the long hallway. Cat took off, streaking down the hall in the other direction, not willing to stay and meet a stranger. Dia rested against the back of the sofa, crossing her legs and swinging one foot, and focusing on the brightness of her hot pink toenail polish. The color looked good against the black peep-toe pumps. She hadn’t been this dressed up since…well, since Jason.
“Dia will be ready in a minute.” Mama’s voice floated down the hall. “Can I get you a drink, Carlo? A little vino?”
“No, but thank you, Mrs. Romani,” Carlo said. “I’m driving.”
Dia smoothed the skirt of her dress.
“Of course.” Mama sounded almost flirtatious. “Such a good boy, and very wise. No tickets. Do you play the poker?”
Geez. Ma was going in for the kill.
Carlo chuckled, the sound deep and vibrant. “No. I’m too cheap to gamble.”
They walked into the living room, both laughing, and Ma gave signs with her eyebrows that she had discovered Carlo’s dislike for gambling. Darn it. Now Dia would have to come up with another reason to drop him after the wedding.
