“I’ll be in the kitchen. Your dad will be home soon.”
Chiara nodded and jogged upstairs to her old room. She flopped onto her bed like she used to, giggling as she was about to call an off-limits guy like she had in high school. A lavender scent bounced from the quilt--her mom used one of those special rinses in the wash. Chiara tried Rocco’s cell first, but it went to voicemail, so she hung up. When she called his house, Sabrina answered. They chit chatted for a few minutes until Chiara got to the point.
“Is your dad home?” she said.
“No, he and Shawn went out with my uncle and cousins,” Sabrina told her.
“Oh,” Chiara said, not sure what to say.
“I’m on my own for dinner,” Sabrina said. “Want to come over? We could watch a movie too.”
“I better not,” Chiara said. She bit her tongue lightly, wishing she hadn’t said that. “Can you hang on a second?”
“Sure,” Sabrina said.
Chiara pushed off the bed and tread downstairs. She set her phone on the small hall table and went into the kitchen.
“Mom, is it okay if Sabrina Buffone joins us for dinner?” Butterflies whirled in her. Being a teenager had really sucked. She shouldn’t still feel that way.
“Just Sabrina?”
Chiara nodded.
“Yes, that’s fine.” Her mom eyed her before moving back to the stove.
“Thanks,” Chiara said as she ran back to her phone. Sabrina agreed to come over and Chiara smiled.
She still grinned after Sabrina went home. She had charmed Chiara’s parents; her dad went from scowling to praising Sabrina after she left. The boys came home shortly after, even more enthusiastic than their grandpa was about Sabrina. Chiara shushed them, not wanting them to disturb her parents, who watched TV in the family room. Chiara led the boys and Phil upstairs once they said goodnight to their grandparents. When they reached Santo and Tomaso’s old room, Max hugged her. She knelt in front of him.
“It was great,” he said. Danny nodded in agreement, his eyes alight. “Shawn, Eddie, Jake, Aidan, Ray, and Rocco were there too.” Chiara glanced up at Phil, who scratched his head and shrugged. “The train was all full of lights and we saw a creek and so many trees and it got dark and Rocco gave me a piggy back ride. And I had chocolate ice cream for dessert.” Max smiled, his mouth ringed in light chocolate.
“I’m glad you had such a good time,” Chiara said. “You too, Danny?”
“Yep. The train was awesome. Rocco knows lots about trains,” he said in a quiet voice. Chiara hugged him.
“You two need to brush your teeth.”
“Will you and Dad tuck us in?” Danny whispered.
“Sure,” Phil said with a questioning glance at her. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. They helped the boys get ready for bed and kissed them goodnight, leaving the nightlight on and the door cracked. Phil followed her downstairs into the living room.
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Chiara said as they stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“No coincidence,” Phil said in a tight voice.
“Thank you,” Chiara said.
“Thank Suzy. She convinced me to go. Look, he’ll never be my favorite person. But it seems like he cares about you and the boys.”
“He invited you?” Chiara said, her brows pushing together. She smoothed her hand across her forehead.
Phil nodded. “The boys like his nephews and his brother is very polite and well educated. His son is nice too and he’s good with the boys. Danny was upset at first and Shawn got him on the train. I just hope you’re not having a fling here because the boys are getting attached.”
“I…I’m not. Did he…” Wow, this was weird. Chiara folded her arms. “I mean, did you two talk?”
“Not really. He apologized for hitting me, but I think that was more for the boys. Asked me about Suzy and congratulated us. I guess you told him…”
Chiara nodded.
“Max forgot to mention that Buffone Construction will be remodeling the house. Lowest bid and he said Max and Danny can help with the smaller tasks if they want.”
“I guess I have a lot to thank Suzy for.”
Phil’s sardonic smile mimicked hers. “We’ll be by to pick up the boys on Christmas Eve.” He held up his hand in farewell and walked out, saying goodbye to her parents on his way.
Chiara locked the door behind him. She stood, dazed, facing the door then pinched herself. She wasn’t dreaming. Saying goodnight to her parents, she walked down the hall. Upstairs, she called Rocco, but he didn’t answer. She got ready for bed and tried again. Still voicemail. Clicking off the light, she snuggled under the blankets. She and the boys had to be up early--they were going to San Francisco for the day tomorrow. Smiling, she closed her eyes. Rocco would wait for her. He was demolishing all obstacles one by one. She squirmed with excitement. He had that effect on people.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chiara smiled as she opened her eyes to the sun peeping through the white curtains of her bedroom. She and the boys had a great day in San Francisco yesterday, surrounded by family, eating good food, playing games, and singing Christmas songs. Laughing too, especially at the stories of Uncle Rob, Grandma, and Uncle Max, who had to work Christmas Eve. Uncle Rob fit right in with everyone, like she herself did, like she hoped she and Rocco would be able to in their families.
Sitting up, she clasped her knees. No one had said anything directly, but Chiara had a warm, sure feeling she would see Rocco this Christmas. If not today, then tomorrow. Her mom said they weren’t going to the Buffone’s party, even though Isabella and Grandma were. Instead, they were having a party here with Santo and his family and Grandma and Grandpa Vitale. Tomaso and his wife had gone to Italy for Christmas--Antonia was from Milan.
Resting her chin on her knees, Chiara took in a quick breath. The only way her family would be satisfied was if she and Rocco married, preferably in the church. She was pretty sure he just wanted to live together. Maybe he was doing her a favor, maybe it was better if she never married again and had another baby.
She rose, waving her fingertips to the ceiling. All this round and round thinking never solved anything. Rocco seemed to have a plan. She’d let it play out then decide whether she’d join in. Maybe he could persuade her dad; sometimes it took a chauvinist to persuade another chauvinist.
Max’s high pitched shriek reached under her door. Laughter and running footsteps followed. Hopefully her mom had things under control. Chiara padded into the bathroom next to her room and began her morning routine.
By evening, Chiara’s neck hurt and she yawned a lot. She had corralled the boys all day while helping her mom finish the baking and make the ravioli, from scratch, roast beef, potatoes, salad, peas and onions, and antipasti. Her mom fussed around, putting out plates and glasses, while the boys stacked napkins and utensils.
“Mom, you’re putting out too many,” Chiara said. “There’re only twelve of us.”
“Better too many than too few,” her mom said.
Chiara shrugged and went back into the kitchen. Her dad came home first, soon followed by Grandma and Grandpa Vitale. The three settled in their usual spots on the sofa as Chiara placed the tray of antipasti on the coffee table. Max and Danny brought in bowls of pastel mints and peppermint candies before being waylaid by their grandparents, who liked to hear about school and what the boys told Santa Claus. Santo and his family arrived and the girls soon lounged in the family room with their iPods and cell phones while trying to shoo Max and Danny away.
“Bobbie, can’t you talk to them,” Santo said, motioning to the girls. He rolled his eyes at Chiara and followed her back into the kitchen. Her mom was in the living room now, so the kitchen was her best escape. “Me, with three girls,” Santo said. “Like I didn’t have enough grief from you and Isabella.”
“Get over it,” Chiara said, swatting his hand as he picked a piece of roast beef off the platter. “It’s rough being a teenage g
irl. Try having some sympathy.”
“Ha. I’m in for a lifetime of trouble, if you’re any indication.”
Chiara folded her arms and leaned on the counter, waiting until he met her wicked stare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. Matter of fact, I’ve been missing time with the man I love trying to please the likes of Dad and you.”
“Love? Oh lord.” Santo shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Support me.” It was hard to stay mad with all the buttery, savory, holiday smells drifting through the room and the tender flash in her brother’s eyes.
“He’s not good enough for you,” Santo said.
“He’s enough,” Chiara said in a quiet voice.
Santo searched her eyes. He kissed her forehead then went to the doorway. “For Jen,” he whispered. “And you, sweet girl.” Long ago memories, brief and incomplete, flooded Chiara’s mind for a moment. As a toddling little girl, as a quaking five year old on the first day of school, that was what Santo had called her. “But if he hurts you…” he said, his voice back to its hard timbre.
“I love you, big brother,” Chiara said to his back before he walked down the hall, disappearing into the family room.
“Mom,” Max said as he ran in. “I’m hungry.”
“Help me put the rest of the food out and we’ll eat.” She pointed to the bowl of peas and onions, which Max lifted in his small hands and, with careful steps, walked into the dining room. Chiara grabbed the potatoes and beef and followed. Soon, the table was full and Max made the announcement.
“Are we in time for dinner?” Grandma Leonora’s voice blazed down the hall.
“Yes, Mama,” Chiara’s mom called as everyone lined up around the table.
Chiara craned her neck to see if Isabella was here too. She was, along with the whole Buffone family, including Rocco. She glanced at her father, who stood near her by the sofa, and wondered which of their faces was redder. Chiara’s mom smiled, though. From her response, she must have known they were coming. It explained the extra dishes and food, too.
“Chiara Luna Vitale, is this your doing? We had an arrangement,” her father said in a demanding tone.
“I didn’t--”
“Son,” Grandpa Vitale said. “Is this the way I raised you to greet guests? I invited them, since you didn’t. My granddaughter has a nice Italian man in love with her, from a good family, has a steady job, owns his own home. What more do you want?”
For the first time in Chiara’s memory, Chiara’s dad seemed ashamed. He lowered his eyes and muttered.
Chiara laughed, the tension of the last months bursting out in her uncontrolled giggles. Meanwhile, Chiara’s mom had welcomed everyone and gotten the kids started on plates of food, which they began taking into the kids’ tables set up in the family room. Talk punctuated Chiara’s deep breaths as she tried to calm herself.
Grandma Vitale whacked Grandpa’s arm. “What more?” she asked in her loudest voice. “She needs to get married in the church, that’s what!”
Chiara stopped laughing and wished for a glass of ice water to cool her burning body. Rocco’s manly scent made her plop onto the arm of the sofa and hold onto it.
“Mrs. Vitale, you took the words right out of my mouth,” he said in his deep, too charming voice. The room hushed save for the clink of plates and glasses from the other room. Chiara fingered her throat and met his eyes. They were full of mischief and laughter.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Chiara, I love you,” he said, clasping her hand. “Will you marry me?”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Next month you can,” he said.
“The boys--”
“I already asked.” He grinned.
She stood and tried to fold her arms but he wouldn’t let go. “Just because my family wants this doesn’t mean you have to ask. I’ll come live with you. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. Stop being so stubborn.”
“I’m not. You are and you’re sneaky.” She pouted and he chuckled.
“Leonora, I’m going to need those after all,” he said. Chiara rolled her eyes but widened them in shock when he clapped handcuffs on her wrists. They were cold and dug into her skin. “You’re under arrest,” he said.
“Oww. What for?” She had to hear this.
“Stealing my heart.”
Isabella groaned and Chiara laughed. “That’s right up there with ‘Where have you been all my life.’ Surely these tired lines don’t work for you.”
“Only try ‘em on you. I’m not letting you go until you say you’ll marry me.”
Chiara hefted her arms over his neck and kissed him. Talking had started again and plates had food loaded on. “You really want to get married?”
“Yes, to you,” he said.
“Then yes, I will,” she said. “I love you.”
He smiled again and lifted her arms, unlocking the handcuffs. Holding her hand, he slid a sparkling diamond ring onto her finger. She smiled and stayed his other hand, in which the handcuffs dangled.
“Give those here,” she whispered. “It’s my turn later.” She led him to the hall and placed them in her purse. The kids laughed in the family room and her two grandmas dominated the voices in the other rooms. He kissed her again, deep and long.
“My dirty girl,” he whispered as their lips parted.
“Dirty husband,” she replied in a throaty tone.
He chuckled. “Double dirty, now and forever.”
“Approved,” she said.
He squeezed her into a hug. With a quick kiss and a pat on each other’s rears, they turned strolled arm in arm to receive the congratulations of their families.
Epilogue
“Merry Christmas,” Rocco said, kissing her awake.
Chiara blinked her eyes open to the still grey morning and stretched into her husband of almost two years. Their naked bodies melded together.
“A very Merry Christmas,” she said. She perused his strong arms, hard chest, and tight thighs before teasing her favorite parts.
“Second marriages are the best,” he said. “First husbands to take the boys sometimes and older kids stay with baby sister at Grandma and Grandpa’s. Let’s find out if you’re still a screamer.” He tweaked her sensitive spots and she moaned. He chuckled.
“You know we need to get to your parents’ soon,” she managed to say. “Jenny will wake up in a bit. She’s old enough to know we’re not there.”
“Dirty business to do first,” he said, rolling on top of her.
She wrapped herself around him. “Hammer away,” she said.
“Buffone Construction on the job.”
More than just that morning’s work. He’d sledge hammered his way to her heart and together they’d built a solid dwelling. Chiara smiled before she showed her appreciation, screams aplenty.
About the Author
Celia Juliano learned to read at the age of two, beginning her lifetime love of books, especially those with a happily ever after. She grew up believing in fairies, angels, Santa Claus, and the true love of an Italian prince. Now she writes about everyday angels and Italian American men…as well as other stories of relationships, minor miracles, and happy endings. A native Californian, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.
All her Italian American family books are dedicated to her Grandpa Steve (born Salvatore Pietro Juliano in Nusco, Italy~near Naples), who said: "Everyone in the world is either Italian or wishes they were."
If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review, rate the book, or recommend it to other readers. Celia loves to hear from readers—you can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Pinterest, or email: [email protected]
Books by Celia Juliano:
San Francisco Brides series
Ready for You
Book 1: Always
Book 2: Believe
Book 2.5: Mistletoe Magic (A San Francisco Brides Short Story)
Book
3: Dare
Spankies:
Spankified
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 28
