“Yeah. Better not salsa dance with Manny, or Dr. Killjoy will get on your case.” Tiffany dissolved into giggles. “At least one good thing came out of dating Javier. I can salsa now.” She hummed an upbeat Latin tune and danced around the room doing rapid salsa moves. Her yellow sundress swirled madly as she wiggled her hips, shimmied her shoulders and shouted “arriba” a few times. Tiffany gyrated and kicked up her sandals’ dainty heels until Aunt Willow and Michaela were in stitches.
Dr. Jackson entered the room with brisk strides, followed by a severe-looking nurse. He paused to glance at Tiffany with a sardonic lift of his brow. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Willoughby?” The look on his face confirmed he had been privy to her manic dance moves.
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Perfectly fine, Dr. Kill…I mean Jackson,” she corrected impishly. “Haven’t you ever salsa danced?”
“Is that what that was? I was going to prescribe something for you,” he replied in a deadpan voice before turning his attention to Aunt Willow whose mouth was twitching. Ignoring Tiffany’s sarcastic groan, Dr. Jackson checked Willow’s medical chart with a serious expression. “Mrs. Reese, how do you feel? Are you having any pain?”
“I’ve been getting sharp spasms once in a while, but it’s nothing I can’t handle with deep breathing,” Aunt Willow replied stoically.
“Where do you get the spasms?” Dr. Jackson asked kindly.
“Mostly on my left side,” she said, pointing to her ribcage.
He turned to Michaela and smiled. “Please take Chiquita Banana with you outside so I can examine your aunt.” He made a sweeping motion. “And the candles need to go too. They’re a fire hazard.”
“You’re a fire hazard,” Tiffany muttered under her breath for only Michaela to hear.
“We were just leaving. Come on, Tiff.” Michaela pulled Tiffany’s arm and blew a kiss to Aunt Willow. “Bye, Auntie. Rest up for tonight’s visit. I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.”
“I’ll call too.” Tiffany blew her aunt another kiss as Michaela hauled her out the room. She barely made it into the hallway without erupting into giggles when Tiffany crossed her eyes and made a face behind Dr. Jackson’s back.
“Where are you heading?” Tiffany asked.
“I’m going to Paolo’s. I can’t wait to see Claudia and Mikey. But first I have to talk to Dr. Jackson and find out where Aunt Willow’s pain is coming from.”
“Oh.”
“Wanna come with me? I’m sure Claudia would love to meet you.”
“Maybe some other time. I am not in the mood to be insulted again by that grouch. I think I’ll go home and practice my salsa moves,” Tiffany said with deadpan face.
“You don’t need to practice. You move like a true Latina,” Michaela assured her. “It’s Dr. Killjoy who needs to get his groove on.”
“Eh! Who cares about him?” Tiffany replied, blowing a raspberry.
You do, Michaela thought, grinning at her sister’s irreverence.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Maki, your Aunt Willow is really something.” Paolo craned his neck as he shaved in front of Michaela’s bathroom mirror. Wearing a white towel wrapped around his lean hips, his bronze skin glistened with water droplets from his recent shower. He chuckled, dimples deepening seductively. “I loved the way she waltzed out of the hospital last week, clutching Manny’s tattooed arm. He’s a good guy.”
“You never know what to expect from Aunt Willow. In that way, she’s kinda like Tiff. I don’t think Manny’s going to disappear on her this time around. He missed her too much when they broke up.” Michaela came up behind Paolo and wrapped her arms around his lean midsection. Resting her face on his broad back, she licked the water droplets off his moist skin and replaced them with a kiss as she inhaled the heady combination of Paolo and soap.
“You forgot a spot,” she teased, tapping the groove beside his mouth where a tiny speck of foam rested. “I’ll take care of it.” She snatched the towel from Paolo’s hips with a flourish and used it to wipe the foam off.
“Hey!” Paolo laughed. “Wouldn’t a Kleenex have sufficed? Or are you flirting with me, Señorita Willoughby?”
“Flirting with you? Why, Señor Santos, you know I am a proper and respectable girl,” she replied, feigning offense.
Paolo’s eyebrows rose. “I thought I cured you of that.”
Michaela rolled up the towel and flicked it at his behind. “Need I remind you that the only naked one here is you?”
“That is something we can easily remedy, querida.” Paolo flung her over his shoulder, slid his hand under her short robe, and languidly stroked her as he carried her to bed. Within moments, Michaela was moaning and panting, her hips rising to meet Paolo’s deliberate thrusts. He took his time with the long bout of lovemaking, fusing their bodies together, bringing her closer and closer to sweet agony until she climaxed with shuddering spasms. Waves of pleasure washed over her as Paolo’s release followed, explosive and thrilling to behold. He stayed inside her for a long time, petting and gentling Michaela until she quieted and relaxed against him.
Much later, she lazed on top of Paolo, drawing circles on his chest. “My insatiable caveman,” she murmured dreamily. She gazed into his midnight eyes, loving the ravenous way he always looked when they made love, and the tender look he gave her afterward. The hunger of his desire seemed imprinted on her body. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She certainly could not get enough of him.
They had spent every moment they could together the past week, making love often and taking sublime enjoyment in getting to know each other intimately. Michaela had never felt so close to anyone in her life. Her love for Paolo was so intense, so all encompassing, it sometimes scared her. He was everything she wanted in her life and everything she admired in a man. They were very different personality wise, but she believed they completed each other perfectly. And she felt she could trust him with her life. Just last night, he had told her he would walk through fire for her and she believed him, because she would do the same. For the first time in her life, she totally trusted the man she loved and it was staggering and humbling at the same time.
However, in the back of Michaela’s mind lingered the niggling reality that their competing shows would be taped soon and it might test their newfound love. They had agreed not to talk about their shows when they were together to avoid arguing. The first time Michaela had brought it up, Paolo had silenced her with a kissing game everywhere that left her speechless and gasping for a rematch.
“I think we should stay in bed all day.” Paolo’s hands circled her sides with a slow caress. “Once Mamá arrives we won’t have much time alone.”
“I like the way you think.” A drugging rush of desire made Michaela close her eyes and sigh blissfully when Paolo’s weight descended on her.
“I’m kind of nervous to meet your mother,” Michaela admitted to Paolo as she waited beside him at the Miami International Airport early Sunday morning. It was just the two of them because Bobby had insisted that they keep it a secret from Claudia so she would be surprised. After their reconciliation, the Woodbridges had bent over backward to please Claudia and bond with her. They had used their influence and money to arrange for Señora Santos to travel from Buenos Aires so she could finally meet Mikey.
“Don’t be nervous. She can’t wait to meet you. And she’ll be happy to meet your family too.”
“Yeah, well that’s what worries me the most,” Michaela revealed. “My parents still can’t understand why I didn’t wait until after the competition to date you. I hope they behave today.” The Woodbridges were throwing a barbecue in Rosa Santos’s honor and they had invited Michaela’s family too. She had been floored when she heard her parents had accepted the invitation. Knowing Mom and Dad, they had probably done it to scout and assess Michaela’s competition, especially since Paolo would be preparing t
he parrillada, an authentic Argentinean barbecue.
“Relax. It’ll be fun.” Paolo squeezed Michaela’s waist. “Mamá is very easygoing. She gets along with everybody.”
“Like you.” Michaela smiled up at him. “Does she speak English?”
“Yes, of course. My grandfather was American. From Philadelphia,” he revealed. “He fell in love with my abuela on a business trip to Buenos Aires. After a long distance courtship he came back to marry her. They stayed in Argentina and had three children. Mamá was the youngest of the three girls.”
“Oh, I had no idea. I’m so glad she speaks English.”
“Even if she didn’t, she would find a way to communicate with you and everyone else here. She is ecstatic to meet her first grandchild. Especially since it’s a boy. Girls run in our family,” he explained. Paolo’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Look, there she is! Come on.” He pulled Michaela along as he dashed toward his mother who was emerging from customs.
Rosa Santos was completely different from what Michaela had imagined. Paolo and Claudia were tall, with athletic builds. Their mother was petite and round, with twinkly black eyes and abundant salt and pepper hair cut in short, tousled layers framing a jovial face. The only thing she had in common with Paolo was a big, white smile, framed by deep dimples.
“Mamá!” he shouted excitedly.
“Raviolini!” Señora Santos chuckled merrily as Paolo picked her up and exuberantly twirled her around. “Hijo, por favor. Put me down!” she exclaimed, dangling in mid-air, her pretty face flushed.
When Paolo set his mother down, there were tears in his eyes. He was so unabashedly male in every way, yet he was comfortable expressing his emotions. Michaela loved that about him. She stood slightly behind them as they chatted in rapid-fire Spanish until he abruptly stopped and pulled Michaela forward.
“Mamá, I want you to meet my girl. This is Maki.”
It pleased Michaela enormously that Paolo had referred to her as his girl, especially to his mother. Watching them interact, it was clear that Paolo and his mother shared a tight, loving bond. Michaela’s parents were not the touchy-feely types; she rarely remembered being hugged or kissed by either one. Nevertheless, Tiffany had somehow turned out as affectionate and physically demonstrative as a puppy, something that never failed to enchant Michaela.
Rosa looked her up and down with delight. “You are Maki? So nice to meet you!” Her face lit up as she hugged Michaela and kissed her on the cheek, warming her with the show of genuine affection. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for taking care of my little Claudia when she was having her baby. I’m forever indebted to you,” she said, smiling sincerely.
Michaela waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, please don’t thank me. It was an honor to be with Claudia for Mikey’s birth. Wait until you see him. He is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen!”
Beaming, Señora Santos said, “Sí. Claudia has emailed me many pictures and she always holds Mikey up when we Skype. For a while there, she stubbornly insisted that he looked like her, even though Mikey is the image of Bobby, blue eyes and all.”
Michaela nodded. “He does look like Bobby. But now that they’re reunited, Claudia is willing to concede it, Señora Santos.”
Paolo’s mother took Michaela’s hands in hers and gave her a warm smile. “You must call me Rosa. Everyone does.”
“I will, thank you. My name is Michaela, but your son has christened me Maki.” She smiled up at Paolo and her heart fluttered when he winked at her.
From that moment on, Michaela and Rosa hit it off. They went directly to Paolo’s apartment to drop off Rosa’s suitcases and allow her to change from her travel clothes into something cooler for the outdoor event. After a shower, Rosa emerged from the bedroom, looking refreshed in a white, safari-style blouse, tan pants and brown leather sandals decorated with seashells.
Poor Paolo was bound to end up with a sore neck again because, knowing him, he would insist on having his mother sleep comfortably in his bedroom while he slept on the living room sofa. No matter, Michaela thought, stifling a giggle. Irina would be more than willing to give him a rigorous massage any time he needed it.
By the time they arrived at the Woodbridges’ palatial home, Rosa had entertained Michaela with funny stories about Paolo’s childhood antics and Michaela felt comfortable enough to practice the limited Spanish she knew with her. Paolo pulled his car up to the guardhouse at the entrance of Gables Estates, the hub of old Florida money. Within minutes, they were parked in the driveway of the most magnificent house Michaela had ever seen, including the Blumenthals’ Williams Island mansion.
“This house looks more like a hotel than a home,” Paolo muttered, shaking his head. “Good thing Claudia and Bobby already found an apartment to move into.”
“Yes, those two need to build their own nest for Mikey,” Michaela said. When Bobby moved them into his parents’ house temporarily, Claudia had confided that she felt overwhelmed by their immense wealth. Even though they were generous, Claudia didn’t want to stay with them. She was anxious to move out and make her new home with Bobby and Mikey.
“It’s beautiful, but too big for only two people,” Rosa mused. “I can only imagine how happy they are to have a grandson to fill it with life.”
The Woodbridges’ home was an architectural dream built in French Tudor fashion, but it did seem a bit much for just one couple. Samuel, the uniformed head servant, gave them a tour of the magnificent interior. Rich, oak-beamed, cathedral ceilings soared above massive pristine windows, stone walls and glossy hardwood floors. On their way to the covered terrace, they passed Elizabethan antiques and embroidered rugs in muted floral prints. Samuel told them the house was 14,000 square feet and boasted of a dozen bedrooms and an equal number of bathrooms. He pointed out original European paintings and tapestries, giving historical facts as if he were a tour guide. The walk to the terrace was like going through an elegant hotel lobby.
When they reached the brick terrace that preceded the beautifully landscaped grounds, Michaela felt as if they were entering an opulent park. Lush, verdant acreage extended to the water’s edge providing a breathtaking view of the Bay. Flowering jasmine and gardenias perfumed the air. Clay tennis courts beyond the pool area added to the grandeur of the grounds.
On the right side of the terrace, a very long table ran the length of the rectangular pool. The table was decorated down the center with whole artichokes, clusters of red and yellow tomatoes on the vine, and tiny eggplants.
“Look, there’s Claudia and Bobby.” Michaela pointed to the far left where they sat under a banyan tree beside Mrs. Woodbridge who was humming as she rocked Mikey in her arms. Several others lounged on wrought iron sofas and chairs with blue and white striped pillows, chatting and sipping drinks.
“Hija,” Rosa called out as soon as she saw her daughter.
“Mamá?” With a look of elated shock, Claudia bolted from the chair and raced to her mother, pulling her into a fierce hug. Mother and daughter rocked together, happy tears streaming down their faces as they exclaimed and chatted in their lilting Argentine accent.
Bobby joined them with Mikey in his arms and together they formed a tight circle. Everyone in the patio got up and approached them, including Michaela’s parents, Tiffany, Aunt Willow and Aunt Magda, the Woodbridges, Paolo and Michaela. Even Señora Fuentes was there, carrying on about what a wonderful family they were.
Hours later, Michaela turned her face to the sky and said a silent prayer of thanks. She didn’t want the day to end—ever. Surrounded by her family and friends and seated next to Paolo, she felt dizzy with happiness. She was glad she had stopped drinking after the third glass of Malbec, even though she could have polished off the whole bottle. After all, today was for revelry, a jubilant celebration of Rosa Santos and her family. Little Mikey reigned supreme, looking adorable in a striped blue Ralph Lauren jumpsuit th
at matched his impossibly clear blue eyes as he slept in Abuela Rosa’s arms.
The Woodbridges had gone out of their way to make everyone feel at home. The afternoon sun was setting over the Bay, but nobody was in any rush to leave after gorging all afternoon on the feast of empanadas, tomato, avocado and red onion salad, and perfectly grilled meats. The empanadas, savory meat pies, were stuffed with braised sirloin, minced onions, green olives and raisins, and spiced up with cumin and other exotic spices. Paolo had skillfully grilled every type of meat imaginable including Argentinean sausages called chorizos.
“Paolo, did you really make the sausages? I couldn’t resist. I ate two of them,” Aunt Magda confessed, patting her tummy. Grilled until the outside was crunchy and the inside was tender, the sausages were tucked into freshly baked rolls. “What’s the Spanish word for sausage again?”
“Chorizo. And when we eat it inside a roll, it’s a choripan. They’re good for you too. Eh, Maki?” Paolo teased, grinning.
Michaela grinned back and reserved comment. She had learned to choose her battles with Paolo and didn’t feel like rising to the bait.
“What seasonings give the chorizo that savory taste? I can’t figure it out,” Aunt Willow said. “But it sure is delicious.”
“It must be the garlic, cloves and nutmeg I put in with the pork and beef mixture before filling the casings,” Paolo said. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Paolo’s chorizo is the best,” Michaela declared, drawing hearty laughter and ribbing. “Gosh, people, I didn’t mean it that way!”
Replete from the lunchtime feast they had washed down with the finest Argentinean Malbec, Michaela, Paolo and company lounged on the patio furniture gazing at the ocean. Michaela’s heart swelled as she watched Paolo interacting effortlessly with her family, as if they had known each other for years. Even her parents were getting along with him and God knew they were difficult to please!
Grill Me, Baby Page 25
