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“Hey, Matt,” Michael said as he reached across the table to bump fists with Matthew. “Good to see you, man.”
My brother’s eyes flashed quick and bright over Michael, landing on the tattoos, the earring, the broad shoulders. I couldn’t tell if the expression was envious or protective. Or maybe a little of both.
“Are you a bad man?” Joni interrupted.
“Joni!” I hissed. “You can’t ask people things like that.”
She just shrugged. “Why? He has tattoos on his neck and arms. Nonno says only bad man mess their bodies up like that. So I wanted to know.”
“Dai, civetta!” snapped Nonno, then rattled off a bunch of Italian most of us could only half-understand but knew it didn’t bode well for later all the same.
“Don’t be dumb,” Marie said, shoving Joni’s side. “He wouldn’t be here if Nonno thought he was a bad man.”
“Plus, it’s rude,” Frankie said from Joni’s other side.
“Sorry,” Joni mumbled, then turned her water glass around a few times before dipping her finger into it.
“I kind of like them,” Kate said from the other side of the table. “The lady right there is pretty.”
Everyone immediately studied the tattoo of a woman who looked like she was praying on Mattew’s wrist.
“I agree,” I murmured, mostly to myself. She was pretty, in a saintly sort of way.
Michael’s gaze flickered back to me as he reached for a glass of water and pulled the arm in question under the table. “Thanks.”
My cheeks heated as I caught my brother’s sharp gaze, now following me.
I stuck my tongue out at him. Very adult, I know. But he could take the brotherly concern and shove it.
“Lea, come bring the salad,” Nonna called from the kitchen.
I sprang up, eager to escape both men’s pensive stares.
“So, Matt—or is it Matthew now?” I heard Michael say.
“Mattie,” Joni corrected him. “Nobody calls him Matthew but our grandparents.”
“Mattie?” Michael seemed less than convinced.
“Matt’s fine,” Matthew replied in a deeper voice than usual. “She’s right. The only people who use my full name are these two.”
He gestured toward Nonno and Nonna as she carried in a platter of green beans, then took her seat at the table. I set down the salad and some bread rolls, made sure everyone had napkins and then slid back into my seat next to our dinner guest. Not that he seemed to notice.
“Benedici,” Nonno announced, folding his hands in front of him and bowing his head.
Obediently, all the Zolas followed suit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michael glance around before mimicking the same movements. His gaze, however, landed on me and stayed there. It was everything I could do not to look up.
We waited while Nonno recited a brief blessing for the table, then obediently all repeated, “Amen.”
Then, the table descended into its predictable chaos.
“No, Nonna! I wanted more cheese, not the spinach part.”
“Ew! Not this salad again! I told you, I don’t like the peppers!”
“Only one roll, tesoro. There is more than enough for everyone.”
“Pass the green beans. And Mattie, don’t hog them, will you?”
