AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Six months. Anyway, I pulled some strings.” A lot of strings. Very expensive ones. But I made it work, and while I knew it would be worth it, I would now gladly do this again a hundred times over if it meant witnessing the joy that erupted from her. “But that’s not all,” I add.
She’s beside herself, throwing her hands into the air. “What else could there be? I’ve been dying to eat here since I first moved to Brooklyn.”
“Come with me.” Vinny opens the door, and I step out into the clear, cold evening, extending a hand for her to follow.
She wears a hesitant expression but follows me, and I notice her frown when she identifies the obvious. “It looks closed. Are they closed?”
“For everyone but us.” Opening the door to the restaurant, it’s dark except for candles set up on every table, along with lush bouquets of crimson red roses, which fill the dining room with their fragrance. I’m not what anyone would call a romantic, but I can admit to myself the effect is striking.
Her gasp confirms this. “It’s incredible. Do you mean to tell me you booked the entire restaurant for us?” she whispers in awe as her lashes flutter over her wide, shining eyes.
“I wanted it to be just the two of us.”
“Luca, It’s like something out of a dream.” She lowers her head and breathes deeply as we pass one of the tables, almost burying her nose in the blooms and smiling. “They’re so beautiful.”
Her enjoyment only sweetens my next announcement. “I’m having them all brought home for us when we’re finished here.”
“Our home is about to become a botanical bonanza.” She’s like a little kid, overflowing with joy, and I could get addicted to seeing her like this. I plan to make it my life’s mission to put that look on her face time and time again.
“I can’t believe you went to all this trouble for me,” she whispers, and her chin trembles a little when we reach the only table in the restaurant currently set for dinner with napkins and silverware.
“Hey.” I run a hand over her shining hair, tenderly cupping the back of her neck and drawing her close. “This is nothing. I would do anything for you. You’re my woman, Emilia. You deserve the fucking world.”
Her eyes soften under my gaze. “I already have it,” she reminds me, tipping her head back to accept my kiss.
Someone clears their throat in the back of the room, and Emilia breaks our kiss. I grunt out my disappointment as we take the hint to sit and get ready to eat.
After a brief chat with the chef, we’re treated to a vintage bottle of wine, then a multi-course tasting menu featuring the homemade pasta the restaurant is best known for. As we eat, we talk like two people on a date, letting the conversation wander. She tells me about the one and only time she tried to make pasta from scratch, and I tell her about the one and only time I tried to cook it for me, Dante, Niccolo, and Frankie, whose name still stirs heat in my chest. It’s a story that’s always made me laugh, but his memory tinges it somewhat.
“Listen, I had no idea how much a pound of pasta actually is,” I explain while sopping up the peppery cream sauce with a crust of bread. “I figured I usually put it away by the truckful, and so did the guys. So here I am, staring down a pantry full of boxed noodles, and I thought a pound apiece should do the trick.”
“A pound each?” Emilia sets down her fork, covering her mouth with one hand as she hoots with laughter.
“There I was, thinking there was nothing to it… figuring I could take care of things while my parents were out.” The memory makes me laugh even as I cringe at the mess I made. “Mama laughed it off after she finished chasing me around, screaming in Italian.”
“I bet you were adorable when you were little.” Her eyes twinkle in the candlelight when they meet mine from across the small table.
“I was a pain in the ass,” I tell her with a shrug. “I can accept it. Dante was older, and I always wanted to strut around and prove I was tough shit too.”
“But I bet you had a heart of gold.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that sort of thing doesn’t get you far in our world. Then again, I’m sure she knows. She’s familiar enough, thanks to the work she used to do.
“You know, it didn’t hit me until just now,” I realize, and Emilia arches an eyebrow, silently questioning my meaning. “You never talk about your family. I know your parents exist, but you never bring them up.”
She swallows a mouthful of tender ravioli, then dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “There’s not much to tell. I don’t have brothers and sisters and cousins like you do. I’m the only child of two people who live on the other side of the country from their siblings,” she explains.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your parents when they return from their trip.”
That’s not exactly the truth. There are roughly a hundred other things on my to-do list that take precedence. But I’m sure having us all together would make her happy.
Then why does she look troubled, like I suggested we strip naked before enjoying dessert? “I’m sure we’ll work something out. So long as you think it’s safe,” she adds in a voice devoid of the energy it held moments ago.
Of course. I should’ve thought of that. “I would never put them in harm’s way. We’ll play it by ear,” I vow, and now her smile seems sincere again. I hate to think she’s worried about what my presence in her life means to her safety, but it’s a fact that can’t be avoided. It would be childish of me to try.
By the time I help her into the limo, we’re both full and happy. I want to hold onto this feeling, to put it in a box and carry it in my pocket. Sadly, life doesn’t work that way. I’m learning we can only try to be grateful for these moments when they happen. God knows I’ve seen my share of misery and pain.
So has Emilia, though none of it shows in her almost drowsy smile as she practically drapes herself over me as we pull away from the restaurant and the privacy divider is up again.
