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His nonna says something in Italian, pulling me in for a double cheek kiss. “Now you can leave the family to take care of yours!” she tells her grandson excitedly.
Fabio sighs. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“I love your grandson no matter what he does for a living,” I assure her.
“Then you’re a fool,” she says bitterly.
“Nonna,” Fabio chastises.
After a somewhat tense visit, we say our goodbyes. “I’m sorry about that,” Fabio says, opening my door. “Nonna never got over what happened to my folks, and she refuses to accept this is my life,” he explains. “Mentally, she’s starting to slip, and that only makes the hostility worse.”
“Don’t apologize.” Knowing what happened to Fabio’s parents, maybe that does make me a fool for choosing a man in this life. So be it. Dominic was right about one thing: I would be bored with a strait-laced guy. Good thing my husband is anything but. “How do you expect this will go down with your boss?”
“I’m gonna come clean about everything.”
“And then?” I press.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “And then we’ll see.”
“What if he doesn’t take the news well?” Romeo Parisi doesn’t strike me as a hopeless romantic.
“I’ll cross that bridge if I have to. I don’t want you to worry. I’ll keep you safe; that’s a promise.” He takes my hand in his, giving it a squeeze.
We arrive at Romeo’s front gate, and Fabio presses the call button, announcing our arrival. The gate swings open, and I bounce in my seat as we make our way down the long, ominous driveway; it’s a feeling of deja vu, except this time I can see what’s coming.
And what’s coming is that same ferocious Doberman waiting to greet us. We park, and an older man appears, calling the dog to heel.
Fabio and the man exchange something in Italian before Fabio helps me out of the SUV. He takes my hand, and I give his a squeeze as we walk to the front door. He rings the bell, and a lively old woman dressed in a red tracksuit appears, saying something in Italian with her hands. They greet each other with a double cheek kiss. “Nonna, this is my wife, Katerina.” Fabio introduces us with a big grin.
She claps her hands with delight, grabbing me and kissing both my cheeks. “Ciao. Call me Nonna.”
“Hello, Nonna,” I say.
“Nonna, I need to talk shop with Romeo,” Fabio says, grabbing me and kissing me.
“Go.” She shoos him away as she leads me to the kitchen. “We celebrate this marriage.” Nonna grabs a bottle of wine, pouring me a glass.
“Whose marriage?” Valentina demands, hands on hips.
“Katerina and Fabio’s,” Nonna tells her granddaughter excitedly.
Valentina points her manicured finger at me. “You officiated Lily and Darius’ wedding, and now you ducked out and married Fabio! Doesn’t anyone around here know I’m a freaking wedding planner?” She stomps her foot.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “There was no planning; it was spontaneous.”
“Same excuse as Lily,” Valentina narrows her eyes at me. “How convenient.”
“You pregnant?” Nonna asks, eyeing my stomach.
“Nonna, that’s too personal,” Valentina chastises her grandma, taking a seat at the island. “Unless, Kat, you are pregnant, in which case I’m planning the baby shower.”
“Not pregnant. Just bloated from all the delicious food Fabio feeds me.” I pat my stomach.
“Italian men make the best husbands,” Nonna gushes. “And the best lovers, no?”
“Nonna!” Valentina groans.
“What? Look at those love bites,” Nonna says, glancing at my neck, and I turn the color of the red sauce she’s stirring. “Nothing makes for a better necklace, except a big Italian hand.”
