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“I wanted her to know that I have my eyes on her.”
“For the last time, Fran doesn’t have a drinking problem. She likes her wine, yes, she gets tipsy from time to time, also yes, but she’s not an alcoholic. I trust her to watch over Romina. She’s been doing it for the past two years.”
“Romina is abnormal. She can practically raise herself. I’m scared for her son. He can’t be as easygoing as our daughter.”
“Sammy is a sweet kid. I don’t know why you have such a problem with Francesca.”
“Because both times I’ve seen her, she had her hand latched to a glass full of wine.”
“Roman, how many times did you almost drink yourself into a coma? I had to tuck you to sleep into our bathtub once because you came home hammered from that party on campus. I took flaming tequila shots from your chest in our kitchen. When did you turn into a prude?”
“I didn’t. I can drink like a fucking Viking, woman. I like my scotch and I like my Amaretto before dinner, but I’m not sipping wine while watching over children.”
“So whenever you’re watching Romina, you won’t touch another drop? Ever? You know she’s permanent, right? And we had wine over lunch when you took us on a boat.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t drink too much.”
“Fran doesn’t either. Her husband died the day she gave birth; it was a pretty big shock and she had some dark times after that. I worry that she might slip in those dark times again too, but she’s responsible, and she’s very good with the kids. Until I see her drunk, I have no reason to worry.”
“She rubs me the wrong way, ok? I don’t know why, I just don’t…” I exhaled. “I know she’s your friend, amore, but she definitely won’t be mine.”
“You have enough friends?” She asked.
“I don’t have friends. I have family.” I took her hand and kissed it. “Ok, enough. I want us to enjoy tonight.”
“Where are we going anyway? You're almost out of Portofino.”
“Rapallo.”
“Rapallo? Why?”
I’d looked at the tourist maps all night trying to find a place good enough to take her. She lived here, right on the edge of the beautiful motherland, so I couldn’t just take her to see a pretty sunset; she’d already seen it a million times. I made a shit-ton of calls and put a lot of money on the table for tonight.
“I wanted to take you to see something special. How do you like castles?”
“Sorry to ruin your big thing, brown eyes, but I’ve already seen the Rapallo Castle.”
“Not the way I have it in mind, baby.”
The drive went by faster than I expected. I guess I was so used to the New York traffic that was such a pain in the ass that I estimated the traffic completely wrong because there were only a couple of other cars on the road here. Salva finally relaxed in the car, spending her time singing along to the Italian songs that were rolling on the radio and trying to convince me to join, but I didn’t know any of them. It was weird; we were both of Italian descent, even if her last name was Carter after her stepfather, but while I was raised into the mafia tradition of family and Italian customs, she’d had a normal, American life. I had to teach her how to make bruschetta, for crying out loud. She was making pasta one night in our apartment and she broke the spaghetti to fit in the pot in half, and I felt my heart breaking along with it. Anyone in my family would have considered breaking pasta a capital offence. I’m not even going to mention how badly she overcooked the damn things. Al dente, amore, I had to tell her a million times. Looking at her now, she was the definition of an Italian summer girl. Her skin was sun-kissed, her green eyes sparkled under the Genova sun, matching the colors of the green sea, and she was singing a damn Laura Pausini song that I’ve never heard before.
“Why are you looking at me like that, brown eyes?”
“It’s nice to see you happy. I’m going to park here, and we can walk the rest.”
“Are you taking me somewhere with a view over the harbor? I appreciate the effort, but you know it looks just like in Portofino, right?”
“I found a little special place.” I helped her out of the car and stopped to look at her for a second. “You look stunning, Salva. I’m sorry I was more focused on bickering with Francesca Carrara than on telling you how unbelievably beautiful you look.”
Her cheeks turned pink. I had no idea I could make her blush anymore.
“Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself. The pinstripe suit, the homburg hat. You really look like one of them.”
“One of them?” I frowned.
“Like someone who came out straight from the Godfather.” Ah, so we were back to talking about the famiglia. “Don’t worry, Roman, you are more handsome than Pacino and Brando.”
“I know I am. Let’s go.”
