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Dominic is waiting at the opened front door. I lock up the house. Once again he’s holding my car door open for me. I can’t look at him as I get in. All I can think of is what he said.
As I follow his soft-spoken instructions, I’m not able to focus on where we are going until we’ve stopped. We’re in front of a beautiful four-square red house with a wide front porch. I go still, wondering what the hell I got myself into.
His chuckle is soft. “It’s my father’s home. Don’t worry, Chloe. If something bad was going to happen to you, we would make sure you never saw it coming.” He winks as he opens his door and gets out.
Jerk. Those long legs move much faster than my own. He has the front door open before I’m on the porch.
From inside the house I hear a deeper voice in Italian telling Dominic not to be rude, he was raised better. Wow, he has to be Dominic’s father, but the only way I can tell is by the silver strands among ink-black hair, he barely looks ten years older than Dominic. His smile is dazzling, and a dimple winks at me from his right cheek. “Bon giorno. I’m Tony Sabatini, I apologize for my son’s rudeness. Patience is something he must have in all things, but some days he’s not so good at it.”
My hand disappears in his large one. “Thank you.” I mumble the words, still slightly stunned by him. He’s tall, at least six five, only an inch taller than his son, and he’s also a wall of muscle that flexes beneath the fine white linen shirt he’s wearing with the sleeves turned back.
“I thank you for joining me tonight. It’s been some time since I had such a beautiful dinner companion.” I find his words incredibly hard to believe.
“Pop, I’m not beautiful?”
“Eh, you know you’re too damn pretty for your own good.”
The kitchen is a chef’s dream: he has the same stove I fell in love with today in white. There’s a pizza oven with wood burning I can smell. “I’m jealous of your kitchen.”
Tony’s laughter is husky from deep within his chest. “It’s my favorite place. Dominic tells me I have my kitchen to thank for how good my food tastes, when I was cooking like this with a hot plate and toaster oven.”
I’m handed a glass of wine, and so begins the oddest evening I’ve ever had. Tony Sabatini is magnetic, Dominic only slightly less so. They usher me to the table in the kitchen, where I’m presented with an antipasto platter I can’t keep my hands off. The men finish cooking together, their interaction loose, affectionate. Wine flows, as do gentle, light questions between the amazing food.
I try to turn down the leftover gnocchi I’m offered, but Tony is pressing the glass-covered dish in my hand with a small pat of his hand on my back. As he guides me out the door, Dominic behind him, I notice although he smiles, for the first time over these long hours his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
Dominic takes my keys from me. “You have had enough to drink tonight.”
I nod, not arguing. I’ve lost count of the number of glasses I had, yet I’m pretty sure Dominic didn’t have more than one. He doesn’t ask for directions. Once again he’s quiet the whole drive. I’m surprised by the time on the dash, it’s almost ten thirty.
When the car stops I reach out my hand for my keys. “I’ve been raised to see a woman to her door. Then you’ll have seen the last of me.”
He’s cold now, dismissive. He reminds me of Enzo. I’m at my front door then reach for my keys. Without a word he nods and gives them to me, turning away. “What was tonight about?”
“Pop wanted to get a look at you for himself to find out if you were good for Enzo.” He tosses the words over his shoulder.
“And?” I know the answer, I saw it in Tony’s eyes. I’m not sure why I ask the question.
A pause; he stops and turns to me. “We agree, you aren’t.”
It’s a slap in the face. My lips are numb, the word comes out so garbled I don’t understand it myself. “Why?”
“I don’t know Pop’s reason. Maybe it’s the same as mine, maybe it’s something else. You are a good person, Chloe Hutchins, I’m not saying you aren’t. There is this woman you proclaim to be: strong, independent, kind, patient, at your core a good person. Then there is the real you: petty, bitter, selfish. You’re too concerned in what’s given and owed, mainly what you’ve given and what you feel you’re owed. You’ll say please and thank you when Enzo turns his life upside down and himself inside out to please you because you think it’s your due. Maybe it is between two people who love each other, but you won’t mean your please and thank-yous—you’ll count every one. The problem with that is things are never even; there are some things that can never be calculated no matter how hard you try. You don’t get it, so you won’t turn your life upside down, and you’ll refuse to turn yourself inside out because you think you’ve done enough bringing yourself to the relationship. You won’t open up and let him in, won’t put yourself on the line. I get that shit went down in your past.”
He shakes his head; a small laugh filled with bitterness comes from his chest. “Shit happens to everyone, there is nothing special about you or what happened to you. You either learn, grow, and move on, or you let it make you bitter and stay right where you were when it all went down. And you, Chloe Hutchins, your real age might be thirty but inside, where it counts you’re still a girl, still holding grudges, still sure you were done wrong and petulant about it.” He smiles a sad smile. “It’s too bad, because the woman you proclaim to be—that woman would be perfect for Enzo.”
I feel the tears running down my face. I hate that he sees them, that he knows he hurt me. “Just like a Sabatini, so sure he knows everything, knows everyone.”
“I know you, Chloe Hutchins. I know you’ve already started your accounting on Enzo, and he’s down so low there isn’t much he could do to meet your ridiculous standards. I know you’re going to stay away from Enzo; for that I’m grateful, my father’s grateful. There’s no need to warn you away. You’re too worried about protecting yourself, so we don’t have to worry about protecting Enzo.” A small nod and he turns away. “Despite how this night has ended, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
For such a large man he moves silently, smoothly in his black suit. He reminds me of a jaguar moving through the night, away from the light. I stand watching him, unable to move, then I realize I can’t see him anymore. Shaking my head, I unlock my door, taking the stairs two at a time.
“What’s the matter, pussycat?”
I open my mouth to tell him, then burst into tears. Damn it.
It takes almost an hour to stop crying and tell Russell everything. When I finally stutter to a stop and wipe my eyes, I hold my breath, waiting for Russell to respond. Instead he has me gasping for air as he simply says, “Hmm.”
“What? What does that mean? Should I have said yes to Enzo? God, Russell, you should see the ring. Do you think Dominic’s right? Am I this horrible, bitter woman who doesn’t deserve someone like Enzo Sabatini?”
