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“I think Holly would like her mom and dad to be married first,” I said, shrugging.
We were heading in that direction.
But I wasn’t exactly in a rush yet.
We were busy with other things. Like finishing the master bedroom and the guest rooms. And we had big plans for the basement since we were both reasonably sure we weren’t going to need it for any more kidnapping and false imprisonment scenarios.
I liked his idea of making it a second family room space, a place where our future kids could hang out. Likely with their dozens of cousins.
And there were absolutely going to be kids.
If we both had our way, many of them.
That was one thing about these Grassi men and women—they never just had one or two. With the exception of Antony. But it was kind of understood that had Luca and Matteo’s mom lived, there would likely be at least two more of them running around.
And, really, who could blame them for having so many kids when these Grassi men were just so irresistible? God, Matteo and I had been so inexplicably hot for each other one time when we were joyriding around the town that we had to pull over, climb into the back, and risk getting a ticket—or worse—because we just couldn’t contain ourselves.
“You know you all can’t drive to Adrian’s now, right?” Nino asked, bringing the tray of margaritas to us.
“That’s what you’re here for, silly,” Marcie said, rolling her eyes.
We had a standing dinner date at Adrian’s house every week, one that I made sure we never missed because I was completely enamored with the dynamic that was created when all the kids, grandkids, and cousins all got together in one place.
There was just so much love to be found, and it was nothing like I’d ever experienced before.
Even when they were screaming at one another, it was somehow not with real anger.
Nino was right.
Even when they hate you, they love you.
I was more excited than I could express to one day bring my own kids into that environment, to have them grow up to be so sure about how loved they were, to know they would always have support no matter what, that all they would have to do is ask, and someone would be right there to help them with anything.
I had to keep reminding myself that it had only been six months.
Somehow, it felt so much longer.
I guess because so much had changed.
“Wait wait wait, hold up,” Marcie called a while later, teetering on her flat feet because she was the biggest lightweight known to mankind. “Here. You take Bruno,” she said, trying to hand the leash to Nino, but missing his hand three times before she got it right. “I have to get the lo mein. I know, I know, it isn’t smothered in cheese and tomato sauce. But I haven’t yet learned the intri…intricat…that’s a hard word,” she decided, choosing not to say it at all. “The finer points of Italian cooking. So she has to deal with my family recipes.”
I was bringing a baked ravioli dish.
Sofia was choosing to show up empty-handed.
Because some masochistic part of her must have liked it when her mom disapproved.
“Do you think Hottie-Mc-Mafia-Hair is gonna be there yet?” Marcie asked from her spot next to me in the backseat as we made our way to Adrian’s house.
Matteo and Luca had been in New York City for something Sofia had referred to as a ‘sit-down.’ Which, it seemed, was some sort of important meeting with other heads of mafia Families.
He’d gone in the night before and claimed he would try to be back for dinner at Adrian’s house, but couldn’t make any promises.
It was one night.
One.
And I had missed him so much that it proved hard to breathe in bed alone.
I was trying not to seem too anxious about seeing him again, not wanting anyone to think I was being over-the-top about how much I missed him when he was just gone for like one day.
“I don’t know. We will see,” I said, even as my heart fluttered at the prospect of walking in and seeing him there.
There was chaos at Adrian’s house.
There always was.
It took me ten minutes to shoulder through the living and dining rooms to make my way into the kitchen to offer Adrian my dish.
“Oh, there she is! And she brings me food. You see that?” she asked, shoving a wooden spatula at Sofia’s face. “She brings me food. My own daughter? Nothing.”
“But, Ma, you love cooking for me,” Sofia insisted, pressing a hand to her heart as she tried to hold back a smile.
“That is true yet completely beside the point. What? Am I going to need to cook for your husband too?”
“Well, you’d have to find me one first,” Sofia said, shrugging. “And, Ma, this is very important, that is not an invite for you to try to start hooking me up on blind dates. Remember how that went last time?”
