Page 128 of First Comes Love


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“Marie,” I said, pulling her off him. “Give the man some space.”

“Frankie? Are you back?” Kate wandered down the hall to see what was going on, took one look at me and Xavier, and her jaw dropped to the floor. “Holy shit,” she said, then immediately pivoted and marched back to the dining room.

I sighed. “Come on.”

Xavier frowned. “What just happened?”

“You’ve been found out,” I said. “Time to come in and meet everyone else.”

“I don’t get it,” Joni said behind me. “What secret?”

“You never do,” Marie told her.

“Oh, please. Like you do?”

We entered the dining room at the back of the house, stopping near a hutch to take in the scene while Marie and Joni slipped around us to find seats at the table and avail themselves of the plate of fresh berries in the center.

Xavier paused in the doorway to take in the humble space. I found myself shrinking, just like I did when he first came to the house in Red Hook. Following his gaze, I noticed all the little things that always faded into the normalcy of the place whenever I was here—the scuffs on Nonna’s Queen Anne-style table, the hand-crocheted doilies stacked on the hutch, the tiny stains on the knock-off Persian rug. Everything was neat and clean, just like Nonna, but a little shabby, as a house might be after having been lived in by three straight generations.

I frowned and forced myself to stand up straight again. Maybe this wasn’t what Xavier was used to. It wasn’t a manor or whatever fancy place he had in London. But it was the place I had called home for most of my life—a place that, on some level, would always be home. My grandparents had worked hard to carve out this small bit of the Bronx for themselves and share it with the six of us. I could never be less than proud of that.

When he finally turned all the way back to the dining table, Xavier found my five siblings all staring at him openly. Nonna walked into the room carrying a pitcher of iced tea, took one look at Xavier, and immediately placed the pitcher on the table so she could cross herself and mutter, “Mammamà” under her breath.

“Apparently, it’s not just me who sees the resemblance,” I murmured.

“It’s—you are—” Nonna looked around me, then at Xavier, then back at me. “Where is Sofia?”

“She’s at the park, Nonna,” Lea said. “I guess now we know why.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Um. It’s time you met Sofia’s dad. Everyone, this is Xavier Parker.”

I waited for a response, the immediate clamor that only my family could produce. But instead, what I got was a silence so thick you could hear the screechy brakes of the Bx17 bus four blocks away.

Holy crap. Had I done the impossible? Had I stunned the Zola family into submission?

“Excuse me.”

My brother’s voice broke the silence at last, and I exhaled with relief. Matthew would know what to say here to make things right. I watched, grateful, as my brother rose from the other end of the table, then strode around meaningfully to where we stood.

“Hey, mate. I’m Xavier. It’s great to finally meet you.” Xavier held out a hand to Matthew.

My brother looked down at it, then back up at its owner. Then he pulled back his fist and punched Xavier straight in the jaw.

“What the fuck!” Xavier exclaimed, clutching his cheek.

He had been forced a few steps back, but not much more. That alone was impressive. My brother knew how to fight dirty. In his younger days, I’d seen him lay out a man with a lot less than that sort of punch, so the fact that Xavier took it cleanly was no small feat.

Even so, I was appalled.

“Mattie!” I shouted as I jumped between them. “What the hell was that?”

Matthew stood there, shaking out his quivering hand, but still keeping his gaze lasered on Xavier. “That was for leaving Frankie and Sofia high and dry for the last few years, mate. I should give you a lot worse for being engaged to another woman while you were treating my sister like your own fuckin’ play toy, but there are ladies present.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Xavier growled, though he was smart enough not to push Matthew further.

“Oh my God.” Kate rolled her eyes. “Could you be any more nineteen fifties, Matthew? Who else’s delicate sensibilities are you going to protect today?”

“I wasn’t talking about you, Katie,” he snarled over his shoulder. “I was talking about Nonna.”

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