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Tad smirked. “Maybe. But it’s not going to do you any harm, is it? As long as we’re clear, if I see you getting an advantage out of this at Lili’s expense, you’ll be moving to the top of my list. She’s too good a person for that.”
“I would never hurt her.” Jesus, all he wanted to do was protect her from all that. Keep her safe from every hater with a camera or a keyboard. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He strummed the table and added, “I like her.”
A slow burn of a smile animated Tad’s face, and Jack immediately wanted to bite back his admission.
“Okay,” Tad said, a million things hinted in that single word, all of them annoying as fuck.
They were bonding. Cute.
“Anyway, I’m not the DeLuca you should be worried about.”
Jack knew it was coming and he almost welcomed the gut check. He needed to be brought down from this cloud he’d been floating on for the last day and a half.
Tad’s grin turned to pity. “You might want to dust off your crotch armor because Tony’s going to have your nads in a vise before the day is over.”
Seventeen
Standing on the threshold of the DeLuca’s brownstone in Andersonville on Chicago’s north side, Jack immediately knew the pain of every randy teenage boy who had dared to take a DeLuca girl on a date. Tony loomed in the hallway doing his best Don Corleone. Hands clenched. Feet planted like sequoias. Mouth a grey slash. Lili fidgeted behind her father, looking like she wanted the hardwood floors to split at their seams and drag her to the earth’s molten core.
“Jack, this is my mother, Francesca,” Cara said. He took the hand of a beautiful, frail woman with elfin features and cropped blonde hair. Sucking in a bolstering breath, Jack embarked on the grovel to end all grovels.
“Tony, Francesca, I’m so sorry about what happened last night.” But your daughter got me so riled up I had no choice.
The muscles in Tony’s face scrunched, mirroring the imminently dangerous situation with his fists. Francesca placed a hand on her husband’s arm. No one spoke, so Jack did what he usually did when faced with adversity—tried to talk his way out of it.
“Your daughter’s a lovely woman.” And I want her so much it hurts.
Lili’s eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently.
“My behavior was unforgivable.” But I don’t regret a single moment.
An imperceptible nod from Lili. Better.
“Jack, it is okay,” Francesca said warmly. “You cannot be blamed for the kind of society we live in.” She mashed her lips together in disapproval of the ravenous media and their appetite for the slightest scandal. Jack would have kissed her if he wasn’t so worried about getting decked flat by her husband.
Tony wouldn’t be so easily swayed, but after his wife squeezed his arm once more, the older man clasped Jack’s hand. A reluctant détente, but he’d take it. Jack huffed out a breath and caught Lili’s equally relieved expression.
“Well, thank God,” Cara said cheerily. “I think we could all do with a drink.” Amen to that.
Dinner was served around a large communal table in the back yard, which was roughly landscaped in a style reminiscent of the gardens of an Italian villa. The aroma of lavender and basil from the herb garden scented the air. Terra cotta planters, paving stones, and trees strung with twinkling lights all combined to create a little corner of Tuscany in the middle of the city. It was like something out of a fairytale, complete with a modern-day Cinderella. Lili served and cleared, usually under Tony’s barked instructions en Italiano.
It didn’t take long for Jack to intuit that, while Tony was the consummate host, he wasn’t about to give away any of his kitchen secrets.
“So what’s in store for me tomorrow, Tony?”
Tony swirled his wine glass, watching as the legs of the Brunello Jack had brought dribbled dark rivulets down the sides. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
And I’m the Queen of England. Jack had seen enough of the Italian maestro’s management style on his brief tour of the DeLuca kitchen to know he had his contest menu prepared, right down to how many leaves of basil he would use to garnish the pasta. Even tonight’s simple meal of bruschetta, veal parmigiana, and homemade linguine was perfect. More sabre-rattling. Now the man had the family honor as an extra incentive to nail Jack’s arse to the wall.
For the rest of the meal, Jack underwent a barrage of questions from Tony’s scary sister-in-law, Sylvia and her towering bouffant. She had seen every one of his shows and grilled him like the head chef at Le Cordon Bleu would an unprepared student.
“In the episode where you killed that squid on the boat, it looked like a different squid in the next shot,” Sylvia said, scarcely able to disguise her disgust at the deceptive practices of the editors.
“It might have been.” He tried to trap Lili’s gaze to see if she was even slightly amused, but she hadn’t looked his way once since his arrival.
“So you cheated,” Sylvia concluded sternly with a wave of her hand. Every time she gesticulated, his gaze rose, poised for something disastrous to happen.
“It’s television. It’s all cheating,” he murmured, but she’d already transferred the Gestapo tactics to her niece.
