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Ad break over, the volume was unmuted and the graphic he had okayed six months ago came into focus, the lead-in for the premiere episode of Jack of All Trades. Pulse accelerating, he looked around, his brain finally catching up to his vision. This was a viewing party.
“Quiet, everyone. It’s starting up again,” Cara called out, waving the remote control. A hushed awe descended across the room. Jack hadn’t exactly forgotten that it was broadcasting tonight, he’d just preferred to ignore it. Maybe watch it later and wallow a bit. He had assumed Tony’s wounded pride would demand he forget about it, too.
He knew it was a long shot but what the hey. “I got a message saying Tony wanted to see me.”
Francesca’s brows dipped in a chevron and Jack cursed his meddling sister.
“He is rather busy now but let me get you a glass of Brunello. Would you like to see the new menu?” she asked, cool as the other side of the pillow.
“Sure,” he mumbled, taking it from her. Then he looked down, surprised at the weight in his hand, or lack thereof. Just a single page on quality cardstock. A few appetizers and salads, the best pastas and entrees. The veal meatballs. The gnocchi with brown butter and sage. Clean, inviting, fresh.
The cutting edge art. The scaled-to-superlatives menu. His girl had won. Damn if that didn’t excite the hell out of him.
At the bottom of the menu, a line proclaimed the chef would prepare any Italian specialty and that patrons only had to ask. Jack couldn’t hide his smile. He supposed that was what’s known as a compromise, the art of which he supposedly knew nothing about.
Francesca had moved off to talk to someone who was clearly related—he still hadn’t met them all—and Jack rested against the hostess podium, trying to blend in. All eyes were riveted to the screen, their attention only interrupted by brief dips to shovel that kick-arse gnocchi into their mouths. Everyone, that is, except a severe-looking blonde in a tight skirt and tighter blouse, who fiddled with a microphone and whispered to the guy with the video camera behind her. Local news crew, from the looks of it. Jack scanned the room and tried to convince himself disappointment felt close to relief when his search for the manager came up empty.
From what he could gather, the thirty-minute episode was at the business end. He didn’t have to watch it to know it had followed the standard play: the set-up of cocky arriviste versus traditional by-the-book, something going terribly wrong, in this case, Jack overcooking a risotto to a mushy glue, cut with images of diners lamenting a missing flavor or waxing as lyrical as the editing allowed. The point wasn’t accuracy, but to tell a tale in twenty-two minutes. In one shot, Tony was captured in that scowl the DeLucas had a patent on, then Jack was shown at the burner, competently managing several orders at once. Spliced together, it looked like Tony was envious of Jack’s flair, which he was damn sure was not the case.
Aunt Sylvia had the right of it. Television was cheating. “Hi, Jack.”
Glancing down, he encountered four feet of attitude, topped with one foot of bird’s nest. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said to Gina.
She fidgeted, opened her mouth, closed it, then blew out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about the salt in your dishes.”
“Forget about it.” When she still looked woebegone, he squeezed her shoulder. “It’s all vino under the bridge.”
“It was Marco’s fault, really, and I just wanted to make everything better after…” She delivered a furtive over-the shoulder glance and mouthed, “The video.”
“The video?” he repeated, feeling sluggish.
“Of the kiss. It was me,” she said in a torrent. “It was supposed to be a joke, but then Angela started sending it to everyone she knew and it just snowballed. And then Uncle Tony was mad, and Lili was upset, so I tried to make it up to her with the Facebook page and the t-shirts. And then I thought if Uncle Tony won the contest, it would cancel out some of the bad publicity.”
Jesus. “Does Lili know?”
Gina shook her head despondently, her eyes big and glossy. “I’m trying to persuade her to give me my job back and if I tell her, she’s going to kill me.”
“Probably.” Kissing her on the cheek would require more knee-bend than he was willing to give, so he dropped one on the cotton-candy crown of her head. “It’s all right, munchkin. No hard feelings.”
“Aw, thanks, Jack, you’re a real star and absolutely gorgeous.” A melancholy sigh escaped her lips. “I’m getting married in a while and you would have looked so good in the wedding party. Can’t think why Lili dropped you.”
She flashed a smile, adjusted her breasts and bounced off, conscience cleansed. Oh, to be that young and clueless.
Back on Jack of All Trades, the drama was ratcheting up and now played to an audience with eyes out on stalks. He’d known that Jules’ dramatic arrival and anything that hinted at the cheating would grace the cutting room floor, but surprise rolled over him at seeing he and Lili shaping that moment of comfort right before the second coming of hell broke loose. The hairs on his arm spiked in memory of her soft hand stroking him to calm. His lips twitched in remembrance of how near her mouth had been to his. His whole body ached like it had done that night when he’d realized he needed her more than he needed food or air.
The crowd cheered as Lili and Jack almost kissed on camera, then booed as Cara broke up the party and ordered everyone to get back to work. In good-humored acceptance of her role as stage villain, his producer stood up to take a bow. He cast about again, noting the healthy mix of young and old, including the trendy, professional kind of clientele Lili had said the restaurant needed to supplement the regulars. More DeLucas crowded his vision, laughing, living, and loving. People he wanted to know better. Aunt Sylvia, with her hirsute tower, partially blocked the view of the poor souls sitting behind her… Jules and Tad, whispering like co-conspirators.
His sister felt his gaze and grinned at him with his mother’s smile, and he remembered that he loved her very much and that it might be bad form to throttle her before the baby was born.
And then he saw her. The euphoric surge of electric that coursed through his body felt like that first time when he stumbled out of a walk-in fridge and found a spread-eagled vision in red, gold, and blue.
She stood off to the side near the corridor that led to the kitchen, separate, presiding.
Dressed in a drape of shimmery silver that kissed every curve, she looked like she’d been dipped in something precious. Her hair was piled up high but even from his distant vantage point, he could see a couple of wispy strands had formed an escape committee and were making a break along the elegant curve of her neck.
He moved to a seat at the side of the bar, so he could watch her covertly. She lifted her high-heeled foot and rubbed her ankle, a move that hitched her dress up so far he had to close his eyes to harden his mind against the onslaught of golden skin. Didn’t help his body any, which had turned to granite the moment he saw her and stayed that way.
From the TV, the announcement that Tony had won sent a wave of applause and cheers undulating through the room. Shouts of salute and il cuoco, il cuoco filled the air, drowning out the closing interviews and the theme of Jack of All Trades. It took a moment for Tony to make his appearance, and he clearly did so under sufferance as Tad strong-armed him from the kitchen to take a bow.
