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He looks half perplexed.
“I think Antonia transposed the numbers of her cell phone on purpose when I asked for it a while back. So, I dropped by your mom’s house to ask what your favorite meal was while you were sick. Toni said your ma was napping and that she knew the ingredients.” My eyes narrow slightly as I recount the chaotic day. “Then Antonia said she could gage the various amounts of each ingredient by eyeing them . . .”
“We have all our family . . .”
“Five hours later, Antonia said the soup tastedalmostperfect. Oh, I should add that this was after I had more groceries delivered so that she could help me cook. She then proceeded to open the family cookbook to share what one ingredient we forgot to add.” I cross my arms.
Santino runs a finger through his dark array of hair. “So, the two of you made my ma’s chicken soup?”
“Yes.” The duffle bag unzipping is the only sound between us. Three months in, and we’re at an awkward part in our failing relationship. I rifle through the overnight bag I made while standing at the front door. l pull out items. Simply Orange juice. Fresh pressed greens. I then grab the warm container.
“Gina . . .”
“Here.”
“What, you’re gonna ghost a sick man?”
I swipe the side of my index finger beneath my eye. “I’m gonna ghost the nice guy who I . . .”Don’t deserve it.
“Gina!”
I start down the hall, past another apartment contemplating one true thing. We’re from different worlds. My family will eat me alive if I bring him home. Antonia’s cross-examination showed me how Santino doesn’t deserve this. He deserves better than my desire for a secret affair.
I’m almost to the main exit when Santino lifts me over his shoulder. His body is screaming hot—from sex appeal and fever—as he stalks back down the hall.
“What are you doing?” I screech as he closes the door and sets me down against it. Damn, square one. This door has seen too much of my backside!
“You’re trying to catch a cold?” His accent thickens as he drops his palms along the doorframe, boxing me in.
“I don’t get colds, Santino. Let me go home!”
“I love you, Gina. First, fucking sight. We both know that!”
“And I was trying so hard this entire time not to return those affections, Santino. Aren’t you insulted?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I spent five hours with a teenager and—”
“And what?”
“You’ll settle down with a good Italian girl who understands your customs. I’ll marry a businessman who has the same hungry, familial dynamic.”
I’m eye level with Santino’s pecs, ready to lick all over them until they vibrate as he laughs. I move to the side, annoyed by him for his inability to understand. Hell, Antonia comprehended our social structure.
“Gina, I won’t allow you to marry some lame bastard just because he meets your father’s qualifications! A father you can’t stand!”
My trench coat is soaked all the way through to my cashmere sweater dress. Pulling out of it, I argue, “Hey, I love my dad! C’mon, I’ll let my clothes dry for a little while, then let’s call it a day.”
Santino’s heavy hands come down on the front of my sweater, shredding it from my goose-pimpled flesh. He wraps his arms around me, bringing me against him. His body is like my own personal heater as he settles on the couch with me straddling him.
“Gina, forget the illusion.” He brushes his hands over my thighs, determined to warm every inch that’s freezing. “Y’know what looks good on paper, I’ll give you that. But what looks even better coming out of your mouth? Gina fucking Morelli.”
At his declaration, a knot forms in my stomach, squeezing me from the inside out.
His hands push masses of my now puffing hair. “I’m intent on making you mine, Bella. Have I ever wavered from this belief? I’m not speaking of just the bedroom. I want your heart. So, no more nonsense. You made my ma’s infamous soup for me? Because I was sick.”
“Because you do so much for your family and you deserve it, Santino.”
