I’m surprised to hear it was Mateo, though I guess maybe it’s payback for his little scene at the table yesterday. If so, it’s a light enough retaliation. I guess that’s why Vince doesn’t care.
“I feel like for future reference, not sparring with him would be a good idea,” I advise.
Rolling his eyes, he says, “He’d still punch me if he wanted to. Mateo does what he wants, Mia. Don’t worry about it. At worst, it may get ugly in a couple days.” Nodding toward the door, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”
Grabbing my purse from the floor, I follow him out. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he tells me, surprising me by reaching down and taking my hand.
I offer a tentative smile when he looks over at me, but I’m confused. We haven’t been out on an actual date since I moved in, and obviously last night he was not in the mood to wine and dine me.
I think he feels guilty. Which… well, I guess he should.
I watch out the window as he drives, trying to guess where we might be going, but I have no idea. When he finally pulls into a parking area, it’s outside an apartment complex.
“This is where we’re eating?” I ask, confused.
Instead of answering me, he takes me by the hand again and leads me inside.
I’m surprised again when he pauses outside room 602 and uses a key.
Then he opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. Thoroughly confused, I look around. It’s sparsely furnished, but as soon as I spot the kitchen, I see pots and cans of food, a bag of flour, spices, and some kind of silver machine with a crank handle. Across the kitchen in the corner there’s a small round table with two chairs, an unlit candle at the center, already set for two.
A smile spreading across my face, I ask, “What is this?”
“I asked Joey if I could borrow his apartment for the evening. I seem to remember we’re way overdue for a spaghetti dinner.”
Recalling the time he bought my groceries and then I asked him to leave, I nod my head. “I guess we are.”
“And I know you just use the readymade stuff, but I can’t eat spaghetti sauce from a jar. It just isn’t right.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Don’t be a spaghetti snob; it’s good!”
“Well, I’m going to show you how to make your own spaghetti sauce, and we’re making our own pasta. We’ll see which one’s better.”
“This is nice,” I tell him, feeling lighter than I have in a while.
Taking my hand, he lifts it and places a light kiss to my knuckles. “Good. After dinner, we’ve got the living room to ourselves—any movie you want. At least, any movie that Joey has that you want.”
“I’m sure I’ll be overwhelmed by the selection,” I assure him.
“I hope you like Jason Statham.”
Snorting, I respond, “Who doesn’t?”
A few minutes later, washed up and ingredients sorted, Vince and I start dinner.
“I’ve never cooked with a guy before,” I tell him, mincing garlic.
“Weird, me neither.”
I roll my eyes at him. “That’s because in your family only women cook.”
Lifting an eyebrow as if to admit his inability to argue that, he says, “Well, this is my mom’s recipe, so I know it’s good.”
“You never told me about your mom.”
His demeanor dims a little, and I feel him want to retreat. To his credit, he doesn’t. “Like most Morelli women, she got trapped into a relationship with one of us bastards and couldn’t get out.”
“Ah,” I murmur, nodding. “How did she die?”
“Pills. Killed herself.”
My head snaps up. “Oh, Jesus. I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”
He dumps a can of diced tomatoes into the pot. “I always told myself I wouldn’t be like him. Swore it. I didn’t want to become someone I hated.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about Mateo or his father, but I really don’t want to bring up the former if he’s not talking about him, so I guess, “Your dad?”
He nods. “I’d never let him meet you. He’s garbage.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re not like him, then,” I say easily, lifting the chopping board and taking it over to the pot, scraping the garlic in.
“I was last night,” he states, quietly.
Putting the cutting board and knife down on the counter, I wrap an arm around him and give him a squeeze. “No.”
“Yes. Eighteen years ago, he did to Maria what I did to you, and every day I see Cherie it’s a reminder of the kind of man I don’t want to be.”
That stuns me. Mateo had filled me in on their relation, but he certainly hadn’t indicated it had been non-consensual. I just figured he had an affair with the maid—typical.
“Your dad and Maria weren’t…?”
“She hated him,” Vince states. “He wanted her anyway. Morelli men take what they want.”