Motherfucker.
“What’s her name?” Ma demands, so happy she could burst. She swats my arm with the back of her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is why you don’t want to meet Lila. That’s a good reason; you should’ve just told me that.”
“It’s nothing serious,” I say, not having to feign my look of irritation. “It’s just a casual thing. No one new—Vivian, from a long time ago. Please don’t get carried away, Ma. It’s nothing to get excited about. We’re barely more than friends.”
“Well, I don’t have any friends who take me on romantic trips to New York,” she says, all smug and knowing.
I sigh. I glare at Dad. He smirks.
“Think you can keep your old man in the dark, but I know, see? I actually remember Vivian,” he remarks. “Nice rack on that one.”
Grimacing, I shake my head. “Dad… no.”
He shrugs, like what do I expect? “She was the one who posted all the pictures with her tits out for everyone to see.”
“Okay, I’m leaving.”
“Antonio, you’re disgusting,” Ma tells him, shaking her head disapprovingly. “That could be the mother of our grandchildren you’re talking about.”
“It isn’t.” God. I give Ma one more kiss, then I’m forced to linger long enough for her to grab two foil-wrapped subs out of the fridge so I don’t starve.
“You should bring Vivian around for dinner this weekend,” Ma tells me, following after me as I head for the front door. “I’d love to meet her.”
“She won’t be in town. She likes to travel, and just so happens she has a trip this weekend. But again, this isn’t a serious thing, definitely not serious enough to bring her home.”
Her face drawn with concern, Ma grabs my free hand, pressing it between both of hers. “I worry about you, Salvatore. You’re not getting any younger, and you need to find yourself a good girl.”
Before I met Francesca, this would’ve made me roll my eyes. I needed to find myself a good girl like I needed an extra hole in my head, but it turns out good girls are, in fact, pretty fucking awesome.
God, I wish I could bring her home to meet Ma. I don’t need the approval of my family to have a relationship with her, obviously, but more for Ma’s benefit than anything. Being raised in the family she was brought up in, Francesca would be able to fit right in. Ma’s always been deeply traditional—that’s why she won’t leave my dad, even though she should’ve many, many years ago. Francesca’s everything Ma would love in a daughter-in-law. She’s kind, funny, smart, and brought up in a frankly sexist family. If she has to have a business, Ma would approve of it being a bakery.
Just not the Morelli family bakery.
Even that Francesca doesn’t shorten her name. Ma has a weird pet peeve about nicknames. She says your mother goes to all the trouble of picking you out a beautiful name, and people have to go and ruin it by hacking it up with a shortened version. She’d love that Francesca doesn’t go by Franny or Frankie or any shortened version—just Francesca. Elegant, like she is.
Ma would love her. I’m surprised by how much I want that, since it’s never meant a damn thing to me before. I’ve never been even remotely tempted to bring a girl home, and now here I am.
It’s impossible, though. Unless Dad ever lets go of his beef with her brother, it’s impossible. He won’t, because Mateo’s a disrespectful upstart who stands for everything he hates, but if he’d just let it go, I could make everyone happy. Ma could finally see I found a good girl to bring home. Francesca wouldn’t have to long for family connections—she could make connections in mine. It’s the craziest fucking thing I can imagine, but without having even slept with her, I’m ready to bring her home to meet my family.
Except, you know, there’s the off-chance if I did, my dad might start plotting against her. I can just see him being pissed off that she’s even sitting at his dinner table. Morelli scum, he’d call her. He’d be an asshole to her. Then everybody would abruptly stop liking her, because I’d be the one lacking respect as I took Francesca’s side against my own father. Then I’d have to watch him like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t plotting anything, and if he was, I might not find out until it was too late.
It’s too big a risk.
Goddammit.
Why does this have to be so fucking difficult?
Chapter Thirteen
Normally a man sitting alone at a bar staring down into his drink is a man with a lot on his mind, and tonight is no exception. Tonight I am that man, watching the scotch swirl in my smudged glass, wondering how the hell I’m going to move the mountains I need to move to clear my way to a life with Francesca. I’m going to have a life with her, I just don’t know how.