Brooke emerged from the apartment to stand behind Franny. Her baby bump getting bigger by the day. “Franny. It’s not polite to ask if someone dyes their hair. Sorry,” Brooke apologized.
“Don’t be. Kids are honest. And no, Franny, my hair is naturally red.”
Gio winked at his niece. “I think you should dye your hair blue,” he told her.
“Don’t give her any ideas,” Brooke grumbled. “I’m Brooke.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Brooke pulled Franny back into the apartment. “We’ll see you up there.”
Emma started up the stairs again. “Anyone else I should know about?”
He laughed. “I warned you.”
“Yes, yes you did.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Gio’s one-bedroom apartment on the top floor of the building reminded Emma a lot of where she’d moved from. Only a little smaller.
He’d said that the place had been used as a guesthouse, of sorts, for out-of-town company. The kitchen was tiny, but any guest of the D’Angelos wasn’t expected to cook, so the tininess of the space made sense. No one ever went hungry.
There was a small living space with light, welcoming colors. When she’d commented on them, he quickly gave credit to his mother. The only thing Gio was responsible for was his personal things.
But the best part of the space was the terrace. He had a large sliding glass door that opened out to a rooftop terrace. A massive table was centered under strings of lights and outdoor heaters for when the weather turned cold. Considering they were only a few blocks from the San Diego Bay, Emma assumed the nights would be slightly cooler and damp. When she’d left Temecula, it was in the nineties, and she’d guess the temperature in Little Italy wasn’t over seventy-five. San Diego was known for its mild weather that was hard not to love.
A separate entrance from the stairwell to the terrace gave everyone access.
The view of the bay was fantastic.
Gio hung up her garment bag and rolled her suitcase into his bedroom before joining her on the terrace.
“What do you think?”
“I see why you love it here.”
“My family makes it special.”
“There is a lot of them.”
Gio pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “You’ll love them, too, before the night is over.”
The door to the terrace opened wide and Gio’s sister announced herself. “Finally. We meet the woman my brother can’t stop talking about. I’m Chloe.”
Chloe was the very vision of an olive-skinned Italian woman with long dark hair and deep brown eyes.
“Are you trying to embarrass me?” Gio asked.
“You hold the crown for that, Gio.”
Chloe didn’t bother with a handshake or simple gesture, she hugged Emma without hesitation. “So happy to meet you.”
“You, too. Between Dante and Gio I feel like I know you.”
Chloe looped her arm through Emma’s and pulled her away from Gio’s side. “Dante said your place is epic.”
“I like it.” Nerves inched up out of nowhere.
Dante walked their way with a woman at his side. “Hi, Emma.”
The familiar face made her smile.
“Hey, Dante.”
“My mother, Rosa.”
Rosa looked around the same age as Gio’s mother. “Look at you.”
Emma wasn’t sure about all the attention. She glanced over her shoulder to find Gio watching her. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s about time Gio brought a woman around,” Rosa announced.
“He told me he brings his dates around often.” Emma stared at Gio.
“Yeah, but not in a long time,” Chloe said.
“You’re more than a date, cara,” Gio said.
Chloe, who hadn’t let go of Emma’s arm, tugged her toward the stairs. “Let’s help my mom bring the food up.”
“Sure.”
Chloe turned to Gio. “Mama wants the heaters on.”
As soon as they were out of hearing range of those on the terrace, Chloe whispered, “Gio hasn’t brought anyone around in two years. And none of us liked her.”
Emma wasn’t sure who her was, but Chloe’s explanation told her why so much attention was given to her visit.
“None of you know me yet.”
Chloe looked at her. “We know what we need to. You make my brother smile. He hasn’t snapped at anyone since he left for Italy.”
“Regular sex will do that,” Emma blurted without thought.
Chloe’s laugh said she wasn’t offended. “Oh, we’re going to get along just fine.”
Two flights of stairs and they were in Mari’s apartment, where plates of food were covered in foil and ready to transport.
“I brought help,” Chloe announced when they entered the room.
Mari looked up, clicked her tongue. “Chloe, Emma’s our guest.”
“A guest today is a friend tomorrow. What can I do?” Emma asked.
“Ah, so sweet.” Mari removed the apron from her waist and tossed it on the counter. “Grab a plate and head upstairs.”
Following instructions, Emma felt the tension ease simply by doing a task. She grabbed a chilled platter and headed out the door.
Franny skipped down the stairs in a near run and almost bounced right into Emma.
“Francesca!” Mari yelled at her.
“Sorry, Nonna.”
“Grab a plate and stop running.”
“Yes, Nonna.”
“Franny will keep you on your toes around here,” Chloe said right behind Emma as they walked back to the terrace. “The waiters started to call her the D’Angelo Tornado.”
“She’s adorable.”
“She knows it, too,” Chloe said.
Back on the terrace, Gio was talking with Brooke.
Franny came from behind Emma with a dish and rushed it to the table. Then she ran to Gio to say something.
Right behind them Luca arrived, a massive plate in his hand. Mari carried a smaller one.
“Dante.” Mari caught his attention. “There’s one more plate.”
Dante jumped to his feet.
“And Giovanni . . . where is the wine? We can’t have dinner without wine.” Mari barked orders and everyone snapped to.
“On it.” He turned to Brooke. “What is the baby drinking tonight?”
“I’m fine with water.”
Emma sat her dish down as Gio walked by.
He stopped, kissed her cheek without saying a thing, and continued out of sight.
Mari pulled out a chair. “Emma . . . please. You can sit next to me so I can soak you up.”
“No pressure there, Mama,” Chloe said, giving her mother a hard time.
“What? My baby brings home a beautiful woman for only one night, I have to make the most of it.”
“Don’t make the poor girl uncomfortable, Mari,” Rosa said.
“I thought I was the baby,” Franny announced.
Then, before Emma could say a single word in the mix, Luca said something to Franny in Italian. Chloe continued to defend Emma’s need for some space, and Rosa argued in half English, half Italian.
It was a scene right out of a Big Fat Italian Sitcom.