“Of course. You are a mystery, my Stella.” It’s his turn to kiss her cheek and she laughs, turning her focus on me.
“You remember Carter, don’t you, Daddy?”
Lorenzo nods. “Of course. The boys tell me Carter’s here to discuss possibly selling your nonna’s home.”
I hold my hands up in front of me defensively. “Not quite. I thought we were going to discuss renovating it first.”
“You are a real estate agent, no?” Lorenzo’s bushy dark brows shoot up.
This is where I admit something that Stella doesn’t even know about yet. “Yes. As of Monday, I’ll be an agent at Carmel Realty Company.”
Stella shifts away from her father, moving so she’s standing directly in front of me. “Really? When did this happen? You never mentioned it.”
“Yesterday.” I send her a look, one that says, don’t blow our roommate cover. Hell, I hope that’s what my look says.
“That’s—that’s amazing.” She throws herself at me, and I have no choice but to hug her back. Which is a huge mistake, considering how good she feels nestled against me. I give her a quick squeeze and carefully set her away from my body, trying to stay neutral. Friendly. The three most important men in her life are watching us like hawks.
Nerve wracking as fuck, let me tell you.
“I talked with a couple of contractor friends,” Michael tells me as we all settle onto the couches, Stella returning to the kitchen to help her mother. “They said they’d be willing to meet with us sometime next week at Nonna’s house so they can assess it.”
“Next week?” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I contemplate Michael and Tony, who are sitting directly across from me. “Have you spoken to your grandmother yet? Does she know your plans?”
They both say no, and Lorenzo makes a tsking noise. “She’ll be angry,” he says, shaking his head. “You know she doesn’t like spontaneous visits.”
“She’s coming today, isn’t she?” Tony asks.
“Of course she is. She never misses a Sunday dinner,” Lorenzo retorts.
The conversation continues, and once the three men start arguing over a bad play called during the basketball game that’s still on the TV, I tune out. I don’t give a shit about the NBA. All I can focus on is Stella’s reaction when I said I got a job. How pleased she’d looked, that beautiful smile on her face. How she hugged me, and how I could feel every single curve pressed against my body.
It’s getting harder and harder—literally—to pretend that she doesn’t affect me. The more time I spend with her, talk with her, hang out with her, the more I want her. And not just for sex, either. I actually enjoy her company. I enjoy everything about her.
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch her stirring something in a pan on the stove, a little smile teasing the corners of her lips as she responds to her mother. She lifts her head as if she can sense me watching her, her gaze snagging on mine, and I smile at her. She offers up a sweet smile in return, then ducks her head, her lips pressed together. Her expression reads like she has a secret, and I wonder what it could be.
Wonder if it involves me.
I return my attention to the still-arguing Ricci men, keeping quiet as they throw hand gestures and curse each other out good-naturedly. While I can tell this is a family who genuinely loves one another, this is also a very traditional household. I couldn’t help but notice how easily they dismissed Stella from their conversation earlier. Hell, they dismissed her from the entire room. Stella’s expected to stay in the kitchen and help her mother. I’m thinking that, in their opinion, it’s what good Italian women do.
I imagine if I dismissed Stella from a conversation we were both involved in with her father and brothers, she’d knee me in the balls and then sock me in the face for good measure. She is more than the little woman taking care of business in the kitchen.
So much more, at least to me.
Now, I just need to figure out a way to tell her that.
Twenty
Stella
“Did you have fun?” I ask.
Carter glances over at me, offering a quick smile before he returns his attention to the road. It started to rain right before we left my parents’ house, and the roads are slick. “Your mother is an excellent cook.”
Notice how he didn’t answer my question. “I’m sure she appreciated you telling her that throughout dinner.”
He went on and on about my mother’s cooking, to the point that I think she was getting embarrassed. I don’t think he was saying it to suck up to her either. He was genuinely impressed and thrilled to have a homemade pasta dinner.
Makes me wonder if his mom didn’t cook much for them growing up. Caroline has said a few things throughout the years, and I get the sense that their mom wasn’t the greatest. And though my family can make me feel like I’m suffocating most of the time, at least I know that they love me and will always be there for me when I need them.
“I don’t get homecooked meals too often,” Carter admits. “I’m not much of a cook myself, and why should I have to, when I can go out or have food delivered to me.”
“I can cook,” I say with a shrug, earning another glance from Carter. “My mama taught me everything I know.”
“So if I asked you to make me homemade spaghetti and meatballs, you could?” His voice is so hopeful, I almost want to laugh.
“Yep. I can make my own sauce and everything. If I was feeling really ambitious, I can even make my own pasta.”
“Damn.” He sighs with actual longing, and it’s adorable. “You’re like—my dream woman.”
I refuse to acknowledge that statement. He doesn’t mean it. He’s still in a food coma. “Were my brothers too overbearing? Sometimes they don’t know when to stop.” They’re always overbearing. To me, to my friends, to my mother and Nonna. To everyone. It’s like they can’t help themselves. My father is more subtle. He has a way about him that doesn’t feel like he’s bulldogging you. But the next thing you know, you’re agreeing to do what he wants, and you don’t know how that happened, considering it’s something you would’ve never done on your own.
I know this from experience.
“I like your brothers.” Carter’s tone is cautious and I can tell he’s treading lightly, possibly believing I’d be angry if he insulted my brothers. Though that thought process is totally unnecessary in regards to Tony and Michael. I’m sure I’d agree with anything he could possibly say about them.
“I can tell there’s a ‘but’ there,” I say when he remains quiet.
“But they took over the project about renovating your grandmother’s house. I got completely pushed out of it.” Carter chuckles, shaking his head. “Though it feels more like they’re humoring her by having the contractor come to the house and give them an estimate on what needs to be done.”
“She wants to move. She told me so herself right after dinner.” It’s Carter who made me realize that none of us are listening to her. Honestly, it’s more like none of the men listen to the women in my family. My brothers and father don’t listen to Nonna, even though she’s older and wiser than all of them. They don’t listen to my mother. And they definitely don’t listen to me.