“That you two are living together,” Grace continues. “Platonically, of course.”
I slowly release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “It’s temporary. Caroline’s idea, since she moved out to live with Alex. I have my own bedroom. We rarely see each other.”
All of this is true.
Sort of.
“Right. Of course. Temporary. Platonically. All those good, neutral words. Stella used them as well.” Grace nods. “You two do realize what a lovely couple you’d make, don’t you?”
I say nothing. I’ve realized it.
Not so sure about Stella, though.
“She’s very stubborn, our Stella. That rebellious nature of hers gets her in trouble more times than not. When she was younger, oh, the things she did to torture her parents! She’s just like I was when I was that age,” Grace says.
“Really?”
“Yes, I was terrible. I was the middle child. One of seven. I wanted all the attention, all the time, yet no one noticed me. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” She continues, not waiting for a reply to her question. “My father did the same thing my Lorenzo did to Stella—they sent me to Italy to find a husband. I was seventeen. Seventeen. Goodness, I didn’t want a husband. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to do bad things. It was a glorious spring. I left in late March and didn’t come home until the beginning of September.”
“Did you find a husband?” I ask.
Her smile is slightly naughty. “I did. I found my Frank. But not until the end of summer. I met plenty of other boys, made lots of friends, and generally behaved in the most scandalous way I could. I enjoyed every minute of that time in my life. I’m glad I did it. Made settling down with the love of my life that much easier.”
“At the age of seventeen, you knew he was the love of your life?” I can’t imagine. At seventeen, all I cared about was sneaking beers and passing a joint around with my friends. Oh, and girls. Plural. Settling down at that age?
No way.
“I was eighteen by then, and yes. I knew. I told that to my children when they were younger, and I tell my grandchildren now. When you know, you know.” Her gaze turns shrewd again. “And I think deep in your heart, Mr. Carter Abbott, you know.”
Twenty-Three
Stella
“Stella, I’d like to talk to you.”
I’m in the kitchen of Sweet Dreams, about to grab my sweater and get out of here for the day since my shift is over, when my father makes an appearance, a serious expression on his always serious face.
Unease slips down my spine as I contemplate telling him I have somewhere to be. But doing that sort of thing just prolongs the inevitable, and I may as well get this talk over with.
“Right now?” I ask him.
He inclines his head toward the tiny office behind me. “If you don’t mind.”
If I don’t mind. What would he say if I admitted that yes indeed, Daddy, I definitely mind? He’d tell me tough shit and make me talk to him anyway.
I follow after him to the small office, squeezing in between the desk and the set of two chairs that are placed against the wall. I settle in, tempted to whip out my phone and check my notifications, but I know that’ll just make him angry.
So I repress the urge and focus on my father as he sits in his chair.
“What’s up?” I ask, keeping my voice light. Like this little father/daughter meeting is no big deal.
“I spoke with your grandmother this morning. She told me she wants to—give you something.”
Well. Isn’t he being mysterious?
“What does she want to give me? And why didn’t she just tell me so herself?” My nonna and I have a great relationship. So great, I confessed to her that Carter and I are living together—though that’s all the detail I gave her. I have to ease into this, one step at a time. I know my secrets are safe with her. They always have been.
That’s why I feel so shitty for writing off her hopes to live in a condo versus her house she’s been in forever. I wish I would’ve listened to her sooner. Thank goodness for Carter.
“She wanted to discuss things with me first, since what she wants to give you involves…me. And your mother. The entire family, as a matter of fact,” he says.
What in the world is he talking about? “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Your nonna wants you to have her house.” He rests his arms on top of his desk, linking his hands together. “Despite the fact that she has twelve other grandchildren who might want it, she is very specific in her request. She believes you deserve the house. And that you’ll take care of it in the exact way she wants.”
I’m in shock.
“Wait a minute. She wants me to have her house?” It’s something I never expected. Like my father just said, there are thirteen of us grandchildren total, not to mention her actual children and their spouses. Yes, everyone in the family is independently wealthy. They are all land and business owners in the area. My uncle Sal, we like to call him the slumlord, though the apartment buildings he owns are actually really nice and always have a waiting list for tenants who want to live there.
Dad nods. “She’s meeting with her lawyer and he’s going to draw up official documents to turn the deed over into your name.”
I blink at him. “What about everyone else?”
“She said they’ll be fine. She’s speaking with my brothers and sisters, letting them know what she’s doing. She told me to tell you to not worry about it.”
“This doesn’t seem fair to the family.” I can only imagine what my cousins will say. Oh God, Sabina. She’ll be so pissed. And she’s pissed off enough already.
“Your nonna doesn’t give a fig about being fair. She told me you are her favorite.” He lowers his voice, as if other family members are lurking about. Which they could be. Sabina’s working the front counter at this very moment. “That you two have been close since you were a baby, and she believes you would do the house justice. You wouldn’t tear it down and build a monstrosity in its place. Nor would you tear out the yard and fill it with rock and ornamental grasses. These are all pretty much direct quotes, I might add.”
I can imagine her saying these very things.
“When you were little, you wanted to spend all of your time at their house, and nowhere else. You’d cry when you had to come home. Do you remember?” he asks softly.
I nod, sentimental memories washing over me. Nonna and me cooking together in the kitchen when I was a little girl, making a special dish for my grandfather. We’d walk the beach and collect little rocks and shells, depositing them in her flowerbeds and scattering them in the pots that are all over her front yard. I’d sleep in the guest bedroom with the window thrown open so I could hear the ocean crashing in the distance. It didn’t matter if it was warm or cold, sunny or raining, I wanted that window open. One time, I got sick. Bronchitis. Mama blamed Nonna for letting me sleep in a room with an open window and oh my God, my nonna felt so terrible.
“She also said she could envision you eventually settling down, marrying a nice man who sold real estate, and the two of you would have lots of babies.” My father sends me a helpless look. “Not sure where she got the idea about the real estate husband, but you know your nonna.”