“You’re single, he’s single,” Valentina points out as she pops the last bite of her pizzelle in her mouth. Turning to our grandmother, she says, “He came to Lina’s soccer game yesterday. And brought snacks for the whole team.”
Shaking my head furiously, I shoot them both a look of warning that doesn’t faze either of them. They both know damn well their instigating is only adding fuel to the fire. Especially Valentina.
It doesn’t matter that he’s here with his brother or by my mother’s invitation—not to anyone in my family. I haven’t brought anyone to Sunday dinner since Richard.
Taking the bait from Olivia and Valentina, Nonna’s eyes light up before opening the refrigerator, the pasta dilemma seemingly all but forgotten as she rifles through the produce drawer.
I can almost hear the wedding bells and the guest list forming in her head, as she triumphantly pulls out an entire eggplant, dropping it on the tiny square of empty counter space.
“Carina, you go get Ryan. Bring him here, and I will make him—”
“What are we talking about, ladies?” my mom asks, unintentionally cutting off my grandmother as she joins the kitchen full of Domenico women, each of them soaking up every second of my anguish as I try to put a halt to this nonsense before Ryan gets wind of it. Fifteen grown women, all thoroughly amused by my grandmother’s shotgun thought process and the horror of Ryan’s pasta allergy potentially throwing a wrench into the wedding she’s already planning in her head.
“Nonna was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that Carina’s future husband can’t eat pasta, but it looks like she’s gotten over it.” My sister shrugs, causing everyone in the room to roar in laughter.
“I hate all of you,” I pout, before chugging what’s left in my glass and making my way around the breakfast bar, stopping my grandmother before she begins to slice up an entire eggplant to feed Ryan. “Nonna, please stop. Don’t make anything else. Ryan can eat the arancini, porchetta, and sausage and peppers. I’m sure it’s fine. He’ll be fine. Really.”
“Oh, Piccolina,” my mom, chides, calling me by the childhood nickname that will apparently never leave me. It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-seven. Or taller than her. I will always be the “little one” to everyone in my family. “Archer asked me to get you. I don’t know why after almost twenty years that boy’s still afraid to come into this kitchen when we’re all in here.”
“Because no matter how many times he tells you all he loves us all like family, you crazy batties are still convinced on marrying him off to one of us.” I shrug, pouring a glass of limoncello before leaving the kitchen to go find my best friend.
27
Ryan
Being in a house with the Domenico family is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s loud and crazy, and there are children running from room to room. As a child who grew up thinking that children are meant to be seen and not heard, it’s almost overwhelming to see, but not in the sense that it’s bothersome.
I’ve always wished for a life like the one Lina gets to live. While I know Alfie and I were incredibly lucky to live a childhood of luxury, wanting for nothing, sometimes I just wanted this.
My father took off shortly after I was born, never to be heard from again, and my mother loved us in the best way she could. After having her heart shattered, my mum chose to go the route of a sperm donor when she was ready to have another baby.
I don’t think she ever knew struggle, though. Not the way most single mothers do. Not like Carina has. After my father left, we moved in with my gran and that’s where we stayed until my mother uprooted us to travel with her.
Sometimes I think the only reason she took us with her was because Margaret West couldn’t stand the thought of letting anyone else have any control over something that was hers. Instead of allowing Gran to raise us in the only home we grew up in, my mother hired the best nannies—someone else to care for us while she followed her dreams.
Even now, in her retirement, our conversations are only about work. Sometimes it feels like the only thing that’s important to her is that we’re carrying her name in this industry.
The more time I spend with Carina, the more I respect her for not willing to budge on the set location. Admittedly, I was annoyed about having to leave New York City—the place I’d called home for the last two years. Being here though, I get it. There’s no way she could have left this behind.
Within moments of our arrival, Alfie and I were taken to the living room and welcomed with open arms. I was so at ease, talking football—both the American kind and the universal kind known here as soccer—with Luca and a few of Carina’s cousins, that any nerves I had upon arriving had dissipated.
Until now.
“So, Ryan, what’s going on with you and Carina?” Archer asks loudly after plopping down next to me.
There’s no bloody way he’s not doing this intentionally. He could have pulled me aside or asked Carina privately, but instead, every set of eyes in the room are now on me, waiting for an answer.
This is a no-win situation for me and he has to know that.
Because, if he knows anything, he knows I have to deny everything. I would sky-write it for the whole town to see, but the one thing Carina has been adamant about is not wanting her family to find out there’s something between us. At least, not until we’re both one hundred percent sure it’s going to last.
While I respect the hell out of her for it, I really wish I could wipe the smug look off Archer’s face by telling him that I’m crazy about her. And that he better get used to me being on this couch because I’m not going anywhere.
“Archer Halliday! That is quite enough out of you,” Carina says, her unexpected presence behind us visibly startling him.
He winces when he realizes he’s been caught, then curses under his breath. “What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t ask?” He turns his head to the open space behind the black leather sofa we’re sitting on.
“The kind that doesn’t need to be sticking his nose in my business.”
Her tone of warning seems playful, but while she shakes her head, I can tell there’s something more she isn’t saying.
“Anyway,” she says, blatantly changing the subject, “dinner’s done, everyone. Mangia! Mangia!”
Carina
Stepping aside, I offer Ryan a small smile of apology as he walks by me and into the kitchen. It feels like I’m throwing him to the wolves, but there’s something—or someone—I need to deal with right now.
“You wanted to talk to me?” I ask Archer, pointing to the door that leads to the garage off the side of the kitchen.
As soon as the door closes behind us, Archer begins to apologize. He steps in front of me, making excuses for why he said something in front of half my family.
“You’re shutting me out, Carina.” With that, he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “For the first time in more than half our lives, I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I hate it. We don’t keep secrets from each other. We never have. But I know you’re hiding something from me, and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Ryan.”