“What I have to give her will not take long,” Luca stood, putting an end to the conversation. “We will relocate to the office, Rosa.”
With that, he went ahead of me, so sure that I’d follow. Positive, in fact.
“What’s this about?” Brando said.
“I’m not sure.Honestly!” I lifted my hands when he gave me an even harder look. At this point, I was thankful not to be made of stone, or he would have chiseled me back down to rock pieces. “I had no idea he was even coming over.”
“Did he really stay with you in the bathroom while you were sick?”
I rested my chin against Mia’s head, not wanting to bring the memory back to life. “Yes. You know he wouldn’t lie.”
“He’s hot and then cold.”
My mouth went to fall open, but I forced it to stay shut. How could he not see the same in himself?
“He was…nice.” I pointed at the bowl full of pasta. “He made that for me too.”
“Yeah, he made the same thing for me a time or two when I was sick.”
At this revelation, I looked at him. “You’ve never told me that before.”
“I was only sick once or twice that I can remember.” He lifted a shoulder then let it fall. “It’s not a big deal.”
“What’s the big deal about him giving me something then?”
Standing with Mia, I kissed her cheeks until she squirmed to get down. Brando caught her before she ran into the room with the Christmas tree.
“Ia want! Eeeeese! Apà.”
“Papàwill take you.” He took her hand and she held on, almost pulling him. He turned to me. “No discussing business.”
“I doubt he wants to talk business with me, Brando.”
“I never said he did.”
My eyes narrowed and his did too—his look was much fiercer than mine.
I set my bowl in the sink. Eunice hit me on my bottom with a dishtowel to get me moving, and I went to meet my father-in-law. Brando stopped me with a hand on my arm.
A looked passed between us before he kissed my lips and then nodded toward the office.
My palms were slick with sweat from curiosity. What could this man give to me?
He was sitting at the desk when I walked in, hands steepled, a beautifully wrapped package in front of him. The package was wrapped in pure red paper, a white ribbon around the square, and a white rose tucked underneath. I wondered if he had one of the men leave it or if he’d snuck it in himself.
He nodded to the seat across. “Take a seat,” he said in Italian.
From that point forward, Italian was all we spoke.
I did as he’d invited and took a seat.
“It is a little early for gifts—” He made a motion with his chin toward the beautiful box, then lifted his hands. “Do not think I have not felt the tension between you and Rosaria. She is a jealous soul, that one. My men tell me she had some choice words for you. You are the kind of woman other women love to hate. I see not only the way men look at you but women as well. You are a version of my wildflower. This is why I give you this gift now.” He pushed the box closer. “Go ahead. Open it.”
With care, I set the rose aside, and then undid the paper. The box was deep. Two books were inside. Both were older, time worn, the pages crinkled and smelling of dust and old memories.
One was a Bible. The other one was a handwritten cookbook. Some of the pages were touched by food stains and even a fingerprint where the ink had run and merged with a thumbing finger.
Aunt Lola had also given me Brando’s great grandmother’s recipes from Marzio’s side. It was a big deal to get a cookbook like this. Italian women were known for not even giving up recipes on death beds.
