An Italian song echoed from Saverio’s speakers, and Mariano started to sing it. Just like his grandfather. I double-checked to make sure my jaw wasn’t on the ground.
“That should be illegal,” I said. “To be able to sing that way.”
Marciano laughed again with the rasp. That should have been illegal too. “You should hear us all sing ‘Quizás, Quizás, Quizás.’ Mamma says she melts.”
No doubt about that.
“Is that all you sing?” I asked. “Music like Nonno sings?”
Marciano’s eyes flicked to Mariano before he shook his head. “We can sing anything.”
Figures.
Matteo kept looking over his shoulder at us, and whenever he would, his brothers would grin at him in a way that seemed taunting. Maestro seemed to notice it. He grinned, too, and then jumped out of the car. He leaned over and grabbed something from where he’d been sitting. It looked like a basket with a blanket strung over it. He squeezed Matteo’s shoulder before he headed our way.
Close enough, he nodded toward a shading tree, and we all followed. He set the basket down and then the blanket. All three men motioned for me to take the blanket. I thanked them as I tucked my dress under me and took a seat. They all took a seat around me, but on the ground, not on the blanket. This family was big—huge—on respect. I thought that was the reason none of them sat close to me. Even so, when none of them were looking, I sniffed myself. All good there.
“Mamma sent this over,” Maestro said. “She thought you and Matteo might like to have lunch here.” His voice was quiet, almost whispered, and I wondered if that was because of his hearing issues.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it. Anyone hungry?”
They all thanked me but declined.
Another car pulled up behind Saverio’s, and all the men seemed to sit up straighter, their eyes narrowed. It wasRocco’s son, Massimo. Chloe noticed and straightened. She said something to Mia, and Matteo opened Mia’s door for her. Mia stepped out with Chloe right behind her. Chloe took her suitcase with wheels, held her head high, and started to walk toward us. She wasn’t running, but when Massimo stepped out, she started to move faster.
“Mamma pack any popcorn in there?” Mariano pretended to open the top of the basket.
“So fu—” Marciano looked at me. He cleared his throat. “Massimo is a walking country song right now. He’s lost everything but his dog, but that’s only because he doesn’t have one. We should take him to Natchitoches, get him in the old honky tonk, and encourage him to let loose.”
Maestro made a face like he wanted to laugh but decided not to when Chloe got closer. Her face was puffy and her eyes red.
“Mind if I hang with you?” She nodded toward the blanket.
I patted the spot next to me. “Hungry?”
“No,” she said politely. She seemed to fold into herself as she sat down next to me.
Chloe was stunning in her own way. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was featured in a magazine, but then again, she could be. If I had to sum her up in a word, besides artistic, I’d call her wispy. Even down to her hair.
The men around me grew quiet as we all sat there, our eyes toward the cars. Matteo was talking to Saverio. Massimo was staring in our direction, like he physically couldn’t take his eyes away from the woman next to me. It was sad.
“Do you mind me asking…” I paused as Chloe looked over at me. “What are you going to do now?”
“Now that my entire world has crumbled? Including my heart?”
I opened and closed my hands, as if to say, yes, if that’s how you’re feeling.
She looked down at the blanket, picked at it for a second, and then sighed. “I’m going home for a while. Then, if I can paint again, maybe back to Paris. I miss it, even though I’m scared to death.”
“Scared of the Nemours?”
She shook her head, no. “Scared of life without Massimo.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “These men don’t lie.”
“I know, but...it’s not just the woman in his bed. It’s his mom. She hates me. Hates what she considers not good enough for this family. She’ll be a thorn in our marriage for the rest of her life. Maybe the rest of ours. I’m not sure if Massimo can overcome that. I get it. She’s his mamma, but…I’m not sure I can take the meanness.”
I thought about that for a second. “Did you talk to Massimo about it?”
