“Says you,” his mother countered. “I love that dress.”
Francesca looked down at her white shirt dress. “It has pockets,” she said, then demonstrated this by shoving her hands into said pockets and twirling. “I found it at that vintage shop on Everly Street. The one with all the Jimmy Choos in the window.”
“Oh, I love that place,” his mother said.
“We should go together when we both have a day off,” Mama Conti suggested.
His mother nodded, giving a genuine smile. “We could do lunch, too.”
“It’s a date,” Mama said as a man joined them. “Oh, there you are,amore mio.”
The man had an expensive haircut, whiskey-colored eyes, and a black beard with two stripes of silver on either side of his mouth. He was, objectively speaking, smoking hot.
“This is my husband, Dario,” she said, snuggling into his side. “These are the two I was telling you about. This is Seven and his mother, Neith. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Husband? He didn’t look much older than Seven’s mom. And while Francesca was far from old, she was most definitely a decade older than his mother and, apparently, her own husband. Or maybe he just looked young for his age. Either way, Seven bet it was Dario who was the lucky one.
“Welcome to the chaos,” Dario said by way of greeting, sweeping his arm grandly towards the noise in the distance. “Most everyone is already here, but we’ll try not to overwhelm you.” He looked at his wife. “Right?”
Mama laughed her bell-like laugh, then waved him off like he was silly. That was when Seven remembered he was holding abottle of wine. He thrust it towards Dario, who took it with a nod and a blinding smile. Seven felt like he’d fallen into some kind of chick flick where everyone was hot and cultured.
Once inside, Seven’s stomach growled as he was hit full force with the scents of olive oil and garlic. Fuck, he was starving but far too nervous to eat. Stupid fucking Enzo. If Seven wasn’t so preoccupied worrying about seeing him, he could enjoy what he was sure would be a feast.
They only made it a few steps when another beautiful man emerged from a heavy wooden door with a rounded top. He carried several bottles of wine under each arm. He stopped short when he saw them. Well, more specifically, when he saw his mother. Seven moved closer to her instinctively while the man stared like he’d been turned to stone.
“Goodness, Rocco. Close your mouth. People are going to think you just got out of prison,” Mama said, shaking her head. “This is Seven and his mother, Neith. This is my brother, Rocco. Sometimes, he forgets how to be a human.”
Dario snorted, taking some of the bottles from Rocco before disappearing farther into the house with a shake of his head.
Rocco seemed to collect himself. “Nice…uh, nice to meet you,” he said, leaning in to kiss Neith’s cheeks before giving Seven a handshake that morphed into a one-armed bro hug.
Mama watched with amusement. Once Rocco moved on with one last lingering look at Seven’s mother, Mama said, “It’s such a gorgeous night. I figured we’d have dinner on the terrace.”
“Sounds amazing,” his mother said.
They heard the kitchen before they reached it. The din of pots and pans and people shouting about having hot plates, just like at a restaurant. Once they were standing near the wide open kitchen, Seven realized it was bigger than the restaurant’s. Two men and four girls all moved around with such grace it appeared almost choreographed.
“Everyone,” Mama Conti called, bringing the whole operation to a halt.
They all turned to stare at them with various expressions ranging from feral curiosity to barely restrained amusement. The two men appeared to be in their thirties, and like many of the others, they had dark hair, dark eyes, and facial hair that Seven could only dream of attaining someday. They were tall and broad, with grins just as wide. The four girls also looked similar, but one looked familiar.
“I know you,” she said, seeming to recognize him just as he did her. “My brother brought you to the restaurant and pissed you off.”
“Language, Carlotta,” Mama reprimanded with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. She turned to a gorgeous girl with long chestnut hair. “This is my oldest daughter, Allegra. She’s in her third year at Strawbridge. You and Seven go to the same school,” she said conversationally.
Allegra smiled. “Law school, right?”
How did she know that?
“Yeah… Have we met before?” Seven asked.
She gave him a slow smile. “No, you’re just a really hot topic around here.”
“Oh,” Seven managed, his pulse tripping at the implication.
“Allegra,” Mama admonished, her tone sharp with warning. “And these are the triplets. They’re in their last year of high school at Vanguard. Carlotta, Carmilla, and Claudia,” she said, pointing at each girl in turn.
Carli rolled her eyes, looking exactly like her mother, then pointed to herself. “Carli.” Then Carmilla. “Karma.” Then Claudia. “Claude.”
