“Oh, that doesn’t look too good, cuz,” Rafe says. “I think you just shit yourself.”
“Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.”
He waddles off, and everyone waits until he’s out of sight before laughter erupts at the table. I glance up at Romeo, and he wipes the amusement from his face.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
“Because he’s a dick.” Romeo shrugs. “You gonna snitch on me, Gabi?”
I search his face, wondering why that question feels like a test, or if I’m just reading too much into things. His eyes are slightly glazed, and he looks relaxed, so he must have done as Angelo suggested and smoked a blunt. Enough to take the edge off, but not enough to disarm his sharpness.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“You said you didn’t want to fight anymore,” he murmurs. “This is me not fighting with you.”
My traitorous gaze drifts to his lips, and I blurt something stupid before I can stop myself.
“I’m with someone, so whatever this is—don’t think I’m flirting with you.”
A hint of humor flashes through his eyes. “Lucky him.”
“It’s not Riccardo,” I clarify, only realizing my mistake a moment after I say it.
He arches a brow at me. God, I don’t know what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be telling him this, or anyone really. It could have very real consequences if it gets out. But for reasons unknown, I continue to over explain.
“We’re casual, but still a thing. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea here.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans back in his chair, perfectly at ease with this conversation.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. I guess that answers any lingering questions I may have had. He was either messing around earlier, or I misread the situation.
I’m embarrassed, but grateful when Nonna comes around and interrupts us.
“No more dancing for you.” She shrugs.
“I guess not.” I smile at the mischievous expression on her face. Clearly, she knew what she was doing when she handed that glass to Riccardo.
“This, this, and this one.” She points at the pans on the table, letting me know which ones are vegetarian. “Should I dish for you?”
“I’ve got it, Nonna,” Romeo tells her.
“Such a good boy.” She squeezes his shoulder, beaming at him with unconditional love.
I doubt it would alter her opinion if she saw him bleeding a man dry in the woodshed. Considering Nonna told Angelo to bust some kneecaps at his own wedding, there isn’t much that goes on in this family that seems to rattle her, as long as it’s not on a Sunday.
“Solo quando mi conviene,” Romeo answers.
Only when it suits me.
I can’t help but laugh at that bit of truth.
Nonna smiles and makes her way around the rest of the table, filling glasses and adding more food to plates as she goes.
Romeo grabs my plate, and he doesn’t bother asking what I want.
He dishes up my favorites—caponata, stuffed zucchini, and gnocchi. Then he takes the saucer from his espresso cup and fills it with some fresh-cut vegetables for Beppe.
I’m staring at him like he’s been possessed by an alien when he sets it on the table beside mine.
