He and Papa had a falling out after Silvio insisted it’d be better to allow their family bakery to close rather than put it in the hands of one of their daughters, even though one was a talented pastry chef. All because Peter abandoned them and didn’t give a damn about their family’s legacy.
“Nothing happened between us,” I lied. I’d be doing a lot of that today. There were things I’d learned about Peter I wished I could forget, but I would never betray him by telling anyone what I’d walked in on one afternoon when I showed up early to pick him up for a church youth group camping trip.
“Tell that to someone who didn’t see how he paled every time Mama mentioned your name. The poor guy looked ready to burst into tears.”
“As you pointed out, his Mama just died and he was too caught up in his own bullshit to make it home in time to say goodbye,” I reminded him. No way in hell was Peter on the verge of tears because of me.
And holy fuck—my mouth felt like I’d been chewing on cotton balls when I caught sight of the man standing at the opposite end of the receiving line. The hair that used to be short and cropped into a respectable, masculine style was now shockingly blond with highlights and slicked back into a low ponytail that brushed the collar of his suit jacket. The lights were dim so I couldn’t be certain, but I swore I saw traces of eyeliner framing his eyes. My gaze traveled down the length of his body, and I wondered what he wore beneath his perfectly tailored trousers. If I was disappointed to see plain black dress shoes on his feet, I’d never admit it. Peter was nothing like the picture I’d painted in my mind.
Get a grip, Marino. Of course he’s not dressed the way you expected. No way Silvio would have allowed that.
“Man, you should see your face right now.” Tony chuckled as I elbowed him in the ribs. “Anything you want to share, Freddie?”
“Fuck off. Don’t you have work to do or something?” I whipped out the crudely scribbled to-do list I’d planned on giving to Frankie and handed it to Tony instead. “Here, this is shit Matteo can do without causing any damage. Think you can help him stay focused? And since you have so much time on your hands, once he’s settled you can go entertain your favorite niece.”
“Don’t think I’m so stupid I don’t realize what you’re doing,” Tony warned me. “Wewilltalk more about this later. But I have to say, you have good taste if he’s what can pull you out of the funk you’ve been in.”
“Go,” I demanded, pointing to where Matteo was apologizing for bumping into someone. Tony might think we’d finish the conversation later, but as far as I was concerned, there was nothing more to say. Peter was even more beautiful now than I remembered him, and I wasn’t comfortable with the way my stomach tightened, knowing the attraction was as alive as ever.
I cut into the receiving line when another of our former neighbors greeted me. If anyone hadn’t known I was working and not here to mingle, the chef’s white jacket with the Marino’s logo embroidered on the chest would’ve given it away.
Silvio greeted me with cool regard. “Freddie, thank you for everything you’ve done. My Teresa would’ve loved this.” He made the sign of the cross at the mention of Mrs. Agnelli. Lucia, the eldest of the Agnelli sisters reached out to console her father.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, the words feeling inadequate as they always did. I shook hands with Silvio and offered Lucia a hug.
The Agnelli girls had been a constant reminder of what it would be like to have pain in the ass little sisters around, and I hurt for their loss. Maria, in particular, was nearly inconsolable by the time I reached her. I held her tight, glaring over my shoulder at Peter, who was rubbing her back. Tony’s voice echoed in my head, reminding me this wasn’t the time to crucify Peter for his absence. He was here now, and from the looks of it, at least Maria accepted him exactly as he was. And yes, his upper lids were definitely lined with black and there was the slight shimmer of eyeshadow. Not appropriate for a man at his mother’s funeral in my opinion, and given the disapproving looks from other well-wishers, I wasn’t alone.
“Peter, it’s good to see you.” There I went with the lies again. My heart ached, and I tensed when Peter draped an arm over my shoulder. I wanted to shrug off his embrace. Wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him how much I missed him. How much it hurt to admit the role I’d played in making him think he couldn’t live as he wanted here.
“Thank you for doing this for us,” he said, shuffling from one foot to the other as he ran a hand over his slicked-back hair. He started to speak, stopping abruptly and shaking his head. All the things he didn’t say spoke volumes. This wasn’t the time or the place to rehash the past.
“Lucia asked Frankie so she could focus on your father and your sisters,” I responded, subtly making it very clear I hadn’t done this for him. Hell, until he showed up at the restaurant, I’d convinced myself even the death of his mother wouldn’t bring him home.
I pulled away, making excuses about being needed in the kitchen, but Peter reached out for me. “After the dust settles, I’d like to sit down and talk.”
“We’ll have to see,” I said, more as a brush off than anything else. Nothing either of us said could change the past, and I needed to stay focused on Sophia’s needs. Whether I liked it or not, Peter would be a distraction.
2
Peter
By the timethe receiving line at Mama’s funeral ended, I was exhausted. Today was theone dayI’d toned down my personality out of respect for the woman who’d given me life. No matter how her silence hurt when Papa used to tell me to act like a man or stop acting like a sissy, I struggled to accept that I would never see her again.
“Hey, if you go down the hall, the last door on the right is an office. No one will look for you in there,” Maria whispered. She’d been glued to my side all day, and I worried about leaving her alone out here. She tugged at the skirt of the simple black dress Lucia had insisted she wear today, despite Maria’s obvious discomfort.
Seeing how Maria blanched when Lucia unzipped the garment bag and set a pair of simple black heels on the bed last night ignited my protective mode. I’d missed so much of Maria’s childhood and seeing her now, I wondered if I could’ve helped her more had I stayed. “I’m fine. You need to take care of you, too.”
If not for Maria, coming home would’ve been a total waste. Every time Papa looked at me and sneered, I knew there was no way he’d ever accept the man I’d become, no matter how many awards or accolades I’d received. He didn’t care that I’d followed my dreams, because my dreams were an embarrassment to the family. Lucia would never forgive me for being so self-centered that I didn’t run home when Papa sent for me, forcing him to close the family’s bakery. It didn’t matter to her that being chained to the ovens day in and day out would’ve slowly killed my soul. And Gianna was so disgusted by who I’d become that she hadn’t been able to hold back her condemnation.
The only reason I hadn’t gotten back in my rental car and headed straight back to New York was sweet Maria, the quirky, eccentric teen who no one noticed was falling apart. I saw so much of myself at her age, and I couldn’t leave until I knew she was okay. She’d snuck into my room late last night and begged me to tone it down for the funeral. It was an unnecessary request; I knew damn well I couldn’t walk around in artfully shredded jeans and glitter eyeshadow during Mama’s funeral. I turned up the shock factor for my homecoming because Ineededto make a statement. The boy who’d run away from home eight years ago was dead and gone. I was through bending to fit the expectations of anyone else.
“A few minutes of quiet time might be a good idea.” I kissed Maria’s cheek and snuck away before either of my other sisters noticed and interrogated me. Or worse, told me again what a piece of shit I was for needing a break from the parade of people who thought they knew me.
“Peter!” I heard a little girl shriek as I shuffled down the hall. Without a second thought, I broke into a sprint, my feet protesting the friction against blistered heels with every step. I threw open the door where the cry had come from, shocked to find a little girl staring at me like I was an intruder. She clutched a blanket close to her chest as she backed away from me, tears filling her dark eyes.
As I surveyed the scene, I noticed what was playing on the television mounted to the wall.PeterfuckingPan.Seriously, could my day get any more jacked up? It felt like a sick joke that this little girl, who couldn’t be more than four or five, was watching the original version ofPeter Paninstead of one of the myriad newer, fancier animated movies most kids fell under the spell of.
“Who’re you?” she asked, her little voice ragged and scared. I crouched down so I wasn’t towering over her. She took another step back, plastering herself against the desk.
