“I’m either starving or that smells good,” I teased, watching my mother glare at me.
“So, I’ve been thinking about this party since we spoke. I have some great ideas. Text me your budget and leave your card,” she said with an eyebrow waggle. “I love spending other people’s money.”
Mom had retired from Earth Organix as VP of Research and Development a few years before. Having helped throw many a party, she was the perfect person to put in charge.
“Just remember, low-key. Techies are not like the fussy people Luke deals with,” I said with a smirk.
She swatted me on the arm and said, “Stop teasing your brother. You know full well he stopped being the grumpy CEO when he met Sofia. I’m afraid with Leyla at the helm, it’s almost too laid-back now.”
I knew she was joking. We were all pleased to see Luke return to his roots. Now he only wore a suit when he had meetings with the kinds of people I had mentioned. Leyla was Luke’s best friend, who had taken over most of his duties, so he had the freedom to travel between California and Italy.
“Think somewhere between a dinner party and a BBQ. And no themes. I hate themed parties,” I warned.
“You’re no fun, Daddy. I was telling Mimi we should do a luau,” MJ said, taking a huge bite of her chicken. It was nice to have a home-cooked meal. Those had become few and far between once we started packing.
“Absolutely not. Just a fun time, good food, fun music. Mimi knows what I would like,” I said, shoveling cacciatore.
“Slow down. You’re going to get indigestion,” she scolded. I loved her so much, but sometimes it was like going back to my childhood. “And don’t you worry. I know exactly what you would like.”
I stopped, my fork halting mid-bite. Not liking that tone and smug expression, I said, “Mom. I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but all I need you to do is find a caterer and get a plan together.”
“Of course, of course,” she answered, tapping my hand like I was being silly.
I didn’t like the sound of that at all.
The following evening, I unlocked the front door, feeling exhausted afteranother hectic day of scrambling when the server crashed unexpectedly. I tossed my keys onto the side table by the door and called out.
“Honey, I’m home.”
Checking the pots in the kitchen, I closed my eyes as the smell of roast chicken hit me. Sure enough, on the stovetop sat a perfectly golden bird with rosemary and lemon slices bursting out of it. Mom made the most amazing roasted chicken with crispy skin that we all fought over. Not great for my cholesterol, but a treat nonetheless.
“Hey, where are you guys?” I yelled as I walked through the living room, where I saw evidence of MJ’s latest art project. “That’s a lot of glitter,” I groused.
I heard giggling from her bedroom, so I headed that way.
“What are you twochickensclucking about? Speaking of chicken, I call dibs on the crispy skin tonight. Too hungry to…”
The moment I entered MJ’s room, a familiar fragrance enveloped me, halting my words mid-breath.
My daughter chattered excitedly about the color she wanted for her wall, her words spilling out to a woman whose back was turned to me, while Mom sifted through color swatches. My heart pounded as I took in the scene, waiting for the woman to turn. But I didn’t need to see her face to know who she was.
My thoughts flashing back to Enzo’s wedding, I remembered holding my breath when she was introduced to me, musk and jasmine filling my senses. It was an unforgettable fragrance.
My throat parched like the Sahara as I stood there, taking in that same scent, my eyes scanning her face trying to make sure.
She was wearing high-waisted, dark-wash jeans and a white button-down shirt tied at the waist, which accentuated her curves. Black wedge sandals made her legs look impossibly long. My eyes drifted to her face, and I was momentarily stunned into silence at the sight of her wide eyes and full lips. I swallowed hard, fairly sure everyone in the room heard it.
Vicky Lazzara was standing in my house.
“Ciao, Miles. How are you?”
My heart stuttered in my chest, making me fear fainting on the spot. I’ve heard women talk about swooning, but I was pretty sure they were supposed to be the recipients of such things, not men.
But her voice. That voice was sweet and raspy at the same time. The kind of voice that invites you in, then holds you firmly in place.
The kind of voice that could wreck my dormant heart for life. For all these years, I wore my failed marriage like a coat of quiet shame, heavy with the belief that I wasn’t someone a woman would choose to stay with.
As I looked at Vicky’s soft smile, hope suddenly bloomed.
