As far as Rachelle knew, Riccardo’s family’s wealth dated back centuries, passed down generation after generation. Valeria had never worked, and Tony worked with his brothers in finance, Rachelle was pretty sure. She knew that Riccardo’s decision to go to culinary school had boggled their minds, at least initially. But now, they thought it was rather “cute” that Riccardo wanted to work his nights away in a kitchen. They were pulling for him.
Over dinner that night, Tony asked Riccardo to describe the food they were eating and what he thought their personal chef had done to the dishes. Riccardo described the processes in perfect, almost poetic detail: the glazing, the fermentation, and the pressure cooking. His family was rapt with attention.
Rachelle interacted to say, “I was so excited to have him as my sous chef at Coleman.”
Valeria blinked at Rachelle, surprised. It was as though she had no idea what Rachelle was talking about. “I beg your pardon, darling?”
“At my restaurant. The one that burned? Riccardo was my sous chef. We worked together so, so well. I’ve never had a more fluid relationship with someone in a kitchen.” She smiled at her beloved, but Riccardo didn’t smile back. “I’m hoping I can reopen sooner rather than later. I’m trying to hold on to that space as best as I can.”
Valeria hesitated, then said, “Oh! Of course. I’d forgotten that he was going to be your sous chef.” She said the term “sous chef” as though it were a criminal position. As though the idea of a man working under a woman in the kitchen was sinful.
“And what are you doing now?” Tony asked his son. “Now that you’re not going to be your fiancée’s sous.”
Riccardo laughed. “Not a whole lot, Papa.”
“It’s time to rest,” Valeria agreed. “These are your last months before marriage! You have a lot to think about.” She eyed Rachelle. “I think it’s best that you rest, too. I know how frantic you can be. You’re a busy American worker bee. But think about the wedding! Think about the pictures! We’ll need you as pretty as can be.”
Rachelle blushed. It annoyed her to think of herself as a bride, someone meant to be doted on and cared for. “I started working again in the kitchen I was in when I met Riccardo,” she said firmly. “I can’t work.”
Valeria giggled. “Once you stop working for real, you’ll understand how wonderful it is. You’re going to be one of us! You’re going to enjoy the most beautiful life.”
“La Dolce Vita,” Tony agreed, raising his glass of wine.
Rachelle didn’t know what to think. She tried to smile, but she kept her private feelings to herself, feelings her in-laws would never understand. She supposed that wasn’t such a rare thing.
Later on,the women and the men separated. Tony and Riccardo went to Tony’s study to talk about Tony’s business (whatever that entailed), which left Valeria, Gia, Teresa, and Rachelle in the living room, sipping wine and talking about the wedding. Rachelle ached, suddenly, to be back at the Coleman House, where her mother and aunts and grandmother and cousins would all be in the kitchen, cleaning up after a big dinner. Here at Riccardo’s family’s place, they had maids and chefs to do the cleaning up. They wanted for nothing. There was never any discomfort.
“How many guests are you thinking, Mama?” Teresa asked.
“At least three hundred.” Valeria frowned. “Maybe four hundred? We’ll have to put together a list by next week.” She flipped her hair. “Rachelle, you’ll have to meet our wedding planner. She’s the very best in Italy. The one most sought after. She already dropped another two weddings to work exclusively on yours.”
Rachelle raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t believe that Riccardo had neglected to tell her this. Was it possible that Valeria hadn’t told him?
“Look at her face.” Gia laughed. “She’s shocked.”
“I’m not! I just didn’t know,” Rachelle said. She felt foolish, but also a bit angry.
Since when was this wedding not hers and Riccardo’s, but theirs?
“We have a reputation to uphold,” Valeria told her. “It’s difficult to understand if you don’t come from a family like ours. An old, old Italian family. But we’re going to work everything out. You’ll have plenty of choices to make, darling. There will be things to do. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say about the food.” She laughed.
Rachelle didn’t know what to say. She sipped her wine and prayed for the night to end soon.
After that, Gia asked her mother about an uncle of theirs, a man she called Tio. “Is he really coming back to Italy?”
Valeria’s eyes wide with excitement. “I believe he is.” She turned to look at Rachelle. “My uncle, my Tio, left for the United States many years ago. He grew tired of all this ‘old Italian money,’ as he put it, and wanted to make something of himself abroad. He wanted to make a name for himself among Americans. Now, for reasons we don’t fully understand, he’s coming back.”
“How long has he been gone?” Rachelle asked. Now that she’d been away from the United States for seven long years, she was fascinated with people who’d spent so much of their lives away from home.
“Goodness, he must have left fifty years ago,” Valeria said.
It was mind-boggling to think of being away from home for that long. Rachelle filled her mouth with wine and reminded herself that she was marrying an Italian, that this was her family now, and that fifty years in Italy were probably in her future. She shuddered with fear. Or maybe it was excitement? How could anyone tell the difference?
“He abandoned the family.” Valeria sniffed. “His parents never forgave him, and my mother and father never did, either.”
“Something awful must have happened to him in America,” Teresa said. “Is he getting divorced?”
“I believe he’s already divorced,” Valeria said. “Maybe twice or three times already. Americans get divorced left and right, it seems like. Rachelle, didn’t you say that your mother is divorced?”
