“Ha, ha.”
He buttons my shirt as I slip into my skirt, and then stand in front of the dresser mirror and redo my hair the best I can.
“Does it look okay?” I ask, patting my bun.
“You could take a shower and completely start over, and you’re still going to glow like a woman who just had a fantasy orgasm.”
“Armani!”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead. There he goes, being warm and gentle again. What’s happened to this man?
“Did you like that?” he asks.
Before I can say yes, I hear the scraping of chair legs against linoleum and all my internal alarms go off. “Shit. Mom’s moving the chairs around the dinner table. We have to go.”
I no sooner open the door than she’s calling for me.
“We’re coming! I was just showing Armani my old scrapbook.”
We reach the dining room just as my dad and brothers come in from outside.
“Hey, Bellanti,” Sean says, leaning in the doorway. “What kind of business did you say you were in, again?”
My mom gestures for Armani to sit. He does.
“My family owns a winery.”
“You’ve heard of Bellanti wines,” my mom says mildly to Sean.
“Right,” he says, “but I bet that’s not all, huh, Bellanti? What else you got going on?”
“Sean, quit yapping and go wash your hands with your brothers,” Mom scolds.
The remaining sex endorphins quickly dissolve as I’m once again immersed in my family’s nonsense. I take Armani’s hand beneath the table, gritting my teeth as my brothers pile in around us. Mom comes out with a platter of her favorite recipe pot roast, which has always been very good, along with carrots, mashed potatoes, and braised cabbage.
Dad pours himself an Irish whiskey, then one for Armani. Nothing for my mom or me, of course. She comes back next with homemade soda bread, a dish of butter, and the bottle of Bellanti cabernet that Armani brought.
“Would you do the honors, Armani?” she asks, passing him the bottle and opener.
“It would be my pleasure.”
As Armani works on the wine, Mom slices the roast and fills each plate. The clank of utensils against plates soon fills the air.
“So, Armani, to pick up where my son left off,” Dad says around a mouthful of meat. “What other businesses do you operate aside from the wine?”
Armani carefully cuts a bite. “What makes you think I operate other businesses?”
My dad laughs and looks around the table as if it’s obvious. “You can’t make that kind of money squeezing grapes, can you?”
My brothers laugh and my mom smiles before quickly looking at her plate. Fuck. Here we go. Armani finishes chewing and takes a drink of his wine.
“I didn’t realize you were familiar with the wine industry, Mr. Gallagher.”
Straightening my spine, I let the irritation growing inside me come out. “He’s not. He’s driven a forklift at Amsterson’s manufacturing for thirty years. They make industrial machines.”
My mother bristles. “Cassandra, you say that as if you’re embarrassed of your father.”
I did? “No, I was just pointing out that—”
