Chapter Eighteen
Although the girls assure me I’m totally-definitely-for-sure not a prisoner of any kind, Mateo is still not enthusiastic about the idea of me going out unattended. Vince usually gives me rides to and from school, but now that I’ll have a job, I don’t know if he’ll always be around to escort me. I don’t know how that’ll end up working, but for my first day, Vince gives me a ride.
When we enter the bakery and see a fairly attractive guy behind the front counter, I notice Vince’s arm possessively moves around my waist.
The guy behind the counter smiles at me. “You must be Mia. Francesca said you’d be in.”
“Is she not here?” I ask, confused.
“She had to step out. She’ll be back soon. I’ll be training you today anyway, so if you wanna come on back, we can get started.”
I go to pull away from Vince, but he pulls me into him, kissing me. “I’ll pick you up when I’m done.”
He’s being silly, but I just smile, catching his hand for a squeeze, then dropping it. “Be safe.”
Once Vince leaves, my trainer introduces himself as Mark. “I take it you’re Vince’s old lady,” he says lightly.
“Oh yeah. Heavy emphasis on the old,” I say, nodding.
“So, Mia, you do a lot of baking?”
“If fish sticks count,” I tell him.
Smiling, he heads to the back and grabs a plastic-wrapped package. “All right then, we’ll start you off with assembly. I need to wrap and tie 250 cookies for a wedding—you can speed it up by helping me. These cookies are already dry, but I have a batch I’ll have to decorate tonight. I’ll show you how to flood and decorate them. I assume you’re not going to be here on your own?”
“Oh no, I am firmly an assistant. The cakes I do make come from Betty Crocker.”
“Gotcha.”
After showing me around the bakery, we get to work on the cookies. “Have you been a baker long?” I ask him, tying the cookie bag.
“A few months,” he says. “What about you? Been an old lady long?”
Cracking a smile, I shake my head. “Not at all.”
He messes up a cookie and sets it aside. “Gotta be kind of a rough gig, huh?”
“Rough? Uh, not really, not so far. The food’s good.”
Mark sets a tray aside. “Oh, yeah, I bet. What’s your favorite?”
“That’s hard. We have, like, legit family dinners every night. It’s basically like living in the 50’s, but with iPhones.” I pause to consider. “I guess… Francesca’s chicken and pesto pasta. I’ve never been able to make a batch of pesto that’s good enough to make a second time, but Francesca’s was delicious.”
Nodding like I just earned street cred, he says, “Great pick. I have a pretty good pesto recipe myself. One of these days when you’re working a long enough shift for lunch, we’ll have to have a pesto cook-off, see whose is better.”
“That may be the best idea anyone has ever had,” I state.
Time flies by as we pack up the cookies. Mark’s really easy-going and friendly, which is a nice change of pace from the intense, gun-wielding men I now live with. It’s refreshing, and by the end of my shift, I’m really pleased I took the job.
---
Adrian is pacing.
I’m coming back from the pool when I see him outside Mateo’s study, trying his best to wear a hole in the floor.
“Hey, Adrian,” I greet.
I didn’t expect to, given our bumpy start and his position within the Morelli family, but I quite like Adrian.
Glancing up, he offers a gruff nod and resumes his pacing.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He nods again, not looking up or interrupting his pace.
I’m just about to shrug this off as him being an oddball and go to the kitchen to grab some lunch when the study door opens. Mateo is standing there, and he pushes it open for Elise to walk out. I peer in to see they were alone together. Elise flashes Adrian and me a wordless smile before she slides past us and down the hall.
Adrian stops short, standing in front of Mateo with all the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning. “Did you talk to her?”
“I did,” Mateo replies, but he’s distracted. Instead of looking at Adrian, or having the conversation he’s obviously eager to start, Mateo’s eyes are wandering over my body.
I remember I’m in a bikini then, and promptly flush. There’s a towel wrinkled up and draped over my arm, but I can’t exactly whip it off and wrap it around myself now without being pretty obvious.
Amusement at my discomfort is written all over his face as he smiles at me. “Enjoying the amenities?”
“I was,” I say, doing my best not to look as awkward as I feel.
“I wanted to ask you how your first week at the bakery was. I have some business to attend to with Adrian first, but we’ll catch up at dinner.” His eyes rake over me one last time, then he turns and ushers Adrian into his office.
Drooping as I roll my eyes at myself, I make a note to order a cover-up before I go to the pool again.
---
“You can take out the bread.”
I grab both bread baskets and make my way for the dining room. It’s Sunday, so the table is at capacity tonight with family members I’ve met, but still don’t know. At least half the time I’m not involved with the conversation anyway, so it doesn’t matter. As Cherie told it to me, I was concerned the family would be more chauvinistic, but as it is, Sunday night dinners just seem like a nostalgic callback to old traditions. I won’t begrudge them that.
When I get back to the kitchen, I grab Vince’s salad. Before I make it out the door, Cherie calls, “Take Mateo’s, too.”
With an “oh” of surprise, I turn back. “I haven’t the last two weeks,” I point out.
She’s stirring with impressive focus, but her gaze flits to mine, wary. “His request.”
Frowning slightly, I ask, “Am I bringing him dinner, too?”
“Yep.”
That’s odd, but I don’t argue. While the women do the cooking and serving, the “married” women only serve their own husbands. At least, that’s how it’s been the last two weeks. The unmarried women deliver the food to the unattached men, usually Francesca since she’s quickest. While I’m obviously not married to Vince, for the past two weeks, I have been considered his spouse in that respect.
It probably doesn’t matter. Less work for Francesca if I pitch in—I thought that at the beginning anyway. I guess I get the logic of only serving one “master,” but… oh, who am I kidding? It’s stupid.
I give up the thought, sprinkling some croutons over a second plate and resuming my path to the dining room. Once I get there and see both men assembled at the table, flanking me, since I’m still in the same seat I sat in that first night, I wonder if order matters. I guess since Vince is mine he should get served first? But Mateo is the head of the family…. I need an informational pamphlet on the etiquette of this shit if they’re going to complicate things.
I go to Vince first, placing his salad down and dropping a little kiss on his cheek. He smiles up at me, until he sees the second plate. A little crease forms between his eyebrows as I step over to drop off Mateo’s.
“Thank you, Mia,” Mateo says.
“Yep.”
Before I can move away, he catches me by the wrist, just a light grasp to get my attention. “Can you bring out dried cranberries for mine?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry,” I say, off-handedly.
“It’s okay,” he says easily, dropping my wrist and picking up his fork. “Now you’ll know for next time.”
I blink, at a loss. I glance at Vince, seeing all the light has drained from his face. “She’s serving you now?”
“And you,” Mateo says, like it’s a favor.
“Good thing I have two hands,” I say lightly, not wanting this to be a whole thing.
Mateo smirks, but doesn’t comment.
Skittering back to the kitchen, I enter with a pronounced, “Ugh.” I have to locate the cranberries for Mateo’s salad, and I’m not looking forward to Vince being in a pissy mood.
Deciding to get confirmation, I say to Francesca, “It doesn’t matter that I’m serving both of them, right?”
Appearing not to know what I’m talking about, she murmurs, “Huh?”
“The stupid dinner thing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “They’ve only had me serve Vince before, but now Mateo’s requested I serve him, too. Vince seems annoyed, but it doesn’t matter, right?”
Looking tired, she sighs. “Mateo’s stirring the pot. Just stay focused on Vince. Quietly reassure him, you’ll be fine.”
I’d been hoping for simple agreement, so that’s annoying. “I mean, you serve half the table; what’s the difference?”
“The difference is I’m not spoken for.”
I roll my eyes, in this instance inconvenienced by their eccentricities. Cherie comes up beside me, handing me a little dish of dried cranberries.
“You forgot these for Mateo’s salad,” she informs me.
“I had no idea he wanted them,” I point out, taking the cranberries.
“Francesca took out the last batch, so you can take out your salad and have a seat now.”
When I make it back to the table, Vince still seems surly and Mateo, as usual, is utterly unconcerned. He does make a point to catch up with me, as he said he would, asking how I’m liking the bakery, if I get along with the other employees. I assure him everything is fine, but by the time the salads are finished, I realize Mateo and I have been talking to each other exclusively, and Vince has moved on from wine to something stronger. I was supposed to be the one getting his drink, and I realize I didn’t even notice he’d gotten up.
Shit.
Before I get up to clear our plates away, I offer Vince a private little smile and lightly squeeze his thigh.
He ignores me completely.
Unsettled, I stand and collect the plates from my place, Vince’s and Mateo’s, making a point not to actually interact with Mateo. I’m the first woman back in the kitchen, aside from Cherie, who doesn’t eat dinner with the family.
“Don’t make me go back out there,” I whine, turning on the faucet to rinse off the dishes before setting them in the sink.
“Vince mad?” she guesses.
I nod, rolling my eyes. “Like it’s worth getting mad over.”
Instead of agreeing with me, she shrugs. “Mateo doesn’t have a reputation for keeping his hands to himself.”
That’s a little insulting, and I can’t help my response being a little short. “Well, I do. I’ve never given Vince a reason not to trust me. He shouldn’t let Mateo get to him like that. He makes it so easy. All the man has to do is smile at me, and Vince goes cold.”
Still not taking my side, Cherie shakes her head. “You don’t know Mateo, Mia. Vince does. I understand that you think it’s annoying, but you’re not the one he doesn’t trust.”
“Sure seems that way. It takes two to tango, Cherie.”
Looking at me more seriously than I expect, she responds, “No, it doesn’t.”
I don’t understand that logic and I feel a little hollow inside in regards to this conversation—it’s pointless and insulting. Serving the man dinner—and not even because I want to—is not a legitimate reason for anyone to think Mateo is… what, interested in me? Or that I would even be open to his attentions, if he offered them. Sure, from a physical standpoint he’s an attractive man, and his unchecked power is… interesting. But he’s far too old for me, and Vince’s cousin. And also? I have Vince.
Since Cherie isn’t the ally I expected, I drop it and start dishing out three plates of food. “Does Mateo have any main dish special requests?” I ask, a touch sarcastically.
“Just make sure he has parmesan,” she says, her back to me.