* * *

I slept fitfully. I dreamed of attractive young women wearing old-fashioned ball gowns with low cut bodices and impressive cleavage. They implored me to use my matchmaking abilities to find them a mate.

“Please help me, fine sir.” A pretty brunette wearing a blue bonnet with satin ribbons tied under her chin batted her eyes at me. “Find me a proper man.”

“Of course,” I said and bowed. “Matchmaking is my middle name. I am here to make people happy.”

“Scusami.” A man with long, blond, coiffed hair, wearing skintight black breeches who looked awfully familiar tapped me briskly on the shoulder. “I am the right man for this woman.”

“Flavio?” I asked.

“Fabio,” he said.

“I’ll decide if you’re the right man for this woman. I am the matchmaker after all.” I returned my attention to the young lady. “What exactly are you looking for in your perfect match, Ms.?”

“A man who can earn fair wages.”

Fabio held out a fat stash of Euros in one hand.

“A strong man who can make sweet, sweet love to me,” she said. “Satisfy my womanly desires.”

Fabio ripped open his white, puffy shirt, exposing his massive manly cleavage. He flexed his bulging arms.

“Oh.” She fanned herself. “And a man who will be a good father to our children.”

Fabio rocked a baby in his arms, holding a bottle to the infant’s mouth.

“What do you think?” I asked the young lady.

“Can he read?”

“Totally not fair.” Fabio sighed. “Women want everything these days.”

More ladies lined up, begging me to broker their happily-ever-afters. They wanted me to find them deserving mates who would be terrific lovers, best friends, and also hold their hands through good times and bad.

“Yes, of course I will help you,” I said to each lovely lass, but no matter how hard I tried to interview candidates, Fabio always elbowed his way in. I grew increasingly frustrated until the fourth time he made an appearance and I realized I needed to shut him down. “Look, buddy, this just isn’t working for me or my people.”

“My name is not Buddy. I am Fabio,” he said. He tossed his hair, puffed out his chest, and thrust a defiant chin in the air.

A fierce, noisy wind bustled out of nowhere, ruffling his shirt, but his hair remained remarkably slick, shiny, and undisturbed.

“Apologies.” I struggled to stay upright in the squall’s fury and finally held on tightly to a tree. “I don’t think you’re the right match for this young lady. I am, after all, chief cook and bottle washer of White Glove Matchmaking Agency. I look after my clients. I put their needs first and do what I think is best for each individual.”

“But I am the most desirable man for all of these women. I am the best match. I suspect you are just jealous of me.”

“I am not jealous of you. Your pants look uncomfortably tight. Your shirt’s ripped wide open, and you have more cleavage than most of the young ladies you’re interested in being paired with.”

Fabio looked down at his chest and smiled. “Spectacular, yes? Many hours spent in the gym to become this buff.”

“That’s terrific,” I said. “But it’s cold and flu season. With winds this nasty you should probably button up or you’re bound to catch something. And not to be a downer, but what’s up with your hair? No one has hair that immoveable. Frankly, it scares me.”

A white stallion appeared out of nowhere and Fabio hopped on and sneered at me. “I will take your woman. Steal your hopes and dreams. They will always pick me instead of you. Give up now, loser. Fabio is victorious.” He trotted away, the horse’s tail curved unusually high as it flicked its enormous mane.

I startled awake, sweat beading on my forehead. I glanced at my watch. I’d been out for four hours. Crap! I’d slept half the day away.

I looked to the other side of the room. The real Flavio didn’t have jet lag and his bed was unoccupied. A black plastic bottle of men’s hair mousse was lying on top of the quilt like it had been left for dead and all hope had been squeezed out of it. My roommate with the overly-coiffed hair was no doubt taking advantage of my sleeping in. My first instinct was to rush downstairs, but a funky odor wafted through the air and I realized—oh man, I’d been traveling too long.

I bathed in the miniscule, pathetic shower adjoining our room. The wall nozzle alternated between spitting and dribbling lukewarm water. I dried off and dressed in jeans and a cashmere turtleneck. I took the stairs two at a time to the first floor and followed the aromatic smells and the sounds of voices down corridors. I walked into the kitchen, the sun descending on this crisp Sicilian winter day.

“I love it here, Papa,” Jeanie said. “I can see the effort you put into the place.”

“The pensione needed updating,” Giuseppe said. “I gutted the galley and put in the best appliances. I get my share of tourists, you know.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “I get nostalgic for the old days when Michael was still alive. It’s hard to believe he’s been gone for seven years.”

“His death changed me.” Giuseppe cracked eggs into a bowl. “It made me question why I was holding onto the family business when clearly life was marching on.”

Giuseppe pulled steamy, thick rolls out of an industrial grade oven and waved a thick mitt over them. The smell of almonds mixed with sugar wafted through the air.

“You’re making almond biscotti?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Is that a hint of lemon?”

“I made one batch with lemon and one without. Sample, and tell me what you think.”

I tore a small bite from both. Tastes swirled around my mouth. “Don’t kill me. I like the regular better.”

“Me too,” he said and popped another tray in the oven.

“Espresso?”

“Help yourself.” He gestured to the machine and I poured myself a cup.

Florentina, Jeanie, Vincent, and Salvatore were sitting at a rustic wooden plank table nibbling on an array of food. Fruit, pastries, loaves of bread, and olive oil were laid out on the boards.

“Join us,” Vincent said.

“Please,” Jeanie said.

“No new information from St. Jude yet,” Florentina said. “I’m starting to think that was a one time visit.”

“Good to know.” I picked up a piece of warm, crusty homemade bread and dipped it in the olive oil. “Wow. This is excellent. You baked this as well?”

“Yes,” Giuseppe said. “Why don’t you take some bread out to Violet and the girls?”

“Where is Violet?”

I suddenly worried about my Fabio/Flavio dream. Maybe he could get all the pretty women just by raising one tiny, muscular finger. I bet he could even do a full body push up using only his pinky.

“On the patio with Flavio,” Jeanie said.

I looked out the window at the pergola-covered patio. Bare vines were twisted around beams. A collection of wrought iron tables with glass tops were clustered on the cracked, flagstone floor. Violet, wrapped in a thick sweater and hugging her knees to her chest, was sitting at a table with Sydney, Nora, and Flavio. The girls were chatting and laughing. They seemed to be bonding and it made me happy.

Flavio, showboat that he was, tossed his thick hair, waved his hands around in the air to make a point, and smiled his perfect smile at the ladies. The he stared longingly at Violet, practically giving her deer caught in the headlights eyes.

Asshat.

I could take him if I had to. I’d have to up my visits to the gym when I got back home, which reminded me that I needed to message Hailey, my assistant, and tell her I was out of pocket for a few more days at least. I pulled out my phone and texted her.

“Thank you. Can someone help with this batch of dough?” Giuseppe asked. “Someone with strong arms to stir? My shoulder is bothering me.”

“That’s me, sir,” I said, male competition making my testosterone kick in as I suddenly felt invigorated.

“Grazie,” Giuseppe handed me the bowl. “Stir please. Jeanie, I thought of you and Michael when I first saw this place. It reminded me of your cottage in Door County. It made me nostalgic for simpler times.”

“When was the last time you were at our lake house?” Jeanie asked.

“Your wedding.”

“Wow. That was twenty-seven years ago. I can’t believe you never visited since then.”

“I can,” Florentina said.

“Leave it,” Vincent said.

“It was a warm summer evening,” Giuseppe said pulling trays of small loves from the oven with thick mitts. “You were married on the veranda overlooking the lake at sunset.”

“The fireflies lit up the sky that night,” Florentina said. “Like fairies. It was enchanting.”

“You, looked like a princess bride,” Giuseppe said. “It brought tears to my eyes.”

“Tears of sorrow,” Florentine said.

I kept stirring the dough in the bowl.

“I didn’t know you thought that, Giuseppe. Thank you. Michael looked so handsome that day,” Jeanie said.

“Charcoal gray suit,” Vincent said. “I helped him pick at out. We bought it on sale at a department store. I took him to Mr. Enzo’s Alterations. Money was tight after he decided to marry you. The family cut him off for a while.”

“Those were the lean years,” Jeanie said. “I always felt bad about that. You were his best man, Vincent. Where has the time gone?”

“Don’t feel guilty,” Florentina said. “Michael wanted to marry you. You were more important to him than a business dealing, or the power that would give him.”

“The family picked up the slack,” Vincent said. “We found other ways to make it work after we angered the Savellis by backing out of the deal to marry Michael to their second born daughter.”

“Michael didn’t want to marry that Savelli woman,” Florentina said. “So what if he was the second child? This whole Accardi tradition of offering up the second child as a sacrificial lamb to smooth over fragile business egos is archaic and needs to be put to bed.”

“I don’t make the rules,” Vincent said. “I just enforce them.”

“I thought I did that, boss,” Salvatore said, dipping a crust of bread in olive oil.

“No. Only the ones I tell you to enforce,” he said. “Stop double dipping. It’s not hygienic. Pour some on your own plate.”

“I hate when everyone argues,” Jeanie said. “Everything turned out for the best.”

“Giuseppe should never had tried to force that Savelli woman on Michael,” Florentina said.

“I was not forcing,” Giuseppe said. “I was simply suggesting.”

“Suggesting? I had to sneak Michael out of Trapani in the middle of the night, shove him on a private jet, ferry him in the back of a bakery van to Wisconsin and make him hide out in Door County until you calmed down,” Florentina said.

“Which is how we met,” Jeanie said. “We don’t need to bring this up again. All’s well that ends well.”

“But it’s not,” Florentina said. “Because now he’s trying to do the same thing to Violet. And I won’t have it!”

“To Flavio,” Vincent said. “He’ll make a great husband. And the generational rift between the Accardis and the Savelli family can heal.”

“Excuse me?” I said. “I am standing here in the room with you.”

“Violet will marry Aiden,” Florentina said. “I’m beginning to think the reason St. Jude came to me in a dream was to prevent you men from marrying dear sweet Violet to the wrong man for the wrong reasons. What is it with you people? Someone pour me a glass of wine for god’s sakes. It’s cocktail hour already and no wine has been poured. Are we barbarians?”

“Only I am when it comes to you, Florentina,” Giuseppe said. “You look so good. I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since Michael and Jeanie’s wedding.”

“Twenty-seven years feels like yesterday,” she said. “Not long enough.”

“I know you missed me, Florentina,” he said. “I could feel the pull from across the ocean.”

“After I rescued Michael,” Florentina said, “I stuck a pin in my finger, wrote your name on a piece of paper in blood, and then burnt it.”

“So much passion!” he said. “What do the kids say now days? Hot!”

“Passion? I’ll show you passion, you old fool.” She picked up an orange and hurled it at him.

“You can’t hurt me with flying fruit. Passionada!”

Violet walked in the door. “Why is Florentina throwing fruit?”

“Because she has the hots for me,” Giuseppe said.

“Not if you were the last man on Earth,” she said.

“What’s going on?” Sydney came in with a tray filled with glasses and plates and handed it to me.

“Nothing,” Jeanie said.

“A blood feud,” I said.

“Fabulous!” Nora entered the room. “I love all drama.”

Flavio whispered to me, “I’m wearing her down, you know. She’s falling for me. By tonight, Violet will be mine.”

“In your dreams, buddy,” I said.

“I think it’s time we go into town,” Vincent said. “We can eat dinner out. Let’s gather the troops, take in the booths, and check out the church. I hear the decorations are spectacular.”