CHAPTER THREE
“I’M IN THE KITCHEN!” Mila shouted when she heard us walk into her house later that morning. “Did that thing you call a car finally die on you?”
“Why do you ask?”
I met Dante’s eyes, giving him a conspiratorial wink as we followed the sound of her voice. She was busy whipping up pancakes for the girls and didn’t even look up, although she’d somehow noticed the SUV we’d arrived in, which Dante had borrowed from his driver. In retrospect, I probably should have warned Mila I’d be bringing him with me, but I wanted him to meet the real Mila. My Mila. The only person who’d supported me through all the ups and downs in my life. I didn’t want her to act differently because of who Dante was.
“That car parked out front.” She turned, heading toward the refrigerator to grab a carton of strawberries. “It’s much better than the piece of crap you were dri—” She faced us, her eyes nearly bulging out of her sockets as she stared at Dante by my side. “Fuck me,” she muttered under her breath. I had a feeling it took every last ounce of resolve for her not to drop the strawberries all over the floor.
Dante chuckled and I couldn’t help but beam. “She means that literally,” I joked, then turned my attention back to Mila, who still stood with her mouth agape, struggling to make sense of why Dante Luciano was here, with me, in her home. The last she knew, I’d gone to my parents’ house Friday night. I’d left her at the bar saying as much. But she had no clue what happened after I ran out on my mother’s dinner party. I still couldn’t believe it myself.
“You have some serious explaining to do, Ellie,” she scolded, her eyes glued to Dante.
“I know I do, and I promise to tell you everything, but first… Dante, this is my best friend in the whole world, Mila Novak. Mila, Dante Luciano.”
“Piacere di conoscerti.” He approached her, placing a kiss on both her cheeks. I caught the expression on her face, unable to stop from giggling as her eyes fluttered into the back of her head, a rush of exhilaration seeming to wash over her body.
He stepped back, leaving Mila still frozen in place. Then she sighed. “God, that was better than sex.”
“I’m sorry,” I said to Dante, shaking my head at Mila’s bold personality. She’d always been the yin to my yang. Where I’d always been somewhat reserved and methodical, Mila was outspoken and spontaneous. She followed her heart instead of making lists of pros and cons of each decision, as I’d always been prone to do. It wasn’t until I stopped letting my brain rule my life that I’d met Dante. As long as I’d known her, Mila had insisted I needed to follow my heart. Now I knew she was right. “There’s nothing I can do about her.”
“She’s right.” She went back to the pancake batter, adding a bit more flour to thicken it up. “There’s nothing anyone can really do about me. I am who I am.”
“I should be glad then,” Dante said. “According to Eleanor, you were the one who encouraged her to go to Rome.”
“It came to me in a vision,” she explained, like it was completely normal for someone to have these so-called “visions”. “I had a dream the night of Ellie’s bachelorette party. Granted, it could have been because I fell asleep watching TV and Three Coins in the Fountain was on, but I dreamed Ellie was in Rome with a handsome stranger.” She stopped stirring the batter, staring at the ceiling in contemplation. “In fact, I never really saw the stranger’s face.” She returned her eyes to us, shrugging. “But I saw Ellie as clear as day. She threw three coins into the Trevi Fountain, as well as the engagement ring Brock the cock gave her.”
He looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “Brock the cock?” he said slowly.
“One of her many nicknames for him,” I explained, then turned back to Mila. “And your ‘vision’,” I began, using air quotes, “was a bit off. I threw Brock’s engagement ring off the balcony of my hotel. And I only threw one coin into the fountain.”
She looked up, winking. “For now.”
I shook my head, my face heating from what Mila inferred, recalling Dante’s explanation of the legend of the Trevi Fountain — one coin if you’d like a return trip to Rome, two coins if you’re looking for love, three coins if you’re hoping for wedding bells. It was certainly too soon in our relationship for any sort of discussion about wedding bells. We still had a lot we needed to figure out, not to mention all the business with his daughter’s death and my father’s potential involvement in it, a topic both of us had been all too happy to avoid discussing over the past few days.
“Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked, humoring her. It was easier than arguing.
“You get married in Italy.” She leaned closer. “I need a break from these kids.”
“Mila, we’ve only known each other a few months.” I laughed nervously, glancing between Dante and her. “There won’t be a wedding anytime soon.”
She gave me a bemused look, flitting to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of champagne. “Not according to the dream I had last night.”
“Mila…,” I cautioned, uncomfortable about the direction this conversation had taken.
Able to sense my unease, Dante wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. He kissed the top of my head, squeezing my hip in a soothing gesture. “Don’t worry, Mila. When the event arises, we’ll be sure to have one of the ceremonies in Italy…just for you.”
I turned to him to tell him he meant “if” not “when”, but stopped myself when I noticed his gaze locked on mine, his eyes bright, a glow about him. I couldn’t resist him when he looked at me that way, telling me how much he treasured, adored, and valued me. It was a stark contrast to the way Brock and my parents glared at me, as if I were an inconvenience, someone they had to put up with, not someone they cared about.
“But all joking aside…,” Mila interrupted. We both snapped our eyes back to her, having forgotten where we were for a moment. A smile lit up her face. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” he offered, turning his eyes back to mine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Blowing out a satisfied sigh, I raised myself onto my toes and placed a soft kiss on Dante’s lips, not caring that Mila stood less than two feet away. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this happy, so at peace with my normally tumultuous life. It was probably when I met Dante’s family and they welcomed me into their fold with open arms. Now I was able to return the favor and introduce him to my family. My parents didn’t count. They had never been family to me. They didn’t love me, not like parents should. But Mila always did, regardless of whether or not we agreed on certain things. She never thought Brock was good enough for me, but she’d always supported my relationship, despite her own reservations. When I told her we were engaged, she offered a hug of congratulations and help planning the wedding, her only words of warning being, “If you’re sure this is what you want, I’ll support you.” And that was what family was supposed to do. Support you. Motivate you. Love you. Not antagonize you, berate you, insult you.
“Mommy?” a small voice called out.
I pulled away from Dante, turning around to see Ashlyn and Harley walking in from the back yard, Steven behind them. He came to an immediate stop when he noticed Dante at my side, his reaction almost similar to Mila’s.
“Auntie Ellie!” Ashlyn exclaimed when she saw me, having no concept of who Dante was. In her mind, I was the celebrity, not the strange man standing in their kitchen.
I crouched down as the two girls rushed toward me. I hugged both of them, kissing their strawberry blonde curls.
“When are you going to move back in?” Ashlyn asked. “I miss playing with you.”
“I miss playing with you, too, peanut, but I needed to live closer to my work. I’m here every Sunday, aren’t I? We can play then.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” I made a crisscross pattern over my chest, then stood up.
“Who’s that?” Ashlyn asked, pointing at Dante.
“This is my friend, Dante. Dante, this is Ashlyn and Harley, Mila’s little girls.”
Harley tugged on my jeans, then raised her arms. “Up! Up!”
Smiling, I bent down and picked her up, situating her on my hip. Dante met my eyes, a flicker of something new in his gaze, then he looked to Ashlyn.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ashlyn.” He turned to Harley in my arms. “Harley.”
“You talk funny,” Ashlyn observed.
“That’s because he’s not originally from here,” Steven explained, stepping from behind the girls and holding out his hand. “I’m Steven.”
“Dante,” he responded, shaking his hand.
“I know.” He laughed politely, then looked back at Ashlyn, her green eyes furrowed in confusion. “He’s from Italy and grew up speaking a different language. Because of that, he has an accent.”
She pinched her lips together, placing her hands on her hips as she considered Steven’s answer. Seemingly satisfied with his explanation, she turned to Dante. “Can you teach me?”
I gazed down at her in awe and a little envy. She was too young to care what people thought about her. She didn’t think before she spoke. She just said whatever popped into her mind. I missed those days. Then again, I doubted I’d ever been like that.
“Sure.” He knelt down so he could look into her eyes. “Say ciao Mamma.”
“Ciao Mamma. What does that mean?”
“It means ‘Hi, Mama.’”
“Teach me something else!” She bounced excitedly on her feet.
I admired him as he comfortably interacted with little Ashlyn, as if it were second nature. I supposed it was. Before Mila had her kids, I’d always felt somewhat guarded around children, not knowing what to do or say to these little humans who seemed to constantly need your attention. But when Mila had Ashlyn and I watched her grow up from the tiny newborn, who was permanently attached to her mother’s breast, into the rambunctious and talkative four-year-old she now was, interacting with her had become second-nature to me, too.
“Say ti amo.”
“Ti amo,” she replied, a little slower. “What does that mean?”
“It means ‘I love you.’ So now you can say that to your mamma and babbo when they tell you.”
“What’s babbo?”
“It’s what we call our fathers in Italy.”
Beaming, she looked up at Mila. “Ti amo, mamma.” Then she looked at Steven. “Ti amo, babbo.” She started to scurry away, then looked back at Dante. “How do you say, ‘When will the pancakes be ready?’”
We all erupted in laughter, Dante’s smile reaching his eyes. “We’ll work on that one next time.”