Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (6 page)

“All right,” he said, turning his attention back to Mama’s hairstylist and to Gretchen, who lobbed an ice cream scoop at him, and none too gently either.

* * * * *

ELIZABETH STARED AT her iMac’s blue screen, heaved in gulps of air (in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent hyperventilation) and mentally retraced the past half hour for evidence of personal psychosis. Dinner with his
family?
Good heavens, how could she have let that happen?

Her cell phone rang. Gretchen.

“Oh, God, Elizabeth! I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop it. I’m going to wring Nick’s neck later. There’s no way you have to go through with this. We’ll think of something to get you out of—”

“Where are you?” Elizabeth asked her. “I thought you were working this shift?”

“I am,” her friend said. “I told the Hot Calzone that I needed a bathroom break. Look,” she said, lowering her voice, “I can see why you get tongue-tied around him. He’s pin-up-boy gorgeous.”

Elizabeth groaned. “He’s a scheming deviant.”

“That, too,” Gretchen said.

“And he wants something—something more than a live body to take along to dinner at his mother’s house—b-but I don’t know what it is yet.”

“We’ll find out.” She paused. “Elizabeth, I know this all has you rattled, but there’s no reason we can’t come up with some excuse for you to skip tonight. People get sudden cases of the measles or rheumatic fever or Asiatic flu or…or elephantiasis without warning, all the time probably.”

“Elephantiasis?”

“Or something,” Gretchen insisted. “My point is, you can come down with a contagious disease almost immediately. I can ring up my brother and ask him to give me a list of really vile-sounding symptoms. In fact, he’s on call at St. Andrew’s right now and I’ll bet he knows—”

Elizabeth sighed. “Thanks, Gretchen, but you know I can’t.”

“Why not? Rob tricked you. That’s…that’s entrapment. And, anyway, Nick was the one who said yes for you. You didn’t say anything. You never actually agreed.”

“Quite true, literally, but my silence was my agreement. And I nodded. And I left. Not staying to work my shift confirmed my acceptance of the terms of his deal, however bizarre. So, even if this means long years of psychotherapy are in my future, I do have to go tonight. But just tonight.” Unless…did Rob mean for this to last longer than one night? The very thought made her shudder.

“But Eliz—”

“Look, you know I need the writing time, Gretchen. For all of our sakes.”

“Damn. That’s the real reason you did this, isn’t it? You agreed for
us
. That’s why you didn’t say anything to him.”

“I didn’t say anything to him because my throat closes up like the space inside a cream-filled donut whenever I’m around him. And I need the cookbook to succeed as much or more than you or Jacques or Nick do,” she said, which was the truth. “I’ll be all right for an evening,” she added, which was a monstrous lie.

There was a long pause. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I have to get back to work, and so do you.” For good measure, Elizabeth made a few clicking noises on her computer keyboard.

“Okay, but one more thing—”

“Yeah?”

“If he tries any fresh moves on you, just tell me,” Gretchen said. “I’ll have him bound and gagged so fast he won’t know what hit him.”

Elizabeth laughed and hung up. How could she tell Gretchen that doing this very thing to Rob had been the cornerstone of many of her high school fantasies? Rob bound. Rob gagged. Rob all hers.

She rested her head on her arms, thought about the terror-inducing event that stretched out before her tonight and began hyperventilating in earnest again.

* * * * *

FIVE-THIRTY WASN’T The Witching Hour in anybody’s book, but Elizabeth decided it ought to be renamed.

She dressed carefully and conservatively in a pale pink shirt and dress slacks, adding a light summer sweater to camouflage the inevitable sweat rings—from nervousness not high temperatures. Then she packed herself and the pastries she was bringing into her Camry, drove over to Tutti-Frutti with all of forty seconds to spare and eased her way out of the car.

“Perfect timing,” Rob said, emerging from the sweets shop before she had a chance to change her mind and speed away. “I’m parked across the street.”

“H-How did the shifts g-g-go?”

He took her elbow and led her toward his sporty red car. Her pulse shot up to well over a hundred, and it surely had nothing to do with taking her first ride in a Porsche.

“Awesome,” he said. “People were real friendly and had lots of questions about our uncles. They wanted to know where in Europe they were headed, what kinds of sites they’d planned to see, and I told them I’d have to ask you because you’re the keeper of all those details.” He grinned at her, opened the passenger’s door and continued his monologue. “Oh, yeah. And the florist was back for a repeat of yesterday’s double scoop. And I had an interesting conversation with your friend Jacques about the making of éclairs. He promised to bring me a sample to taste tomorrow.”

“D-Did he?”

Good heavens. Jacques must’ve really taken a liking to the guy if he offered freebie treats to a non-chef. She glanced at the man sitting next to her as he put the car into gear. So confident. So smooth. So very charming. It was no wonder Rob Gabinarri wormed his way into everyone’s good graces. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be that comfortable in her own skin. A virtually impossible daydream.

“Yes, indeedy,” he said. “Oh, and I gathered, after talking with Jacques, that Gretchen is some kind of sorceress with truffles.” He nodded in her direction but didn’t actually require her response, for which she was grateful. “My buddy Miguel in Chicago has a real sweet tooth, so he’s always bringing in new desserts for me to try. Plus, he makes a wicked Mexican Hot Cocoa—with cinnamon and chili pepper and a bunch of other things I can never keep straight. Man, I tell you, it is
spicy
, but one of the most magnificent creations imaginable on a freezing January morning when the wind chill is twenty below.”

She swallowed, trying to channel “winter” but not succeeding. Even with the cool breeze blowing through the car window, she was broiling. Her body temperature must be hovering somewhere dangerously high. And, jeez, she didn’t even want to know her blood pressure.

Rob yakked about the parade of thrilled visitors who’d entered and exited the shop, about the delightful summer weather, about how refreshing it was to be in a small town again (albeit briefly) after the frenzy of a metropolis, and he jabbered on about fifty other things during the winding drive to his mother’s house. Stream-of-conscious chatter.

Except…

Well, she almost missed it, but she didn’t. She tried to ignore it, but she couldn’t. Rob talked twenty miles a minute, fast enough to do a snow job on a polar bear, except there was something in the cast of his expression that seemed to do battle with his words. The set of his jaw, maybe. The cloudiness in his eye. Whatever it was, Elizabeth got the distinct impression that all was not as amusing or as agreeable as it seemed. But, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t be. Rob lived a charmed existence. Only, by the time they’d parked in front of his mother’s two-story Colonial, she was convinced he didn’t think so.

“W-Why did y-y-you ask me here?”

A trace of panic flashed across his face then disappeared. He shot her one of his oh-so-divine grins. “Mama said she hadn’t seen you since you were a little girl and, when I told her we were working together at the shop, she said it would be so nice to have Siegfried’s niece over to dinner.” He patted her hand. “And I really appreciate you coming, too.”

This time she didn’t get blown off course by his touch. Well, she did, but she also kept her focus on his face. Rob Gabinarri was hiding something. If only she could articulate her questions, she could get to the heart of it.

But, before her lips could form the words, Alessandra Gabinarri came bustling out of the house.

“Roberto!” she cried, arms flung open. “Little Lizzy, all grown up!”

Elizabeth glanced at Rob and he studied her face for a moment. He looked surprisingly serious. Contemplative.

“She likes to be called Elizabeth,” he told his mother as they got out of the car and he handed over the bottle of red wine (from him) and the box of pastries (from her). “And I’m Rob, remember?”

The large woman wrapped Elizabeth up in her ample arms and squeezed her before planting a kiss on either cheek. “Welcome, Elizabeth,” she said. Then she embraced her son in a similar manner. “Your brother and his family are here.” She eyed the two of them. “Show her around the house and the garden, Roberto. Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes.”

“Sure, Mama,” he said. “And everyone calls me Rob now.”

His mother shrugged. “I named you. To me, you’re Roberto. Live with it.” Then she grinned at them and went inside.

“Impossible woman,” he muttered, but Elizabeth heard the affection in his voice.

They ambled around the yard for a few minutes as Rob pointed out the fruit trees and various flowers his mother took pride in. Elizabeth thought of her own mom, who’d loved to plant her annual vegetable garden. And not just tomatoes and cucumbers either. Weird stuff. Eggplant. Summer squash. Rutabaga. The dreaded okra. A pang of longing swept over her again. How she’d love to make just one more phone call to her mom to chat about the merits of harvesting sweet fruits versus bitter veggies.

“Gotta warn you,” Rob said as they headed toward the house and passed by a prominent Mother-and-Child stone statuette. “Mama’s really big into the whole Madonna thing, so don’t be too shocked when we get inside.”

Elizabeth understood the allure of religion and knew how prayerfully many Catholics regarded the Virgin Mother. She gave him a solemn nod and walked through the backdoor.

Rob wasn’t lying. There were Madonna images everywhere… The
pop singer
Madonna. On refrigerator magnets. Tacked to the pantry door. A huge glossy poster of the singer, circa 1984, dressed in white lace and ruffles in the foyer.

Rob nodded. “See. She’s almost a groupie. ‘Like a Virgin’ is still her favorite song.”

Elizabeth stood in place and laughed.

“What?” he said. “Some people are Elvis fanatics and my dad used to think the Beatles were the best band since—”

“No, Rob. I-I just thought you meant your mom was really into the Holy-Mary-Mother-of-God Madonna, not the Kabbalah-practicing-ex-wife-of-Guy-Ritchie Madonna.”

Now he laughed. “Well, she thinks highly of them both, but none of us are real clear on the Virgin Mother’s singing voice, so…”

Their gazes met and the strangest thing happened. A look passed between them—a knowing, conspiratorial look—one tinged with laughter and camaraderie. Elizabeth’s heart leapt.

A lanky guy, who could only be Rob’s younger brother Tony, peered around the corner at them. He’d been a sophomore when they were high school seniors and had grown about seven inches since she’d last seen him. He stepped forward. “Roberto!” he said.

“Antonio!” Rob said back with raised eyebrows.

“Okay, let’s cut the crap,” Tony said. “Promise to call me Tony tonight. No more taking Mama’s side like you did yesterday.”

“Golden Rule, bro,” Rob said to him.

“Yeah, I know.” Tony slapped his back and turned to Elizabeth. “Hey, Lizzy. Or—sorry—Mama said it was Elizabeth now. Great to have you here.”

“Th-Thanks.”

“You’ve got to meet my wife Maria-Louisa. She’s in the basement with the kids but they’ll be up any minute.” And he launched into a story about something one of his boys did in school last month with a jar of black ants…and how the teacher had been wary of him ever since…and how the woman must surely be counting the hours until school got out for the summer.

Another gabby Gabinarri.

Then, before Elizabeth knew what was happening, she got tossed into a whirling, swirling tornado of gabby Gabinarris. A pack of them—four, no
five
children—emerged from the basement and descended upon Tony and Rob and her, too, followed by a petite woman about Tony’s age (Maria-Louisa, no doubt) with a bright smile and, evidently, an unlimited supply of energy.

“Time for dinner,” the family’s matriarch called from the kitchen. And, at those words, the tornado spun toward the dining room.

Elizabeth looked long and hard at Tony’s wife and her pounding heart eased at the sight. That must be heaven, 3-D and in full color. Being the mother to a troupe of exuberant children who loved her unconditionally, and whom she could love in return. When Elizabeth was around kids, all of her self-consciousness drifted away. Children were real and open and honest. They didn’t hide their emotions or play games with hers. She bit her lip. If only immaculate conceptions were possible in this modern age.

“Elizabeth,” Rob and Tony’s mother said. “Please sit here.” She pointed to a chair across from Rob and in between two of the Gabinarri youngsters: A dark-haired, giggling Camilla and a sandy-haired, hiccupping Sammie.

“Hi!” Sammie said to her. Hiccup. “I’m five.” Hiccup. He covered his mouth, his eyes bugging out with laughter and the astonishment of a bodily process that couldn’t be controlled. “How old are you?” Hiccup.

“T-Twenty-seven,” she said. “Almost twenty-eight.”

“Oooh!” Camilla said. “So, you get to have a birthday soon.”

Sammie hiccupped again.

“I just turned seven three weeks ago,” Camilla added. “When’s yours?”

“In July,” Elizabeth admitted. “The fifth. The day after Independence Day.”

Hiccup. “Cool,” Sammie said. “My birthday’s not—” Hiccup. “Until November. That’s too far away.”

Elizabeth smiled at him then snatched a glance at Rob. He was staring at her curiously.

“This is my sister-in-law Maria-Louisa,” he said as the petite woman sat down.

“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” Tony’s wife said. “I see you’re getting to know Camilla and Sammie. These are the triplets.” She pointed to the cluster of three identical boys jumping on either side of her. “Matthew, Mark and Michael. They’re three and a half.”