Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (26 page)

“Thanks.” He took the bottle from her with a wink.

In the kitchen, her mother was placing the Caprese salad into a serving dish.  “Sweetie, set the table please. Niq—get the antipasti ready. Toni—slice the bread.”

“Yes, Ma,” was the collective response.

Setting the table meant everything but the dinner plates, as her mother personally insisted on dishing up and serving each person. Carmela always cooked all of the food, except for what her daughters brought, and she always ate last and very quickly, to make sure that everyone’s plate stayed full. She loved taking care of everyone at her table. Family tradition would never be work to her; the countless eras gone by of the women in her family doing the exact same thing were in her blood.

“And now, we’re ready to eat,” her mother said a moment later, and Sammi’s stomach involuntarily clenched up. Mealtime was when Cillian would be peppered with questions and assaulted with veiled threats.

Niq and Toni were smiling at her, and Toni actually rubbed her hands together.

“Be nice,” Sammi whispered. She’d meant for it to come out as a demand, but it sounded like a desperate plea.

Her sisters exchanged a look and Niq drew a finger across her throat.

“You bums wanna eat, you better come now,” Carmela called.

The dining room was just big enough for the scarred oak dining table and chairs, plus a smaller table for the four kids. Sammi noticed that an extra chair and place setting had been wedged in right next to her normal place.

“Lemme go get the kids,” Niq said, and for the first time, Sammi realized with a jolt she hadn’t seen her nieces and nephews.

“Where are they?”

“Out in the courtyard, on the playground.”

She returned in a few moments with her son and daughter, Mia and Dominic, and Toni’s two children, Dante and Ramona.

“Hi, guys!” Sammi exclaimed, kneeling down to allow the four small children to barrel into her. “I didn’t see you outside. You were so quiet.”

“We were playin’ hide and seek,” Mia informed her.

“Who won?”

“Me,” Dominic shouted.

“No,
me
,” Dante whined.

“Enough.” Toni pressed her fingers to her temples.

“Auntie Sam,” Ramona whispered, her eyes furtively going to Cillian. “Who zat?”

“Who?” Sammi pretended she didn’t know who Ramona was talking about.

“Him.” She pointed a small finger at Cillian.

“Oh, him? That’s my friend, Cillian. Can you tell Cillian your name?”

“Ramona,” the little girl whispered. The smallest and youngest of the children, she was immensely shy around anyone but her family, and she buried her face against Sammi’s shoulder.

“Hi, Ramona.” Cillian crouched down to her height. “That’s a pretty name.”

“What do you say?” Sammi prompted her.

“Thank you.” Ramona gave him a big, toothy smile before quickly burying her face against Sammi again.

“Okay, kids,” Niq said. “Come sit.”

Obediently, the children filed to their small table set just away from the adults’ table, and everyone bowed their heads as Joe said the blessing. When he was done, Carmela rose to her feet to dish up the food.

“Some help, Ma?” Sammi called. “It’s Mother’s Day.”

“No, no. I got it.”

“So, Cillian,” Niq began and Sammi sighed heavily.
Here we go
. “The wine. Nice touch.”

Cillian nodded. “Hope you like it.”

“We prefer white, actually.” Toni batted her lashes ever so slightly. “For future reference.”

“Toni, don’t start,” Sammi hissed.

“Hey, you girls knock it off,” Joe warned, as if they were kids again. “The wine was a nice gesture, thanks, Cillian. You girls want anything else, you bring it and stop complainin’ about gifts.”

Suck it.
Sammi smirked at her sisters. They exchanged a glance, then Toni smiled sweetly.

“So, you really tied one on last night, baby sis.”

“What’s that mean?” Joe looked at each of his daughters before settling his gaze on his youngest. “You were drinkin’ last night?”

“She got
drunk
last night.”

“I was—celebrating my last night at the bar.” Sammi folded her arms, refusing to cower under her father’s steady glare. “I might’ve had a little more than usual, but I’m fine.”

“How’d you get home? You didn’t ride the bus
drunk
, did you?”

“Who was drunk?” Carmela appeared and placed a heaping plate of pasta and meat sauce in front of her husband and one in front of Uncle Gino, who nodded his head graciously and tucked his napkin into his shirt.

“Your youngest,” Toni informed her.

“Samantha!” Carmela smacked her on the shoulder before turning for the kitchen again.

“No, I didn’t ride the bus, Pop.” Sammi stabbed some marinated artichokes and mushrooms with a fork and placed them on her small bread plate.

“Jazz take you home?” Joe folded his arms. Her father was like a bloodhound that had caught the scent when something didn’t sit well with him.

Sammi popped a large mushroom in her mouth. “Ah, no.”

Cillian glanced at her. “I took her home, sir.”

“You took her home?” Joe glanced at Cillian. “Home to her apartment? Late at night when she was drunk?”

“Just to make sure she got home safely, sir. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.”

Sammi shrugged. “See? No harm done. I’m fine. Besides, your other daughters had a hand in my condition. Just saying.”

“Oh, what? They tied you down?”

“Exactly, Sam.” Niq looked at her across the table, her brow creasing with fake concern. “We only offered the drinks. You didn’t have to take them.”

“See?” Joe said. “They didn’t pump liquor down your throat. Did they?”

Sammi sighed and glared murderously at her sisters.
You bitches
. “No, Pop.”

Niq winked at her and Toni blew her a kiss.

Thankfully, her mother reappeared with more food. When everyone was served, all conversation halted as they dove into their plates. Carmela made spaghetti with a decadent tomato sauce, oily and rich, full of meatballs, sausage, and pepperoni. Aside from the marinated vegetables, there was also a plate of Italian deli meat—genoa salami and prosciutto. There was Sammi’s Caprese salad and a fresh, home-baked Italian loaf, sliced neatly in a brown wicker basket and wrapped with a cloth napkin to keep it warm. It was a simple meal, but hearty and completely in the tradition of their heritage.

“This is delicious, ma’am,” Cillian said to Carmela. “Really. One of the best meals I’ve ever had.”

Sammi beamed at him from over her glass of water as Carmela smiled modestly. “Thank you, hon.” She pointed her fork at him. “You make sure you eat. I hear you’re pretty active, and you’re a soldier. You need a good meal in you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, Cillian, you follow baseball?” Joe asked, sipping at his wine.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah? Who do you like for the playoffs?”

“Well, bein’ from Boston makes me a Red Sox fan automatically.”

Oh, shit. I forgot to tell him.

Joe made a face. Sammi kicked and stomped Cillian’s foot under the table, harder than necessary, and he glanced over at her, a brow raised in question.

She kept her eyes on her plate but shook her head quickly, then coughed. “Yankees. Ahem.”

Cillian smiled. “But, I really…like…New York, too, so I gotta say…Yankees, all the way.”

That one hurt him.
Sammi breathed a sigh of relief.

“Damn right, Yankees all the way.” Joe nodded firmly, then winked. “I forgive you for the Red Sox. You’re a native, it’s understandable.”

Cillian chuckled. “Thank you, sir.”

“So, Cillian,” Vince said. “Saw you on ESPN about the tournament. You ready for that?”

Cillian bobbed his head. “I think so. Been workin’ hard, trainin’ a lot.”

“What’s that?” Uncle Gino asked. “This tournament thing.”

“A tournament, Uncle Gino. A big MMA tournament.”

“What the hell is this MMA crap?”

“It’s like fightin’, Unc,” Ryan chimed in. “Like martial arts and boxin’ all in one. The guys, they beat the shit outta each other in cages. It’s better than wrestling.”

“Language at my table,” Carmela said sharply.

“Sorry, Ma.”

“Oh, fightin’.” Uncle Gino glanced at Cillian and nodded. Sammi wasn’t sure if it was with approval or merely acknowledgment, but her uncle had always been a big fan of boxing.

“By the way, I’ve heard of your father’s gym,” Joe said. “Popular around here. When’s this tournament?”

“Couple weeks, sir,” Cillian answered. “Memorial Day weekend. In Albany.”

“I gotta see one of them things, one day. Is that gonna be on TV?”

“Yes, sir. It’ll be on ESPN.”

“I’ll have to tune in, maybe watch you fight. I always liked the fights, myself.”

Sammi started to relax. Cillian seemed to be perfectly comfortable. He had a little in common with Ryan and Vince, and even promised to work with them in the gym if they ever wanted to come by. Her father warmed up more, and even her sisters seemed to be behaving themselves. They teased her occasionally and poked fun at her, but Sammi knew they were just protecting her. It was clear they both liked Cillian.

Carmela forced Cillian to eat a second plate, which made Sammi’s own full stomach churn, but Cillian barely batted an eye. When everyone was finished and bemoaning how full they were, Sammi’s mother started clearing off the dinner plates.

“I’ll help, Ma.” Sammi got to her feet, gathering the rest of the plates and carrying them into the kitchen.

“Sam made tiramisu,” Carmela announced. “Who wants dessert and coffee?”

“Ma, give us a minute,” Niq groaned, patting her stomach. “We’re still hurtin’ here!”

“Sit down, sweetheart, take a load off.” Joe patted her chair. “Come on.”

“All right.” Mrs. Carnevale relented and slipped into the seat, reaching across the table to pat Cillian’s hand. “I worry about you young single men. Not eatin’ like you should. I’ll pack you some food to take home.”

Cillian smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“So, Cillian,” Joe said, and Sammi sighed, growing tired of that phrase. “Tell me about your family.”

“My father’s retired, but he boxed for decades, then started training people when he opened the gym. My mother used to be a teacher, and she’s retired too. They like to travel a lot, these days. And I’ve got one younger sister, who has two kids.”

“Very good. Family’s the most important thing. And the Army, you still active duty?”

“No, sir. I went reserve after the last deployment. I needed to do something else, and my father sold the gym while I was deployed, so I bought half of it when I got home. I want it to stay in the family, but we’ve still got a co-owner.” Cillian cleared his throat. “I’m hoping to buy him out soon.”

“And then it’ll be your place.”

“That’s the plan, sir.”

“Dessert? Coffee?” Carmela tried again, getting another chorus of groans.

“Yes, yes, sweetheart.” Joe pecked his wife’s cheek. “If it makes you happy.”

“Sammi, help me.” Carmela patted her knee. Sammi got up and followed her into the kitchen. She got down the dessert plates and began dishing up the tiramisu as her mother began on the coffee.

“You know, sweetie, I really like that boy. He’s so polite. Seems so quiet and respectful. He’s good to you?”

Sammi smiled. “Yes, Ma. He is.”

“Does he…” Carmela stopped and swallowed. “Does he know?”

“I told him.”

“Oh, honey.” The sudden emotion that cracked her mother’s voice made Sammi turn around. Tears glistened in Carmela’s eyes, and Sammi felt awful.

They shouldn’t have had to go through it, either.

“It’s okay, Ma.” Sammi reached out to pull her mother into a hug.

Carmela nodded and hugged her. It had to be excruciatingly painful for a parent to know their child had been brutalized and be completely helpless to it. It was especially difficult for her father; Sammi would never forget the sight of his enraged, grieved tears as he looked at her in the hospital bed.

She leaned in to kiss her mother on the cheek before heading back into the dining room to hand out plates.

“Looks good, cupcake.” Joe nodded his approval.

“Nonna’s recipe. Never fails.”

Although the tiramisu was delicious, Sammi was so full she couldn’t enjoy more than a bite. Cillian, however, ate it as though he hadn’t just eaten two enormous plates of food less than an hour before.

They sat around for another hour, chatting and laughing, drinking the wine Cillian had brought, until the children began to doze from full bellies and early mornings at church.

“That’s our cue,” Niq said, watching her son and daughter as they nodded off.

“Ours, too,” Toni said.

“All right, all right,” Carmela said. “Let me get the food packed up.”

Sammi helped her mother divvy and pack up the mountain of leftovers. She typically took home the smallest portion, since she had no family of her own to feed. Carmela always cooked more than necessary, but since she had a guest tonight, she’d cooked even more, so Cillian ended up with half a dozen of the white takeout cartons her parents bought in bulk just for family dinners, brimming with enough food to last the week.