Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) (2 page)

Of course nothing can, but the thought sure counts. When I finally get to Susan, who is wider than she was tall, I hug her extra tight. “You spoil me,
Cara Mia
.” Normally I never use Italian, certainly not like my fluent aunt. But I speak it for her since I know nothing pleases her more.

She hugs me back just as strong. Those very same hugs held me together when my mom was so sick and eventually passed. They still hold me together now. “Impossible,” she tells me. “You are my superstar, are you not?”

I lift her easily, though she instantly struggles. As a bigger woman, she worries about things like that–though I have always told her that it never mattered to me. Sometimes I wondered if that was the reason that she never married. Was she so worried about being too heavy for a man that she never tried? That’s the only explanation I can think of. I can’t imagine anyone ever meeting my great-aunt and not falling head over heels in love with her. Still, she is conscious of every single pound and I know that. Instantly I return her to her feet before kissing her on the tip of her nose.

“I hope you can share your superstar,” a feminine voice drifts over my shoulder. I turn to face Lori Flannigan, a sunny blonde who has an immediate smile for me as I pull her into my arms.

“Hey, baby,” I say, in that sleepy bedroom voice that always makes her tremble in my arms. I swear it makes me feel like a superhero. I’m butter in her hands as she kisses me, even if it has to be a modest kiss because we’re standing in front of my conservative great-aunt and all her friends.

Susan grabs me by the arm and pulls me further into the kitchen, where a veritable feast awaits. There’s pasta and meatballs, eggplant parmesan, baked ziti and Susan’s renowned ravioli. And for dessert she has prepared a decadent favorite of mine, scrumptious homemade tiramisu.

My mouth waters as Susan pours the Prosecco for everyone. Lori cuddles closely, fitting nicely in the crook of my arm. It’s a good hiding place for her since she’s never been one for crowds of people she didn’t know. She’d much prefer our private celebration later, when I can sneak her away to my room. (I kind of prefer that, too.)

Thanks to all the people present I don’t really know, who mill around me, talking in their own little groups, I am able to do that sooner rather than later. I close the door behind us before I take the tiny blonde back into my arms. Lori is short, like Susan, but she is also fairly petite. Lifting her into my arms is like picking up a bird. From the moment she entered our home for piano instruction five months ago, I have been completely fascinated by her. She’s tiny and fragile, like one of Susan’s old porcelain dolls she kept packed away so that they didn’t crack.

The similarity between the two makes me want to wrap myself around Lori like living body armor to keep her safe.

Whether it was her fair, freckled skin, that slight body, or her full, heart-shaped face, one that hovers somewhere between adolescence and adulthood even years after she came of age, there is just something about her that would jump-start the white knight complex in any guy prone to such tendencies. Fun fact about me: I’m one of those guys. She held me off for a good four months before we finally consummated our relationship. Since that amazing night three weeks ago, she has proven to be an enthusiastic partner.

“I’m just making up for lost time,” she’d say before she’d wind her arms around my neck. I’d then trail my fingers across her satiny flesh, which would spring up to meet my touch as she gasped against my ear.

In fact she is so passionate and responsive to my touch, it remains a mystery how she stayed a virgin until she met me.

“I just know what I want,” she’d tell me if I dare asked. And who the hell needed to talk after that?

I lift her against my 6’3-foot frame and press her against the door. I toy with her lips momentarily before I murmur, “So where’s my birthday gift?”

She giggles against me, which shoots electricity through my core. “You’re holding it.”

I can’t help but growl against her mouth as I lift her up and carry her towards my single bed. We barely fit, which makes it even sexier. “Just what I wanted.”

We topple together on the bed. She allows it for a brief, passionate moment before she withdraws. “Vanni. Everyone is here.”

“So?” I say as I kiss my way along the fragrant line of her neck. She smells like citrus and spice, fresh and bright, like a summer morning. Who cares if there are people right downstairs? In fact, it rather excites me. I’m like a thief in the night, stealing kisses and passionate embraces right under their noses and they don’t even know it.

“So, it’s disrespectful. They came here to share your birthday with you.”

“Fuck ‘em,” I say as I continue to explore the nape of her neck.

She glares at me out of the corner of her eye. “Vanni.”

“Fine. You’re right,” I admit with a sigh, before I caress the curve of her lovely face. “You’re too good for me, you know that right?”

“I know,” she chirps happily. She springs to her feet, pulling me up with her.

When we return to the shindig, my best buddy Tony Biello has arrived. It is now officially a party.

“Hey, buddy,” he greets as he hands off a bottle of whiskey with a blue bow on it. He can’t possibly remember that is my favorite color, since guys don’t really think about those things. I know it’s a happy accident. It makes me appreciate it even more. “Birthday greetings,” he says as he takes me in a side hug, effectively putting himself in the middle of Lori and me as we head back towards the kitchen.

“I thought you forgot,” I accuse.

“Me? Forget?” he says as he withdraws a long envelope with yet another blue bow. Maybe it isn’t an accident after all.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he tells me.

I withdraw three tickets. “Holy shit,” I breathe. They are tickets to Madison Square Garden, to catch a concert I had been jonesing to attend for months, but the tickets are outrageously expensive. “How’d you get these?”

He shrugs. “Client at the firm had some and didn’t want them. Score one for corporate America.”

I am contrite as I face him. Tony and I had been thick as thieves since I moved to Bensonhurst. We met on the street corner down the block, right in between our two houses, and we had been inseparable ever since. We attended the same high school, shared many of the same classes. He was always the better student, even though he was just as likely as I was to be caught ditching afternoon classes and smoking a J in the parking lot with the rest of us slackers. We loved the same music, which connected us on a deep level almost immediately. I’ve always picked my friends by how versed they were on the rock music I’ve loved by my whole life. If I can sing a tune and someone can sing the next lyric, we’re automatically bonded for life.

Somewhere around junior year, Tony got serious about his future. His parents were ragging on him to give up his delinquent behavior, so that he could get into college. His dad had worked two jobs just to pay for his first year. Tony ended up paying for the rest.

He got a job in Manhattan after he graduated, and has been moving up the corporate ladder in the last few years since. I tease him mercilessly because of it. A million years ago, we had talked about forming our own garage band and touring all over the country, singlehandedly bringing rock back to the forefront of popular music. Now he is a suited lackey with an expensive shoebox of an apartment in the city he now called home.

But he is a suited lackey who could acquire coveted concert tickets. I am sincere when I tell him, “Thanks, man. This means a lot.”

“Of course it does,” he shoots back with an affable grin. “Who knows you better than your best friend? You’re taking me with you, you know. Unless I’m some kind of third wheel.”

“Never,” Lori assures him immediately as she places her hand on his arm. “We’d love for you to go.”

“Excellent,” he says with a smile. “Now where’s that ziti? My mouth has been watering for it all day.”

We don’t break away from the crowd until the last of the guests leave. In the case of Susan’s peers, that means about ten o’clock, after all the food is put away and the dishes are washed. Also a tradition: Susan shoos away every good Samaritan that wants to help her. Eventually we all land on the front stoop.

Though it’s frigid and the light clouds above are threatening snow, we do not dare to go back in until she’s done. Instead I sit on the concrete step, cuddling a shivering Lori in my lap.

Tony turns to me. “So what time do you want me to pick you up for the concert?”

“Oh right,” I say. With the chaos of the party, I’ve forgotten all about one of my favorite gifts. “What day is it, again?”

“Thursday. Christmas Eve-eve,” he clarifies with a lopsided grin.

“Good, because if I miss Christmas Eve at the church with Aunt Susan, she’ll fill my stocking full of coal.”

“You got that right,” Susan says as she walks out onto the porch where we sit. “My Vanni always sings for the church.”

“
O Holy Night
,” I tell them. It’s her favorite. It always makes her cry when I sing it. 

“You should come,” she tells them, and Tony instantly shakes his head.

“My family is getting together Christmas Eve. The house should be full of about thirty people.”

“Then they will hardly miss one, will they?” Susan teases. I know she doesn’t mean it. Family is the most important thing to my beloved
prozia
, so she’d never stand in anyone’s way to enjoy it.

Tony grins as he stands. He leans over to kiss her cheek. She’s as much his family as I am by now. “It was a great party, Susan. Thanks for inviting me.”

She pats his shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Tony. I had my doubts but you’ve really come a long way.”

He laughs. “Guess it’s time to get Vanni in shape.”

Her dark eyes meet mine. The love there takes my breath away. “Vanni’s all right,” she assures him.

Tony claps his hand on my shoulder as he trots down the steps. “See you Thursday,” he tells Lori and me.

“What’s Thursday?” Susan wants to know.

“Concert,” I tell her. “He got some tickets through his firm.”

“That’s generous of him to give them to you,” she says as she collapses on the bench on the porch with a happy sigh. “I’d say everything shaped up to be even better than last year.”

For a moment I can say nothing. Yes, it had turned out to be a pretty great birthday. I got some killer concert tickets, I ate like a king and I have a beautiful woman sitting on my lap. There is only one thing missing. “Almost,” I finally say.

Susan realizes her error with widened eyes. “I’m sorry, Vanni.”

“It’s okay,” I assure her with a smile. She had tried so hard to make the evening special. It wasn’t her fault the universe or God or whatever anyone wanted to call it had decided to take Mama the year before. And I know Susan feels the loss every bit as much as I do. “It was truly a beautiful night. Really.”

She smiles. “Anything for you, dear boy.”

I notice that she’s shivering. “On that note, I think you should probably get inside and defrost.”

She nods. It is cold, and cold isn’t as easy for her to shake off these days. She rises with a little difficulty. I immediately put Lori on her feet next to me and hover over my aunt, who won’t take my outstretched hand, but won’t begrudge how I shadow her to make sure she doesn’t fall.

Lori follows us into the house.

I hate that Susan doesn’t seem to be getting around like she used to. When Mama and I first came to live with her, she had the energy of women half her age. Now she moves a little slower, she holds onto furniture to stabilize herself and often overexerts herself with simple tasks like cooking dinner or doing the laundry, though she’d beat you black and blue with her yardstick if you dared to take over. “You need some help to your room?” I ask, knowing she wouldn’t ask for it even if she needed it.

She brushes me off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I can still see myself to bed, thank you very much.” She stops only to kiss me, and I can feel her tremble from the effort it took to walk a few measly feet. I know that she had pushed herself too hard today. Instantly I feel guilty.

“Giovanni.
Mi amore
,” she says as she caresses my face with both hands. “Happy birthday, beautiful boy.”

We watch her leave the room, heading for her downstairs bedroom. The door closes behind her before either Lori or I say anything. Lori breaks the silence as she wedges herself back into my arms. “She loves you,” she says as she runs her fingers through my long hair.

“More than anyone has or will,” I reply softly.

She tightens her hold around my neck. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

My eyes meet hers. I love how they shine like sapphires in the dim amber light of the hallway. “Baby,” I say as I reach for another kiss. Her mouth opens under mine eagerly, which only makes me hungrier for more. I lift her easily into his arms and carry her up the narrow stairs to my bedroom.

She has pushed my shirt from my shoulders before I have a chance to close the door behind us. We land together on the bed, tearing away each piece of fabric in the way of our curious fingers. God, how I love it when she touches me. Her soft skin feels like a feather brushing across my nerve endings. Lori wasn’t the first girl I had been with, not by a long shot. But she
is
the first one I’d ever worked up to. Not to toot my own horn, but finding a romantic partner had always been a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. I’d always had confidence to go after what I wanted, and girls seem to respond to that. Not Lori. I had to try harder with her. Lines didn’t work. The flirting, the smirking, the innuendo didn’t work. Instead I had to learn how to be a patient, respectful gentleman. A good Catholic boy. I had to open doors, say please and thank you, talk about the future, talk about my feelings… and listen to hers.