Stefano looked at Vittorio. Brielle thought that was odd. Stefano was clearly looking for permission. Grace appeared almost defiant.
“My shoulder is doing far better. It’s holding, Stefano. I’m not going to drop her.”
“Gracie.” Stefano’s voice was loving. “I would never think you would drop our little Luciana. I was worried the shoulder was just beginning to really stay in place and didn’t know if her weight would be too much.” He crouched down beside the chair and offered the little bundle to Grace. “This injury has been such a journey for you. You never complain, but we all know how painful it is. The doctor told us if this replacement doesn’t hold, there is nothing else they can do. We’re just being cautious, you understand? Out of caring.”
Vittorio stood behind Grace’s chair, his free hand on her good shoulder, his nephew on his hip. “So many operations, il mia gattina, all of them failures. This is our last hope.”
Grace nodded her head, but she bent over the little girl, her gaze fixed on the baby with longing. It was clear to Brielle that she wanted a child of her own. Most likely, the doctors didn’t want her to get pregnant while her shoulder was healing. She would have to ask Elie about Grace’s injury.
For now, however, it was nice that the spotlight was no longer on her. She could make her soufflés and observe the family dynamics.
Crispino, Stefano and Francesca’s son, was passed around the room from uncle to uncle, and that included Valentino and even Dario. Elie tossed him into the air and ran around the house with the boy on his back. Dario took him out of the room to play with him, but she noticed that Stefano trailed after them, seemingly to talk to Dario about an important issue.
Francesca wasn’t nearly as nervous around Val or Dario as Brielle had expected her to be. In fact, she was genuinely warm and welcoming. She looked tired, and took the chair her husband pulled out for her right beside Grace. Ricco and Mariko arrived with Giovanni and Sasha. Nicoletta came in right behind them.
The room should have felt crowded, but it didn’t. The dining table was long and seemed to accommodate all the chairs with space in between. The noise level went up, but if anything, it was all laughter. Brielle was introduced to the family. She would have been extremely shy but Elie stood right beside her and she continued to work on the soufflés, putting them in the little ramekins so they could bake in the oven.
She tried not to be nervous with all of them there. Everyone felt welcoming. It was just that there were so many of them. They worked together like a smoothly oiled machine as if they’d been doing it for so long, they didn’t think about it. Dishes were put out on the table, along with silverware and wineglasses. Bottles of wine were opened. Angel hair pasta was put in large bowls and placed in the middle of either end of the table along with bowls of salad, the cooked vegetables and garlic bread. Taviano placed large bowls of hot spaghetti sauce on either end while Elie took the last of the ramekins out of the oven.
Stefano and Francesca put the baby down in the nursery while Mariko deftly tied a bib around Crispino and placed him in his high chair between Stefano’s chair and Francesca’s. Brielle found herself intrigued, but felt out of place by the way the Ferraros interacted so easily with one another. Through it all, they kept up a running commentary, sharing news of their day, exchanging news of their households, just talking about their everyday lives. It was beautiful and poignant to her.
Brielle had always wanted a family. The Ferraros were the epitome of the big, loving Italian family she’d always read about. She didn’t know how to be part of something like that. She couldn’t relate to them. She found herself watching Elie. How had he managed to find his way into their lives? He seemed as if he’d always belonged. He laughed with them, teased, looked at ease. How had he managed when he’d been alone, the same as she had been?
Elie, sitting beside her, laughed at something Ricco said, something she missed because she was too busy concentrating on not getting up and running from the room. She swirled pasta on her fork, trying to look as natural as possible, wishing she had Elie’s ability to keep from giving away her thoughts on her face.
His hand dropped to her thigh, his knuckles stroking back and forth. She looked up at him, but his focus was on Ricco and Giovanni. The two were talking racing and cars, subjects she knew nothing about. The others at the table seemed to be listening. Even Crispino seemed to know more than she did, leaning toward the speakers eagerly.
Elie’s knuckles moved higher, settling between her legs, stroking light caresses from her mound to her entrance, then along her lips, tracing up to her clit. The breath left her lungs as he nudged her legs apart with his fist. All the while, he didn’t miss a beat, keeping up his end of the conversation. The pasta dropped off her fork back onto her plate. She felt a little like Crispino, who was trying to eat on his own. He wanted no part of the adults feeding him, determined to be one of them, just as grown-up, and they let him.