Tony nodded. “Time is fine.” He took her by the arms, his grip firm, and she felt the skin on the back of her neck tingle in anticipation of the kiss that was sure to follow. “Evelyn, I can wait forever if I have to. But if he doesn’t know we’re together, he’s not coming around.”
Disappointment flooded her as he dropped her arms and turned away. He was right, but she wasn’t used to being called on her bluffs. And worse, she wasn’t so sure Joseph would actually come around on Tony—at least not unless she forced his hand. While getting into the trouble Bernie worried about would do the trick, that wasn’t the right way. Joseph might yell; he might threaten. But he would never actually sit shiva for her, even if she eloped. And that was what they would have to do. And he would forgive her eventually because he’d have no other choice.
Not that Tony had proposed. There had been hints, but no outright declaration of intentions. Yet that part didn’t worry Evelyn. She knew how she felt and didn’t worry for a moment that he felt anything but the same.
College was another obstacle though. If she eloped and then didn’t get her education, Joseph really might not forgive her and certainly wouldn’t forgive Tony. But if she attended college as a married woman . . . Pembroke College, where she planned to go, would definitely be too far away; she would have to go someplace closer. But that would work.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked warily. She quickly wiped her face free of machinations. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
Evelyn stuck out her tongue. “So serious. Does your family even know about me? Other than Lipe?”
“Yes,” Tony said, opening the car door for Evelyn. She climbed inside, and he shut the door behind her. “That’s where we’re going tonight. My mother wants to meet you.”
“Your mother?” He nodded, putting the car in drive. “You let me out of this car right now.” She reached for the door handle.
He turned to look at her, amused. “Why, Evelyn Bergman. Are you afraid of my m?e?”
She squared her shoulders. “I’m not afraid of anything, but I’m also not walking into your”—she hesitated—“m?e’s house empty handed.” She butchered the pronunciation—it sounded like the month instead of the Portuguese word for mother—but he smiled at the attempt.
“No, that wouldn’t do, would it?” He reached into the back seat and pulled out a bouquet of flowers. “You’ll give her these. And if you really want to impress her, you’ll say, ‘Prazer em conhecê-lo.’”
“Won’t ‘nice to meet you’ suffice?”
He chuckled. “That is ‘nice to meet you.’ Say it with me now. Prazer.”
“Praz-eh.”
“No Massachusetts accents now. You’re going to have to say an ‘r.’”
“Not like you talk any better!”
“I do in Portuguese. Come on. Prazer.”
“Praz-ER,” she said exaggeratedly, rolling her eyes.
“Good. Em conhecê-lo.”
“Em cone-ye-se-lo.”
“All together now. Prazer em conhecê-lo.” She repeated it. “She’ll love you.”
“And if I accidentally say something that means ‘I neck with your son in his car down by the jetty most nights’？”
“She probably won’t love you as much, although she has her suspicions. You did leave a mark last week.”
Evelyn grinned. “Might have gotten a little carried away. Someone always says we have to be good.”
He looked over at her again. “Be good tonight, huh? I want my family to like you.”
She leaned back against the car door and put her legs, bare in the summer heat, up on the dash near the steering wheel, her dress riding up to show sun-bronzed thighs. “They’ll love me, darling.”
“I hope so,” he said, not daring to look at her. “Because I do.”
“Pull over.” She sat up suddenly, removing her legs from the dash.
“What?”
“Pull over right now!”
He pulled the car to the side of the road, still two miles from town, glancing at her nervously. But as the car rolled to a stop, she climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, the steering wheel digging into her back.
“Say that again.”
“What?”
“What you just said. Say it properly.”
He looked into her eyes, lost forever and never wanting to be found. “I love you.”