They’d made it.
The restaurant had made it, Luca thought.
“Luca?”
He heard his sister calling his name.
He looked up, saw her standing at the door to the kitchen. It was her night off and she was dressed for an evening out.
“Sí.”
“Brooke and I are in the grotto.” Chloe waved a paper in her hand. “Unless you have a better idea,” she said, handing her requests for dinner to him.
Luca took the paper without looking at it. “Brooke?”
Chloe smiled and walked away.
Oh shit.
His sister and Brooke.
Brooke and his sister.
Luca looked at the order, considered the request, and then threw it away.
They wanted a shared pasta plate and a shared main.
And what kind of shared information were they exchanging?
Luca dished up a few orders while preparing what he planned on serving his sister and Brooke.
When it was done, he cleaned his hands and picked up the plates. He told his second he’d be a few minutes and to take over.
He walked past the main dining room and into the grotto. A private space that locals knew about, and those who bothered to look up details about the restaurant’s features. Private parties and special events . . . and yes, family meals were often taken in that space so long as paying customers weren’t dominating the room.
Two small parties were there, and Brooke and his sister. They were laughing, a bottle of wine between them.
He met Brooke’s eyes before he made it to the table.
She had beautiful eyes. Revealing and honest. Right now, they told him she’d been drinking and, if he wasn’t too far out of the game, she was happy to see him.
Luca had to admit, that feeling was mutual.
“Buonasera.”
“You didn’t have to bring it yourself.” Chloe was speaking, but Luca didn’t look at her.
“I did.” He set the plates down with a smile. “It looks as if you both have been enjoying the evening.”
“We’ve had a great time,” Chloe said for the two of them. “Did you know that Brooke has been to Rome and Florence?”
Luca glanced at his sister, then back to Brooke. “I did not.”
“No wonder she loves it here so much.”
“And I thought it was the company,” Luca said, smiling.
The heat in Brooke’s cheeks blossomed as she met his stare.
A brief moment of quiet passed before Chloe cleared her throat. “A shared plate doesn’t mean twice as much food, Luca.”
He forced his eyes away from Brooke to look at his sister. “You don’t have to eat it all.”
“Italian cooks . . . ‘You don’t have to eat it all’ and then when you don’t, ‘What was wrong with the food? Are you sick?’ Beware, Brooke, this is a trap.”
“In Italy they don’t serve American portions,” Brooke said.
“We can’t get away with that here,” Luca said under his breath.
“D’Angelo?” a patron called from the other side of the grotto, pulling Luca’s attention away.
He looked directly at Brooke. “If you’ll excuse me.”
As Luca turned, he heard his sister snicker.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Hi, Dad.” Brooke relented and called her father after two days, but not before she’d learned that he was now able to roam about the facility. As much as a wheelchair would allow him to roam, that is.
“You finally . . . finally called.”
Instead of addressing his comment, she added her own. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. I heard you’re out of isolation.”
“You sound mad.”
Brooke closed her eyes and smiled before she spoke again in an effort to sound happier. With the phone on speaker, she clasped her hands in her lap to keep from biting her nails. “I don’t want to argue with you. The last time we spoke was very upsetting.”
Her dad snorted. “You-you’re t-telling me.”
Deep breath in . . . long breath out . . .
“Have you made any friends?” she asked.
Another snort. “Everyone here is old.”
“The price you pay for not dying young,” she said, joking.
Then, after a second, she heard her father laugh. It didn’t last long, but it was better than a disgruntled snort or snide comment.
“I tried.”
It was her turn to chuckle. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. And that damn motorcycle.”
Now her dad laughed hard.
Brooke felt a genuine grin. “Should I bring up the four wives?”
“No,” he said, plain as day.
“Okay. I’ll stop while I’m ahead.”
She heard her father yawn. “Th-the food isn’t bad. Needs salt.”
“You can add it. It’s safe to say many people there have issues with their blood pressure.”
“They’re old,” he accused again.
“And you’re thirty?”
“Ha.”
Brooke sat in a chair by her open slider, enjoying the breeze while they talked. “Think of it this way, Dad. You’re the young one there, you have the pick of all the women. You can find wife number five.”
“Bite your tongue.”
“Just make sure she has money, okay?”
“Ha. Not a bad . . . bad idea.”
She knew he was joking.
“When will I see you?” he asked.
“I just turned in my revisions for the campaign I was working on and I have a call with my boss later today. They want me to work with a team on my next project.” She wasn’t terribly happy with that.
“Oh? Do you do that?”
“Not normally. But I’ve been delayed a lot. I think it’s their way of making sure the work gets done on time.”
“Oh. My fault.”
Brooke nodded her head but kept her words in. “Reason, not fault. Life happens. Anyway. I do need to focus on work. If it’s okay with you, I’ll be there on Tuesday.”
“You can come and take me to lunch.”
“I know. Let me get ahead at work, and I’ll do that. Deal?”
Her dad finally relented with another yawn. “Deal.”
Brooke sighed in relief.
They spoke for a few more minutes. She asked how he felt physically. Was he sleeping? How was the care?
He answered but didn’t bother with questions of his own.
At the end of the call, she was happy she’d picked up the phone. They were in a better place . . . for now.
Brooke fiddled with the phone, turning it on end, over and over while she thought about the conversation.
A noise from the other end of the terrace drew her attention to what was in front of her.
Luca walked her way, his expression filled with guilt. “Was that your father?”
“Eavesdropping, Luca?”
He lifted a finger in the air, pointed behind him. “I was out here before I heard you on the phone. I’d have to walk by you to go back downstairs . . .”
She didn’t give him a pass. “Eavesdropping.”
He deflated. “Yes. I’m sorry. I tried to stop myself, but then I was too interested in hearing the conversation. I’m a horrible man.”
Her insides started to warm. “An apology, a confession, and then throwing yourself on the sacrificial sword. Well played.”