“I’ll be staying with Rosa.”
“Auntie Rosa?”
Antonia tilted her head to the side. “She’s not really your zia, is she?”
Brooke stopped her. “Sometimes family are the people that you choose and not the people that you’re born to. Rosa is a sister to Mari, and therefore an aunt to Franny—”
“Francesca,” Antonia corrected.
Brooke didn’t comment, kept a slight smile to her lips.
The knot in her belly was tight, but she knew she was getting her points across to the other woman without saying one unkind word.
“Antonia!”
They both looked up.
Instantly, the tension ended as Franny’s mom moved to her feet and hugged the woman who’d just walked up to the table.
The two spoke in Italian, obviously old friends.
Brooke was pretty sure she rolled her eyes.
Franny put her hand on Antonia’s arm.
“Mama?”
No response.
“Mama?”
The two women kept talking.
“Antonia?” Franny’s voice reached another level.
Brooke was pretty sure three tables around them heard her.
Antonia frowned. “Francesca. Don’t call me that. I’m your mother.”
Brooke patted Franny’s hand.
“Papa says it’s rude to speak in Italian when people around you don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Brooke glanced at the eight-year-old girl and was pretty sure she’d grown up in that very moment.
The woman with Antonia instantly apologized.
Brooke smiled and Antonia glared.
Luca stepped around the corner, two plates in his hands.
“Ciao, ladies,” he said, passing his ex-wife and her friend.
He set the plates on the table, leaned down, and kissed Brooke. “For my girls.”
“Is this lobster?” Franny asked.
“It is. To celebrate Brooke’s return.”
She couldn’t help but smile. Luca’s romance toolbox was pretty stacked.
“You’re sweet.”
He winked. “You okay?” he asked in a whisper.
She nodded.
Luca stood and turned toward Antonia. “Were we expecting you?”
“No, my darling. I thought I’d make it up to our daughter and visit since I couldn’t make it to the park today.”
He hesitated, glanced at Brooke.
She shook her head as if to tell him to ignore her comment.
Not in front of Franny. Alone, fine, he could correct Antonia on her “my darling” bullshit, but with Franny there . . . no. Let it go. The girl had enough to deal with right now.
“Eat while it’s hot, my loves.” He turned to Antonia. “Can I get you anything?”
She smiled. “Whatever they’re having is fine.”
Luca shook his head. “It’s not on the menu tonight. If I’d known you were coming, I could have made more. Perhaps the cannelloni we have on special tonight?”
The slight was smooth . . . and a direct hit.
And likely the truth.
Brooke felt herself falling for the man by the second.
“Oh, dear . . . you know I don’t care for all that cream and cheese. A salad is fine.”
He smiled. “Your choice.”
“Wonderful seeing you again, Antonia. Let’s have lunch soon,” her friend said.
“I’m so sorry . . . how rude of me.” Antonia made introductions, which Brooke promptly forgot.
The woman walked away, and Antonia sat back down.
Luca took a seat beside Brooke, nudged her arm. “Eat, cara.”
Without much more encouragement, Brooke took a bite and moaned. “Oh my God.”
“Papa is the best.” Franny scooped a whole ravioli into her mouth and talked around it.
“You’ll be just as good if you keep practicing,” Luca told his daughter.
Franny lit up. “You think so?”
“It’s in the family genes.”
“You’re teaching her to cook?” Antonia asked.
Luca lifted his hands in the air. “We own a restaurant.”
“I like cooking with Papa. Brooke and I made pasta for the first time.” Franny sighed. “It looked like Play-Doh, but it tasted great.”
Brooke lifted another forkful of lobster ravioli to her mouth. “Next time we add orange dye. It will really look like Play-Doh.”
Franny laughed.
Antonia looked at the two of them. “Cute.”
Luca patted Brooke’s thigh. “I should get back.”
“Go. We’re good.”
He glanced at Antonia. “I’ll send someone out with your salad.”
She nodded with a smile.
Just the three of them again, Franny ate with abandon and Brooke slowed down, aware that Antonia watched her every move.
“How is the wine?”
Antonia lifted her glass. “Sergio was always so good to me. I remember when he met his wife.” She sipped her wine, and her eyes landed on Brooke’s neck.
Slowly they drifted to Franny’s. “That’s a lovely necklace, Francesca. Where did you get it?”
“Papa gave it to me.”
She paused, sat back.
Brooke locked eyes with her.
Antonia looked away. “You know, I’m really not feeling very well. I think perhaps I should go lie down.”
Franny looked up from her plate. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s been a long day.” She edged closer to the end of the booth.
“You don’t have to go,” Brooke said.
Antonia lifted a hand to her temple. “Truly, I have a terrible headache.”
“When will I see you?” Franny asked.
“I’ll speak with your father and arrange a time. Enjoy your dinner.”
Before Brooke could placate her with a “Nice to meet you” or “Let’s do it again soon,” she was gone.
Antonia stopped by the bar on her way out, laughed at something Sergio said, and was out the door.
Brooke blew out a breath, rolled her head from one side to the other.
As round one went, she didn’t think she did too bad.
“Are you going to eat all of yours?”
Franny was finished.
Brooke scooped half of her dish onto Franny’s plate. “Go for it, kid.”
“No one calls me kid.”
“I’m not Italian. I’m going to call you kid.”
Franny nudged her shoulder.
Brooke nudged her back.
The weight of someone’s stare caught her attention.
Brooke looked toward the kitchen, saw Luca watching them. His smile said all she needed to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Luca rolled over, pulled Brooke tight against his frame. “Don’t leave.”
“Franny will wake up and see us.”
“She knows you’re my girlfriend.”
Brooke glanced over her shoulder, and her satisfied eyes looked at his. “That doesn’t mean she thinks we’re sleeping in the same bed.”
He brushed her hair aside. “Technically, we’re not sleeping.”
“Luca.”
“No. Please, cara. I want you here. All night. By my side. Tomorrow I will let you sleep alone in your bed.”
Brooke curled into the pillow. The only thing she wore was a smile and the necklace he’d given her.