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Santino wraps me in a warm embrace. “Oh, I know who you are, dearie. Benji’s girl, Nora D’Amato. Born on New Year’s Eve, your mother is Lulu.”
The specificity of his answer is both concerning and nice, if that’s possible. “Wow, yes. How did you know?”
“My daughter Veronica ran a full background check the day after she met you.” Santino claps my back twice before releasing me.
Benji’s voice is strained. “Are you joking?”
“Relax, Benjamino. She just did an internet search. You know how she gets excited. Anyway, Nora, you’ve made quite an impression already.”
My throat is dry as I swallow. When Benji and I phase this relationship out of existence, I’ll miss that look of fondness in Santino’s eyes. And maybe the dearie. I’ve never had a nickname before. “Thank you.”
“Is there a problem, Gloria?” Santino says, startling me out of my sentimental moment. “You’re staring awfully hard.”
“Am I?” Gloria’s voice cuts across the circle like a bird swooping in, talons out. “I guess I’m just surprised. I thought surely you’d dropped dead when you didn’t return any of my wedding planning emails.”
Santino’s neck elongates as he regards her, like he might well stretch to match her height. That’d be a feat, since she’s got half a foot on the guy.“Those weren’t rhetorical emails?”
“Is there such a thing?”
Santino, proving his love of all things rhetorical, ignores her question. “My granddaughter did a great job planning all this, didn’t she? Glad you were able to make it.”
“To the event I’m paying for?” She cracks a sharp smile, a slant of a thing. “Wonders never cease.”
“Surely you don’t mean this open bar, paid for by the Ferraros?”
“I mean the rest of the week, paid for by us—the groom’s family, despite tradition.”
“Tradition.” His laugh is a hot burst of air. “What does your ‘tradition’ have to say about a week-long wedding at a venue Rosalina didn’t even want?”
Gloria’s cadence slows and her volume drops, forcing us to hang on her every word. “You expect our hundreds of collective relatives to fly to Miami or Vegas so Rosalina can have the event at a venue of her choosing? With no regard for what’s best for the elderly?”
Santino wags a finger in concession. “You know, you’re right. I should’ve entrusted you to know what’s best for the elderly.”
Her stare is lethal. “You’re older than me.”
“Who said otherwise?” He steps up to the bar and signals the employee. “Good evening. Could I have a Glenlivet neat, and a vodka martini for my co-host this week? It’s a special occasion, after all.”
“What kind of vodka?”
“That’ll be well liquor, the lowest shelf you’ve got. We’re not snobs here.” He spares a fleeting glance sideways. “Unless?”
Gloria lifts her chin. “Always a pleasure, Santino. I’m going to change for dinner. Alessia, mind coming with me? I need help zipping my gown.”
Alessia is quick to step out of the circle. “Of course, Nonna. Let’s go.”
Sebastian moves when Alessia moves, like he’s motion-activated by her decisions. “I’ll escort you to the elevator.”
As soon as the drinks Santino ordered are ready, he takes his Scotch and hands me the spare martini, grandfatherly charm etched in his smile lines. “Welcome to the fun house, dearie. Has my grandson introduced you to my sister and her wing of the family yet?”
Benji takes the martini from me and throws back a sip. “Not yet. We haven’t been here that long.”
Santino extends an elbow. “Well, let’s get down to business, then.”
I take his arm, fighting my nerves. I’ve never had to impress a family before. The relationship may not be real, but it’s still the real me I’m putting on display.
I can only hope it’s enough to earn my keep at Benji’s side.
Chapter Eight