“I know,” he said.
“And good for you and for Griffin that you found the real thing with someone, but Bianca and I haven’t.”
Cole cocked a brow. “Have you even tried?”
“That’s not the point,” I said, running a hand over my hair. “The point is that this is what we’re doing, and we need our friends and family to support us.”
“You’re going to tell your family the truth?” He looked shocked and confused.
“Hell no! The only people who will know the truth are Bianca’s sister Ellie and you. That’s in the contract.”
Cole groaned. “Fuck, Moretti. You know I’m shit at lying. My lip does that weird thing, and I get all sweaty.”
“You won’t have to lie,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “You just have to keep a secret. And be excited for me.”
“I can manage that. Actually,” he went on, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I might enjoy this.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, laughing now. “I know you. And her. She’s going to drive you crazy.”
Grimacing, I lifted my beer to my lips for a long drink.
I had a feeling he was right.
Four
Bianca
ONE MONTH LATER
“You ready?”
“I think so.” Enzo’s voice cracked.
“Don’t be nervous. We’re totally prepared for this.”
“Are we?”
We were sitting in his car outside DiFiore’s working up our nerve to go in and announce our engagement to our families. We had a seven o’clock reservation, and it was already six fifty-five, so everyone was probably already waiting inside: Mr. and Mrs. Moretti, my parents and Grandma Vinnie, Ellie and Sierra, my twenty-six-year-old brother JJ, who worked construction for Moretti & Sons, Enzo’s brother Pietro and his wife Lynne, his brother Carlo, and his sisters Eve, Talia, and Cat. My thirty-third birthday had been Tuesday, so the guise was that this was a birthday celebration Enzo had planned for me.
“We are, Enzo. As far as our families know, we’ve been dating for over a month. We spend all our time together. We can’t get enough.”
In reality, all the evenings we’d been spending together had been dedicated to learning as much as possible about each other so we could be more convincing. We’d watched each other’s favorite movies and TV series—I’d probably enjoyed the Bond flicks and The Sopranos more than he’d liked The Notebook and Fleabag, but we were glad to discover a shared affinity for Schitt’s Creek, Judd Apatow movies, and (what else?), I Love Lucy.
But our efforts hardly mattered—our families were overjoyed at our sudden love affair and barely questioned it.
“Right,” he said. “Can’t get enough.”
“What’s my middle name?” I asked.
“Jane. What’s mine?”
“Thomas. Where did I go to college?”
“Columbia. How long have I worked for my dad?”
“Since you were fourteen. What instrument did I play in high school?”
“Violin. What position do I play on the Bellamy Creek Bulldogs?”
I smiled. “Oh, yes. Can’t forget old man baseball. You’re the second baseman.”
“And the fastest runner,” he added. “I stole home in the championship game against the Mason City Mavericks last year, which gave us the lead. We won by one run.” He held up one finger, making sure I knew exactly how important his stolen base had been.
“You are very fast,” I said, patting his leg.
“Okay, what else?”
I took a deep breath. “Your favorite food is a meatball sandwich, your favorite city is Rome, your favorite color is blue. You’re good at math, you like books about architecture, you have an excellent memory. You speak some Italian, which I love. You like to bring me flowers, and I like cooking for you. You snore, but I don’t mind.”
“I don’t snore!” Enzo shrank back, offended. “And how would you know, anyway? We’ve never spent the night together.”
“Because we’ve also discovered our shared old-fashioned values,” I reminded him. “We don’t believe in sex before marriage.”
He made a face. “We’re not going to say that out loud, are we?”
“No. It will just be implied.” I smiled sweetly. “Now you go. What do you know about me?”
He inhaled and exhaled, running a hand over his chiseled jaw. “You have a sweet tooth and you sometimes eat cookies for breakfast—not that I’ve seen you do it, of course. You’re near-sighted, and without your glasses, you’re blind as a bat. Your favorite flowers are white roses. Your great-grandparents were bootleggers. You love traveling, especially to Italy. You moved home from Chicago to be closer to your family.”
“That’s good,” I interrupted. “Work that in for sure. The importance of family is another belief we have in common. Also wanting to raise a family in Bellamy Creek.”
“Right.”
“Now what’s something you love about me?”
He scratched his chin. “Umm . . .”
“Enzo!” I swatted his arm.
“I’m thinking!”
“Well, you need to think faster. We have to get in there.”
“Okay.” He pursed his lips. “Your cooking.”
“And?”
“You’re good at your job. You work hard. I like that you started your own little design company.”
“Don’t say it like that—it’s patronizing.”
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s a design company. It’s little. You only have one employee—yourself.”
“Never mind. Okay, what else? There has to be a more personal thing.”
He frowned at me. “No nagging, remember? It’s in the contract.”
“We’re not married yet, and we won’t be if you can’t get this right. I get to nag for a moment.”
“Okay. More personal.” He appeared to think hard. “I like the way your butt looks in those jeans with the rip in the knee.”
I sighed heavily, even though his comment pleased me. “Less pervy, please.”
“It makes me laugh when you’re too short to reach your high kitchen cabinets?”
“Oh, forget it.” I unbuckled my seatbelt.
“No, wait! I can think of one.” He snapped his fingers. “You’ve got what my dad calls moxie.”
“Moxie?”
“Yeah. It means courage. Determination. You can handle what comes at you and land on your feet.”
That was actually a nice compliment. “Thank you, I’ll take it. Let’s go in.”
“I’ll get the door for you. Stay there.” He jumped out the driver’s side then stuck his head back in. “Sweet pea.”
I made a face. “Sweet pea? I don’t know about that.”
He came around and helped me down from his SUV. “Sugar pie?” he asked as he took my arm and escorted me toward the entrance.