“Ew. No.”
“Dollface?”
“What is this, nineteen-twenty?”
“Come on, I need to call you something cute.” He pulled open the restaurant door and grinned. “I’ve got it.”
“What?”
“I’ll call you mia polpetta.”
My heart fluttered. “Italian! That’s good, I like it. What does it mean?” I asked as I led the way toward the room at the back we’d booked to accommodate our large group.
Behind me, Enzo put his hand on the small of my back and began to laugh. “My little meatball. Now smile, polpetta, we’re on.”
I managed to give him an icy glare over my shoulder before turning my gaze forward again and plastering on my best I’m-the-luckiest-girl-in-the-world expression.
I’d murder him later.
The plan was simple.
After we walked in and said hello to everyone, with all the requisite hugs and cheek kisses an Italian greeting required, Ellie would “notice” my ring. Then Enzo and I would look at each other, I’d blush becomingly, and he’d announce that he’d popped the question on my actual birthday. We’d been bursting to tell them for four days. And we were even more excited to actually tie the knot, so we were just going to have a simple ceremony at City Hall within the next couple weeks. We’d already applied for our marriage license, and we were just waiting to hear back from the judge. The ceremony would be very small, but we were planning a party afterward, at which all would be welcome.
Easy peasy.
We hoped.
“Oh my God—Bianca, what is that on your finger?” Ellie said loudly, once we were all seated and sipping our drinks. I’d ordered a Prosecco and even though I’m right-handed, made sure to pick up the glass with my left, putting the ring on full display.
Enzo and I exchanged an “adoring” look we’d rehearsed. (After a lot of laughter and failed attempts—“You look like you have a trapped fart, can you try a little harder please?”—we thought we had it down.)
“That,” I said, setting my glass on the table and folding my wrist down to show off my diamond, “is my engagement ring.”
A chorus of gasps, shouts, and a couple Grazie Dio’s went up. Mrs. Moretti crossed herself. My mother grabbed my father’s arm. Enzo’s sisters squealed. Inside, I said a quick prayer no one would ask me to take it off so they could look closer—the damn thing still said Love Always, Ricky inside.
“Seriously?” my brother said, as if he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to marry me.
“Congratulations,” offered Sierra.
“Wait. You’re getting married?” Pietro asked.
“Yes,” Enzo said, putting his arm around me, which was approved choreography.
“When?” Ellie asked, right on cue.
“Soon, actually.” I patted Enzo’s hand, which felt big and heavy on my shoulder. We’d practiced the move last night too—“What do you think? Chair or actual shoulder?”—and decided we’d better go with the more intimate gesture. In fact, his fingers were nearly grazing the top of my breast. Had he done that on purpose? Either way, it sent a little electrical pulse zipping up my spine. “We already applied for a license. So hopefully within a week or two.”
“What?” My mother exchanged a frantic glance with Mrs. Moretti. “You can’t get married in a week or two. That’s not enough time to send out all the invitations.”
“We want a small wedding, Mom,” I said. “Just us and two witnesses at City Hall.”
From the looks on everyone’s faces, you’d have thought I said we were getting married in the alley behind the Bulldog Pub.
“City Hall!” Mrs. Moretti clutched her chest like she might be having a heart attack. “But you’re both Catholic!”
“We know, Ma, but we’d just prefer to keep it simple,” said Enzo.
“Intimate,” I clarified.
“You mean we can’t even come?” Mrs. Moretti’s face was rapidly turning white.
“You can come if you want,” replied Enzo. “But we’re keeping the ceremony very small. We’ll have a party afterward that everyone can come to.”
“Is this for real?” Enzo’s sister Talia asked. “Haven’t you guys only been dating for like a month?”
I opened my mouth with a rehearsed reply, but it wasn’t even necessary. Mrs. Moretti reached over her husband to flick Talia’s ear.
“Ow!” she said. “Ma!”
“Hush up, Talia!” her mother scolded. “When you know, you know. It’s about time Enzo settled down.” Her expression turned smug. “And I always had a feeling about them, from the time they were younger.”
“I did too, Marisol,” my mother added.
“Can I have your condo?” my brother asked.
My father cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “A toast,” he said, lifting his wine glass. “To the happy future of Bianca and Enzo, and the union of our families!”
Mr. Moretti, who had been observing the scene without commenting, also stood. He was tall, like Enzo, but doughy through the middle where Enzo was lean and muscular. It was easy to see where Enzo had gotten his looks, because his father was still a handsome man, even if his hands were less elegant and his hair not quite as thick. As he raised his glass of red wine, I felt Enzo’s arm go a little stiff—would his father see through our ruse?
“To Bianca and Enzo,” he said in his deep, gruff voice. “Per cent'anni.”
I smiled and raised my glass of Prosecco, although the thought of a hundred years with Enzo made me want to bolt for the door. Beside me, Enzo squirmed, and I knew he was thinking the same thing, but he lifted his glass as well.
Once everyone was seated again and the congratulations had quieted, Mrs. Moretti pulled out her phone. For a moment, I thought she was going to ask us if she could take our picture, but she appeared to be texting someone.
“Mom, what happened to no phones at the table?” asked Cat, Enzo’s youngest sister.
“I’ll put it away in a minute,” her mother said impatiently. “I just need to message the priest.”
Enzo nearly choked. “What?”
“I’m texting Father Mike. Just because you’re getting married at City Hall doesn’t mean he can’t bless your marriage.”
Enzo and I exchanged a frantic glance.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Marisol,” my mother agreed.
Under the table, Enzo nudged my foot.
“We don’t really want anything too, um, involved,” I said, glancing at him. “Do we, babe?”
He shook his head. “Definitely not.”
“You really don’t want a big wedding?” Pietro’s wife Lynne looked at me with surprise. “We had like three hundred people at ours. It was super fun.”
“We really don’t.” I smiled at her and tipped my head onto Enzo’s shoulder. “We just want to be married.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” My mother’s eyes misted over. “They’re so in love, they just want to be husband and wife as soon as possible.”