Page 66 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

And in forty-five minutes, these two parts of my life are going to collide over seven types of pasta and a very expensive bottle of wine.

What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, probably.

But first: I need to warn Alex about the photo album Nonna definitely has ready.

And possibly explain why there's a pasta dish named "Bambino Alexander Junior."

La Famiglia glowslike a beacon in the snowy Seattle evening, strings of white lights reflecting off icicles that frame the windows. Through the frosted glass, I can see the dining room is suspiciously empty for seven PM on a Wednesday.

"Did Nonna close the restaurant?" I ask in horror as Alex helps me from his car.

"Just the main dining room," Lucia calls from the doorway. "She said something about 'proper focus on family matters.'"

Sure she did. Because this situation definitely needed more intensity.

Alex's hand settles at the small of my back as we approach, warm and steady. He's traded his usual CEO suit for dark jeans and a thick wool sweater that probably costs more than most cars. The casual look somehow makes him more intimidating, not less.

"Your grandmother already invited me for Christmas dinner before I picked you up,” he murmurs as we reach the door. “She’s not big on asking guests if they already have plans, huh?”

"That's Nonna for you. By New Year's she'll have our wedding planned."

"Just New Year's? I'd have expected Valentine's Day at latest."

Before I can process the implications of him joking about our hypothetical wedding, we're engulfed in a wave of Italian hospitality and interrogation.

"Alexander!" Nonna emerges from the kitchen like a tiny, flour-dusted general. "Come, come. You're too skinny. Don't they feed CEOs in those glass towers?"

"Usually we subsist on corporate takeovers and revolutionary manifestos," he says smoothly, accepting her cheek kisses like he's been doing it for years.

"Ah, he has humor!" She beams. "Mackenzie, this one's better than the last one already."

I wince, but Alex just squeezes my hand. When did he start holding my hand?

"The Brunello is breathing," Nonna continues, leading us to the family's private dining room. "Mackenzie, your mother wants to know?—"

"No grandchildren questions," I cut in. "We're not even?—"

"Dating?" Sofia supplies from where she's setting the table. "Because according to Keith Frampton’s Twitter?—"

"Since when do you follow Keith on IG?”

"Since he started a revolutionary book club dedicated to 'liberating corporate romance from the chains of professional boundaries.'"

I'm going to kill Keith. Right after I survive this dinner.

Alex, the traitor, looks amused. "The book club's actually improving team morale. Though his interpretation of 'Pride and Prejudice' as a critique of corporate hierarchy was... unique."

"Mr. Darcy as the oppressive force of traditional management styles?" I can't help asking.

"Elizabeth as the revolutionary spirit of workplace reform."

"See?" Nonna emerges with the first course. "He understands literature AND business. Much better than Roberto."

The mention of my ex-husband lands like a lead weight. Alex's hand finds my knee under the table, squeezing gently.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, my phone buzzes with an email from Roberto. Something about the baby shower and Katie wanting my "blessing" because "we're all adults here."

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