* * *
“Thank you for hosting us tonight. The food is delicious,” Rian says with a cloying grin.
My father tenses but smiles back. “Isabelle has always had skill in the kitchen, just like her mother.”
I roll my eyes. “Or our father, considering he owns a restaurant.”
He waves his hand. “I was never meant to be a chef, simply the visionary to bring it to life.”
“António has really taken you under his wing, though. Shown youeverythinghe knows, right, Isabelle?” Ricky’s suggestive tone isn’t missed as Rian’s hold on his fork tightens.
“Ah, António. He’s a good man. I think Luca would steal him away if he could, but he’s married to his craft.”
“He’s also loyal to you, Francesco,” Luca says.
I lock gazes with Rian during my father’s musings. He’s watching me carefully and while I’d usually take the time to sing praises along with my family, I swallow down the words. There’s a dark promise in his eyes that has me tucking my tail on this occasion. Nothing ever happened between António and me to provoke him, and I’m not one to sling lies just to hurt someone.
“So Rian, I hear you guys are in Jersey a lot. Is that where you’ll be residing? Or perhaps a little closer?”
Ricky and I snap our heads up to the large clock hanging on the wall above the cabinets filled with my mother’s finest plates. I’m surprised she didn’t bring them out for this occasion, now that I glance at them. I smirk, knowing I won the bet. It’s the same as always, whoever loses has to try to steal a piece of dessert without our mother noticing. I’m sure before the end of the night, Ricky will have a welt on his hand from her wooden spoon smacking his thieving fingers. My brother slumps in his chair, closing his eyes briefly as I stifle laughter.
When I turn my head, I catch Aodhan’s attention bouncing between us, and I sit up straighter in my chair. I appreciate my brother’s attempt to calm my nerves, but I’m sure it looks childish from an outside perspective.
Turning back to the conversation, I answer the brief silence just as Rian moves to speak. “It’s barely an hour drive, Papa,” I say.
“I have a lot of business to attend to in Manhattan. I’m sure we’ll visit frequently,” Rian assures them.
Giving him a thankful smile, I pick up my wineglass to take a sip, not wanting to talk about his kind ofbusinessat the table.
“And when can we expect grandchildren?” my mother asks, excitedly.
I gasp and cough as the wine shoots down the wrong side of my throat. Grabbing the cloth napkin draped on my lap, I hold it to my flushing face and look down at the dripping mess in front of me from spitting out the drink.
“Classy,” Ricky snickers, and I hear a soft smack as my mother hits him.
I’m not sure what I’m more embarrassed by. The completely unattractive moment that just happened or my mom’s immediate inquisition about us having kids.
Rian reaches over, wiping up the wine in front of me on the tablecloth. I stand, excusing myself without glancing at anyone and hurry to the bathroom. I lock the door as I study myself in the mirror, thankful for the dark navy dress I’d donned, and wipe the few drops sliding down my neck.
“You okay?” Rian calls through the door when I ignore the first gentle knock.
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see him. It takes me a few minutes by myself to center my thoughts and calm my breathing. I half-expected it to be my mother, who would have scolded me for the overreaction to her simple question, but I’m not ready to face my future husband.
Ignoring his knocking, I finish cleaning myself up at a luxurious pace and then open the door to find him still standing there. His eyes roam over me, lips quirking, and I glare.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make a joke about it. I’m never going to live it down.”
He shrugs, still struggling to hold back his smile. “It wasn’t that embarrassing.”
“We barely started our meal without my parents bombarding you about moving closer or kids, as if you don’t kill people for a living. Believe me, it’s more than embarrassing.” The words rush out fueled by the nerves I’ve had all evening.
Rian’s smile drops, something darkening in his eyes as he stares at me.
I frown, sensing the change in his mood, a little nervous that he’s going to take what I said as gossiping about his business. “What?” I push the question out of my aching throat.