Page 37 of Ciao, Amore

Thankfully, Vanessa finally broke up the awkward lull in conversation by turning on her speaker and syncing her playlist.

“This is boring. What we need is a little music. Who’s gonna dance with me?” she asked, slapping sand off her hands.

First Merelys, then Tori got up to join her. Isa stood off to the side, rolling her eyes and murmuring, “So embarrassing.” When the smaller kids came over, the little girl with the curly brown hair pulled Dani up with a big grin.

Fuck it, why not?

It was actually fun when the sister-wives cut loose. After that, there were no more uncomfortable questions or comments, only sunshine, sand between her toes, and a smile on her face.

But her eyes were going to stay wide open.

12

IL POLPO (THE OCTOPUS)

NICO

The roadinto Naples was clear for a Monday afternoon. As he drove, whizzing around cars, Nico’s mind bounced back and forth between three topics that overlapped in what had become a loop: Lina and how she’d treated Daniela, Dani staying in Italy, and the answer he was going to give Nonno at the end of the trip.

Maybe he was a wishful idiot for hoping that his mother would find it in herself to give a new woman a fair shot. Tracy had been the only girlfriend she’d rooted for, due to her being the daughter of Lina’s close friend. She and Tori had pushed and pushed until finally, they’d given it a try.

And look at what had come of it. A year of cranky little unnecessary arguments. Goals that seemed aligned—marriage, children—but no real enjoyment in each other as people. Then the day came when she’d sat him down in her parent’s backyard and dropped that “you’re a nice guy for the most part, but…” Telling him he didn’t care for her the way she needed him to. Providing him a detailed listing of all the ways he’d left her unfulfilled and unhappy.

He’d listened to her speech, held his tongue from firing back on all her imperfections, then woodenly said, “Thanks for your honesty.”

Being made of wood was much better than giving in to the flame that had sprung up in his chest and had threatened to engulf him. He’d swallowed the anger, and with a small wave instead of the middle finger that was itching to rise in a final salute, he left. Within two days, he got his deposit back for that fucking ring he’d ordered, but there were no refunds for the year he’d wasted with her.

He’d taken the breakup well—at first, anyway. Until the next morning when he’d woken up alone. And the morning after that. And the month after that, when Lina stormed into the barbershop and informed him, with a wet tissue clutched in her fist, that she’d had lunch with Tracy’s mother, Marie, and heard some news.

Over their lunch at the restaurant his parents owned on City Island’s waterfront, Marie told her Tracy had been dating a new guy. She and the billionaire had fallen quickly and desperately in love and were getting married in June. On the seventeenth, Nico’s birthday, because that was the only available date at the exclusive Metropolitan Club in Manhattan. Lina was invited to the wedding.

“Engaged, after three months,” Lina had uttered with red eyes, glaring at him accusingly while Carlo stood back, wisely keeping his mouth shut and watching with huge eyes. “If you’d proposed to her sooner like you should have, this wouldn’t be happening. She was perfect for you, and you let her get away. What’s wrong with you?” she’d cried.

For him, that had been the icing on the shit cake. He’d walked out of his own shop and didn’t speak to Lina for three weeks afterward. That had predictably thrust the family into an uproar because Nico never went silent on anyone, least of all Ma. He’d gotten over it, not waiting for an apology that he knew wouldn’t come, and everyone was speaking again. But since then, her words rang like a reverse echo in his head, growing louder with time rather than fading.

Those words had confirmed that something was wrong with him. That maybe he would be better off if he just stopped trying.

Except for missing sex with someone other than his hand, he’d decided it was fine. Apart from craving the sensation of softness and warmth in his arms every night and every morning, being with someone who would have laughed at his fucking awful jokes and whose eyes would have lit up to see him, it was cool. Aside from resigning himself to forever being funny Uncle Nico rather than a papa with a family of his own, it was all good.

Nah. He couldn’t tell Dani all that. He didn’t want her to dislike his mother, who, for all her faults, had genuinely loved Tracy and had honestly thought she was good for him. Despite his strong suspicions to the contrary, she still refused to believe that Tracy could have cheated on him.

Lina wanted Nico to be happy, even though she was showing it in a fucked-up way. But the morning’s slight couldn’t go unaddressed; he had to say something, even if it meant risking another fight.

Fuck drama. He hated it. But Dani, all on her own, had unexpectedly presented the exact sort of drama he didn’t need. He didn’t need to wake up aching for her that morning, missing seeing her next to him, even though they’d only slept side by side once—on a plane, of all places. He didn’t need to think about her every second they weren’t in the same room, wondering what she was doing and calculating how fast he could get back to her. He really didn’t need the questions that kept worming their way into his brain: whether she was still dead set on staying in Italy when all this was over, and what the fuck he would do if she decided she was done with New York, but he wasn’t.

And that led him right to the third issue: Nonno. The worries over the yield every year and the condition of the soil whenever they spoke on the phone. Hearing the surety in Nonno’s voice that Nico would come live in Parma with him and Nonni, work the land, run the business. Become a strong link in the chain of D’Alessio men stretching backward through centuries and onward into the future.

Time wouldn’t be on Nonno’s side forever. Seeing him lose another inch in height since the last time Nico had visited had punched him in the gut; even if it wasn’t for the business, he did need to spend more time with his grandparents.

Thewhat-ifsstarted rolling around his head again. What if he did stay in Italy, returning to New York long enough to settle the barbershop with Carlo, hire a couple of new barbers, then come back to take his place by Nonno’s side? What if Dani got her temporary residency status approved? Her new office was up north in Milan, less than a three-hour drive between there and Parma. They could still hang out on weekends, or she could…he could…What if they…?

He'd think more about that later. Nico pulled up in front ofIl Polpo—the restaurant owned by Giuseppe, Nonno’s longtime friend, on the edge of the Spanish Quarter—and parked the scooter. He looked around while he put a lock on it, for whatever good that would do. This particular street wasn’t the best, and most tourists avoided it, which made it perfect for their rowdy luncheons.

Peering through the large window under its ancient awning, he could see all the way to the back wall where his family had their standing reservation. The guys were crowded around the long table covered in its red-and-white checked oilcloth. They were laughing uproariously while Tino stood throwing American greenbacks in the center, on top of aBriscoladeck, red faced and talking a mile a minute.

Tino and his fucking over-the-top behavior; the life of the party, the baby of the family, used to being the center of attention. Yet, if it weren’t for that over-the-top spirit, Tino would never have found Daniela, and she wouldn’t be here with Nico. Love, exasperation, and supreme gratitude rose in his throat and nearly overwhelmed him.

“Hey,” they all shouted when he entered.

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