Page 80 of Trouble in Love
Ignoring his sister’s continuing protests, Luca winked, “That’s me. Last of the true romantics.” With a squeeze of my thigh, he returned his attention back to Ana but kept his hand and eyes exactly where I wanted. On me. “See you soon, sis.”
“Blinded while your hands are basically up my ass isnothow I dreamed of meeting your family.”
“Babe,” Luca crooned, “you dreamed about meeting my family?”
“Of course she did. We’re a goddamn delight,” said Ana, who was standing on the other side of the timber fence shining a torch directly into my face.
“Okay, Princess. One more push should do it.” And it did. Over I went, landing with a thud at the feet of a tiny but beautiful woman with Luca’s eyes and greying hair, whom I presumed was his mum. Beside her, holding the torch, was Ana, a gorgeous, shorter, female version of Luca. In a much more elegant fashion than me, he hoisted himself over the fence, nailing the landing like an Olympic gymnast, then helping me to my feet and dusted me off, paying extra, unwarranted attention to my ass. Squeals of delight commenced, and I fully expected Luca to disappear beneath a barrage of motherly hugs and kisses, but no. I did.
“Polly, my sweet child, welcome home. Welcome home!”
Even Ana, who was less than enthusiastic about our marriage whenever I’d overheard her on the phone, had wrapped me tightly in her arms. “Let’s get you and dickface inside. Mom’s made some lasagna.”
Their arms, along with the nerves that shook my body from head to toe, carried me through the small yard filled with a collection of brightly colored pots—most empty—an overgrown lawn, and an outdoor table under which Luca would struggle to fit his legs. After refusing to relinquish their hold of me, we squeezed up a narrow run of stars three people wide, stepped through a bright yellow door and straight into a kitchen that looked like the set of an American sitcom.
“Oh my god, I love your house!” I gushed, “And that smell, is that rosemary … bay leaf ... capsicum, oh, I mean red pepper?”
Luca pushed his way past his mum and sister and dragged me toward the table that sat in the middle of the room. “That’s the lasagna. If you think it smells good, wait till you taste it. Pretty sure amongst the herbs there’s some magical powers. No matterwhat crap is happening in the world, one mouthful of that saucy, cheesy goodness will make you forget all about it.”
“Is that so? Well, cut me a big piece, hubby, ‘cause I have a lot to forget.”
Looking back at me over her shoulder, Luca’s mum slid of her shoes, washed hands then plated four gigantic slices. “Luca tells me you’re a chef?” She smiled, setting the steaming plates before us and topping each off with freshly shaved parmesan, the really good stinky stuff.
“A cook, really.” I nodded, inhaling the tomatoey goodness.
“I never formally trained. Just learned on the job. My parents own a pub, and I used to help make the meals.” I tried to cover the sadness in my voice with a smile and higher-than-average pitch. It didn’t work.
“Luca also told me what happened with your parents. Have you still had no contact?”
With a shrug I picked up my fork and I shook my head “Not with Mum, but I’ve chatted to dad… and my sister has been great. She’s doing the best she can to work on mum, but….” My voice trailed off as I fought to fight back my emotion.
Marta slipped lower in her seat, tilting her head left and right till her warm eyes, the same stunning blue as her sons, caught mine. “That’s something at least, and I hope you forgive me for saying this, but I’m very disappointed in your mother, Polly. I’ve a good mind to call or message her. Maybe I could use the Instabook, Tiktoktime thing you kids are always on.”
“Mom,” Luca groaned, collapsing onto the table.
“What?” Bolting upright, she threw both hands in the air and turned to Luca. “It’s true. Imagine forcing your own child into a marriage, then disowning them for falling in love with a boy as sweet as you. She should be thrilled. I don’t understand it. I can’t and I won’t.”
As they bickered over the do’s and don’ts of social media, I swallowed my first mouthful of pasta, licking my lips clean of the most delicious sauce ever, interrupting when Marta mentioned signing up for Snapchat. “In all fairness to Mum, I have been what you could call a handful. I’d probably disown myself, too.”
“Nonsense. I can see the goodness in your eyes. Besides, who didn’t get up to some kinky hijinks in their youth. I know I did.”
Competing with the metal thud of Ana’s dropped fork, was Luca’s pained groan. “Ugh. Man, can we stop the conversation right there? Your cooking doesn’t taste so great coming back up.”
“Really?” I teased, jabbing him in the elbow with my own and earning a sexy scowl that had my heart racing. “I’d love to hear all about it. The kinkier the better.”
“Since my children are turning a lighter shade of green, maybe it’s best if we shelve that discussion for a time when we are alone.”
“Yup. Great idea, ma,” chorused Luca and Ana as I sat back, and let the sounds, tastes, and smells of a home filled with love wash over me. There were no snide digs at anyone’s portion size. No discouragement for seconds, and the food itself? “Mrs. D’Cruz—”
“Marta,” she insisted with a pat on my wrist.
“Marta, this is … I have no words. Would you ever consider sharing your recipe? I know we just met, but—”
“Polly my love, I would be honored. Perhaps while I teach you, I can tell you all about the bondage, too?”
“Okay. I’m done.” Luca pushed off the table, covered his ears and left the room. “Polly,” he yelled as he stomped upstairs, “the last door on the left is me. Find me when you’re finished … that.”
Thirty minutes later, I found Luca where he said he’d be, in the position I expected him to be. In bed. On his stomach. Snoring.
