“Thank you.”
“Why don’t you and your family come to dinner tomorrow?”
“That’s a great idea. That way Gianna won’t get suspicious and you can breach the subject casually.” We made out a time before he inclined his head in thanks once more and walked out.
I closed the door and headed toward the kitchen. Zita was preparing dinner – Canneloni filled with ricotta from the looks of it – when I stepped in. Gaby was ironing Dante’s shirts in a corner of the kitchen, far enough from the cooking that there was no risk of the fabric absorbing the smell.
“Zita, I invited the Scuderis for dinner tomorrow.”
Zita pursed her lips. “A bit more time to prepare would have been nice. I need to go grocery shopping, figure out a menu and then cook everything.”
“I know, but you won’t be cooking.”
Zita’s lips parted but no word came out. Gaby had stopped ironing to stare at me as well.
“I’m going to take care of everything. I used to cook frequently in my first marriage and I want to prepare dinner for our guests.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? They expect a certain standard.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“And what are you going to cook?” Zita asked skeptically.
I smiled. “That’s a surprise. Now I’ll let you get back to your work.” With a wink toward Gaby who was openly gawking, I left the kitchen and headed for Dante’s office and knocked.
“Come in.”
I slipped inside. Dante was busy cleaning his guns. They were arranged on a towel on his desk. “I invited Rocco Scuderi and his family for dinner for tomorrow night. I hope that’s alright with you?”
He barely spared me a look. He was obviously still angry with me. “I assume this is so you can talk with his daughter Gianna?”
“He asked you first, didn’t he?”
“I’m your husband. Rocco wanted to make sure it was okay to approach you.”
Sometimes their unwritten rules and traditions drove me up the walls. “Of course.”
“Don’t forget to tell Zita and Gaby, so they can prepare everything for our guests.” He rubbed a spot of grease at the barrel of his gun.
“I already did. But I will cook dinner myself.”
That made him raise his eyes, surprise flickering across his face. “You can cook?”
“Yes. I used to cook often in my first marriage,” I said, and that was obviously the wrong thing to say because Dante’s expression darkened again. “You haven’t found Frank yet?”
“No. We haven’t. He’s probably gone into hiding if he has any sense.”
I nodded, then hovered next to the door. I could tell the discussion was over for Dante but I hated how strained things had become between us. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but then I lost my nerve and left without another word.
***
I hadn’t even realized how much I missed cooking until I stood behind the stove again. Zita was a constant presence at my back, hawk-eyes watching my every move, but I was confident in what I was doing. I had cooked every part of today’s meal countless times. Vitello Tonnato for starters, followed by Saltimbocca with homemade gnocchi and a green salad, and at last, Tiramisu. As I worked in silence beside Gaby and Zita, I could occasionally glimpse the hint of approval in the older woman’s expression. I mixed everything for the sauce that accompanied the cooked veal for the starter before turning to Zita. “Would you try it? I’d like to know if it’s good.”
I knew it was how it was supposed to be but I wanted to show Zita that I appreciated her input. She stopped chopping the endive for the salad and walked over to me, wiping her hands on her apron. I took a step back as she dipped a spoon into the tuna sauce. She nodded slowly before leveling her brown eyes on me. “Good.” I knew then that things would turn out okay between us. I smiled and chanced a quick glance at the clock. “I have to change. I can’t welcome our guests in stained clothes.”
“We’ll take care of the rest,” Gaby assured me.
“Thanks,” I said as I hurried upstairs, feeling better than I had in a while.
***
The Scuderis arrived forty minutes later. My aunt Ludovica stood in the front with her husband Rocco who had a hand on nine-year-old Fabiano’s shoulder. I greeted his parents before I turned to him. “You’ve gotten so tall.”
He beamed up at me, straightening his shoulders even more. His father gave him a look that made the smile slip right off his face. Why did Made Men have to be so strict to their sons? My father had always coddled me, but my brother had never heard a word of praise from him. I ushered them inside as it had started snowing again. I couldn’t wait for winter to be over. The darkness and cold made it even harder to be upbeat about my marriage.