“Grazie. It’s also one of my sister’s favorite memories. You made her feel welcome, and now she cooks homemade pasta for the family.”
Mama Conte tilted her head back and laughed. “And so shall you. Not like my son Michael’s wife. Margherita is always trying to duck out of the kitchen, but she does other stuff well so I shall forgive her.”
Wolfe grinned. Maggie ranked cooking as one of her least favorite things to do. Mama Conte loved sparring with her daughter-in-law, and had fallen in love with her from the very first. She’d even been present for the birth of Maggie and Michael’s twin boys.
“Come in and sit. Where are Julietta and Sawyer?”
“Right behind us. Gabby was napping so they decided to wait a bit.”
Mama Conte shook her head. “Ah, once the bambinos come, it is a whole new world. It is exhausting, joyous, and the biggest adventure one can have, no?”
Wolfe grabbed a piece of bread, dipped it in olive oil and pepper, and handed it to Gen. Used to helping in the kitchen when he visited, he poured the Chianti and grabbed a slice for himself.
“Sit,” Mama Conte said when he tried to help. “I want to hear everything from New York. Tell me about Purity and what you are up to.”
He dove into brief chatter, keeping it light, and Gen joined in. He was surprised when she admitted she’d run out on her wedding, and that Wolfe had helped her. Even more startled when she shared her struggle to find her way back into medicine, questioning all of the decisions she used to swear she knew. He let her talk, loving the way she gave of herself so genuinely, not realizing it was a gift. Mama Conte listened, encouraged, and shared nuggets of wisdom that should one day be bound in a book and sold for profit.
By the time Julietta and Sawyer arrived with baby Gabby, they’d settled into a huge feast, with the sound of Italian music drifting in the background from the speakers. A new gift from Michael, she admitted, and though she preferred a good thinking silence, she said she was starting to get into listening to music more often. The baby was passed around, and Wolfe nuzzled her gently, the sweet baby scent of powder and innocence drifting in his nostrils and soothing him.
“My turn,” Gen demanded, holding out her arms. He completed the transfer, always the scariest part with infants, and watched her stare down at Gabby with complete adoration.
A wave of raw emotion slammed into him. His breath caught.
An image of Gen holding his baby—their baby—punched him in the gut. She kissed the top of her head, murmuring inane words that made Gabby coo, and the room spun around him like he was on a crazy bender.
What was going on? Yes, he’d enjoy watching his Gabby grow up. Loved being around big family gatherings with children running around. But children weren’t in his future. Never bothered him before. Hell, he never even thought about it. But looking at Gen, and how she fit so perfectly in Mama Conte’s kitchen with a baby in her arms, made his heart stutter a bit.
Why now? Why did he suddenly want, need, crave the idea of a future?
He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. Touched the two leather wristbands that were now a part of his anatomy. And tried not to remember.
He was quiet for the rest of the meal. By the time the grappa, fruit, cheese, and pastries appeared, Gen groaned. “I don’t know if I can,” she whined. “I’m so full.”
Mama Conte shook her head in disapproval. “Why don’t you get some air and walk a bit? It will help you digest; you cannot miss the apple cake.”
Wolfe laughed as Gen rubbed her belly, trying to help it along. “Come on, I’ll show you the terrace.” They stood outside, overlooking the sloping hills and the endless blooming of green. The scent of earth and lemons drifted around them. He reached out to hold her, then suddenly realized he had no right. Not anymore. If he wanted to move the relationship back to friendship, he needed to stop touching her like a lover. Right now, it was too dangerous.
She stepped close, as if to wrap her arms around his waist, and he moved fast, heading toward the edge of the balcony. “Beautiful night.” He refused to look back, his heart pounding. Would it always be this hard? Would he ever be able to look at her, tug on those curls, gaze into her face without wanting her with a hunger that was never satisfied?
“Yes.”
“Are you having a good time so far?”
“How could I not? I’m in Italy, with you and your family. I’ve been fed, spoiled, and pampered. I adore Mama Conte and Gabby. I’ve shopped in some of the most exclusive shops in the world, ridden on a moped with you through the streets, and kissed you in the moonlight.”