He nodded, reaching for some passata from the fridge. He opened it and poured a little on each pizza base, spreading it almost to the edges.
“He didn’t want to lose you.”
“I know that.” She took another sip of her wine. “Do you ever see your parents?”
“Occasionally.”
“You’re angry with them?”
He shrugged. “I’m not angry. I’m not grateful. They’re my parents,” he pulled a block of parmigiano from the fridge and began to shave it. “They’ll always be my parents, but I don’t have a lot of time for them.” He spread the cheese over the passata, then began to finely chop a few mushrooms. “To tell you the truth, your father always felt more like a father to me than anyone else.”
She knew how close they were. Massimo had visited often – probably why her girlhood crush had landed on such fertile ground. “He adores you.”
“It’s mutual.”
She shifted her gaze to the window. It was dark out, the street hung with beautiful little golden lights, strung from one side to the other.
“He was overjoyed that we’d reunited. And about her.” Alessia ran her hand over her bump without thinking.
“Yes.” Massimo spread shaved parmesan over the pizza base, and she watched the easy movement of his hand, fingers that performed the duty as if by muscle memory, so confident and powerful.
Her cheeks warmed; she looked away again. “And your parents? They weren’t at the wedding.”
“I haven’t told them.”
Alessia’s features showed surprise. “About our marriage? Or the baby?”
“Both.”
“So your parents have no idea they’re about to become grandparents again?”
His laugh was relaxed, showing no signs of the strain Alessia might have expected. “You say that as though you think it will affect their lives in any way. They’ve long since given up anything more than a passing interest in what we do.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Believe it.”
“But they’re –,” She shook her head. “I mean…”
Neither of them spoke as he layered prosciutto over one of the pizzas and olives over the other. He slid both into the oven, then turned back to her, sipping his wine before speaking, his eyes holding hers over the rim of his glass.
“Do you know what happened with Fiero and Elodie?”
Alessia hadn’t expected the question, but with Massimo, she was becoming more adept at those curveballs. She shook her head. “Only a little.”
Max inclined his head. “I don’t know the full story, naturalmente. But what I do know is that Elodie fell pregnant – unexpectedly. They weren’t in a relationship. It was a fling and he was still married –though the marriage was all but over. They couldn’t separate, because of Gianfelice’s illness, and Elodie always believed the worst of Fiero – that he ran around behind his wife’s back getting women pregnant.” He grimaced. “When he learned the truth about Jack, he was furious. He couldn’t forgive Elodie –,”
“But Elodie was only doing what she thought best for everyone,” Alessia defended hotly. She adored Elodie Montebello – now sisters-in-law, their affection had been forged when Alessia was simply a family friend and local doctor who occasionally tended to Jack’s scrapes and bumps.
“Si. That is not in doubt – and it’s not my point.”
“Oh.” She sipped her wine, waiting.
“Fiero was an absolute bastard to Elodie – we all were.”
Alessia’s eyes narrowed. A desire to defend Elodie seemed unnecessary; she only wished she’d been around then to tell them all to grow up.
“The thing is, we never spoke about it, but we all understood. Having been abandoned by our parents – which is what we were, essentially, even though it was to the love and care of our grandparents – we knew what a son meant to Fiero. What Jack meant to all of us. It’s like our parents’ choice to allow us to be raised at Villa Fortune and to sort of opt out of our lives meant we would always do the opposite. Fiero reacted way too harshly but it was an instinct – an instinct to be the polar opposite of our parents.”