The pasta boils over, and she lets out a yelp. She shuts off the flame under the pan, then grabs a colander and moves to the sink. I move with her, not letting go of her as she strains the pasta.
"Why don’t you do something useful," she scowls at me over her shoulder, "like set the table? Dinner will be ready very soon."
Ten minutes later, we are seated at the table. I dig my fork into the pasta and scoop up a few strands. The tangy taste of tomato, the lushness of basil, the complex taste of peppers, combined with the perfectly al dente pasta explodes on my tongue. "Hmm," I chew appreciatively, "this is good. Like really good."
"You sound surprised."
"You did say you could cook, but this is eccezionale, especially given the circumstances we are in. I can't believe these vegetables came out of the freezer."
"My nonna always said that you should be able to cook with the most basic of ingredients, else you weren’t really a cook."
"Your nonna was wise."
"And your nonna is…" She blinks rapidly."A force to be reckoned with."
"That she is," I readily agree. "Our father was a terror, and our mother didn’t have the strength to stand up to him when she was alive. After she died, Nonna stepped in. It’s thanks to her that we were pulled away from the influence of our father and sent to study in LA, all seven of us."
"Seven?"
I nod, "Five of us brothers, as well as Sebastian and Adrian, our half-brothers."
"Half-brothers, huh?"
"I’m surprised there are only two of them. I wouldn’t put it past our father to have more fruit of his loins running around the country that we are not aware of."
"You sound bitter." She places her fork on her plate. "I thought the Mafia took it as par for the course to impregnate as many women as they could."
"Maybe others do," I raise a shoulder, "but I’m old-fashioned that way. I believe in fidelity and remaining faithful to the vows of marriage."
"Oh…" She bites down on her lower lip. "That … that’s refreshing to hear."
"You sound surprised." I curl my lips.
"Didn’t expect to hear words like fidelity from someone like you."
"Just because I’m kinky in my sexual preferences doesn’t mean I can’t be loyal."
"So, if we were to marry—"
"When we marry," I correct her.
"You’d stay faithful to me?"
"Absolutely."
"Hmm…" she pauses her lips.
"You don’t believe me?"
"I want to." She resumes eating. "But it’s only a fake marriage, so it shouldn’t matter, either way."
Anger spurts through my veins. Why should I be upset with her? I mean, I have given her no cause to believe that the upcoming nuptials are anything but the arrangement I proposed them to be, never mind the fact that I intend to stay faithful to her. And somehow, it doesn’t seem wrong to want to do so. Marry her for real, I mean. Also, the thought of being with anyone else doesn’t hold the kind of appeal it once did. Fuck, I really am falling for her, and I’m not sure exactly when that happened.
"Christian?" She waves a hand in front of my face. "Your pasta is getting cold."
I resume eating and don’t stop until I’ve wiped my plate clean. When she’s done as well, I carry both of our plates to the sink and begin to wash them. She walks over with the wine glasses and places them in the sink, then begins to dry the dishes I’ve washed.
In silence, we complete our tasks, and at my urging, we move to the living room. Going over to the bookshelf, she pulls down another book to read, then joins me on the settee. I pick up my previously abandoned copy of In Search of Lost Time and begin to read, or rather, pretend to read.