“Yes. I actually met Luca at their wedding.”
Luca and Marco emerged from the kitchen, Luca smirking while Marco had a stony expression.
“Everything okay?” I asked Luca.
His eyes slid to his cousin, and he pursed his lips. “Just a misunderstanding between Marco and the new chef.”
“A new chef?” At this rate, Moretti’s would go through every chef in St. Louis.
“Yes, a new chef.” Marco cut in as his hands curled around the back of Nonna’s chair. “Apparently, Mickey hired her this week. No one thought to tell me. And that b—” Nonna raised an eyebrow. “That woman ordered me out of the kitchen and then wouldn’t tell me who she was.”
I sagely nodded, biting back a laugh. “That would be confusing, what with her chef’s coat and the whole cooking thing.”
“That’s why I asked. Her chef’s jacket is this bright pink monstrosity. I figured she must be a new line cook, so I tried to help her out by letting her know the general uniform is white or black.”
I let out a loud laugh, and Marco scowled at me. “That’s too perfect. You tried to explain the dress code to the head chef.”
“I am her boss.”
“Sounds like Mickey’s her boss.”
At the sound of his brother’s name, Marco straightened and stalked off into the crowd.
A short woman in a hot pink chef’s coat glided out of the kitchen and straight for Luca.
“You must be the bride to be!” The color of her cheeks rivaled the color of her coat. “I’m Loretta Davenport King.” She stuck out her hand, and I stood to shake it. Standing in my heels, Loretta came up to my chest, the neat ponytail on top of her head giving her an extra inch. She pulled a small plate stacked with delicious morsels from behind her back. “I wanted to make sure you got a taste of the appetizers. Most brides nearly starve to death, meetin’ and greetin’.”
“You’re an angel.” I took the plate and inspected the tiny bites. “Is that fried chicken?”
“Good eye.” Loretta winked, and her long false eyelashes brushed the top of her cheek. I marveled at how great her full face of makeup looked after spending hours over a hot stove. Something caught her eye, and her face dimmed. “I better get back in the kitchen before Mr. Boss man comes to chew me out.” As quickly as she came, she was gone.
“What an interesting woman,” Nonna commented, her frown telling me she wasn’t sure if it was a good interesting.
“I like her,” I said, popping a fussy app in my mouth. Once I swallowed, I amended, “I love her. These are amazing.”
“I thought you’d like those.” Mom snuck up behind us. “It’s time for everyone to get seated. You two are right here.” She motioned to where we’d been sitting.
Once everyone was seated, Luca stood and tapped his glass, and the room fell silent. “Sasha and I would like to thank you all for coming to celebrate with us this weekend. It means so much to us to have your support as we enter this next phase of our lives. Greg, Maggie, thank you for raising the most magnificent woman I’ve ever met. Mom, you and Maggie have done an amazing job putting everything together. And Sasha, thank you for taking a chance on me and continuously picking me. I love you so much. You’re stuck with me now.” The table broke into a fit of laughter and cheering.
As Luca sat, I stood and raised my glass. “To the Morettis and Mitchells and the new family we’re forming tomorrow.” I gazed down at Luca and said just to him, “I love you. No matter what, it’s you and me.”
Luca swallowed thickly, waving his hand in the air. A team of waiters flooded the room carrying plate after plate.
During the second course, Luca’s cousin Tizzy Adamo stood to give a toast. She didn’t bother to pull the hem of her tight red dress, leaving a lot of her tan thighs on display. Like her brothers, she was tall and broad, but while their faces were blunt, she had the refined beauty of old movie stars—wide eyes, cheekbones sharp as glass, a straight, perfectly sized nose, and lips so full and pouty it was no wonder she was the princess of the family.
She was also high off her ass if her glazed-over dark eyes were anything to go by. Flicking her heavy curtain of black hair over her shoulder, she smiled at Luca and me. “I want to raise a toast to my cousin Luca and his total smokeshow of a fiancée, Sasha. I mean, seriously, how does a tight ass like him get a hot piece of—”
“Tizzy.” Nonna cut her off. Down the table, my friends were all in various stages of silently laughing. Jazz was the only one not hiding her amusement and had a huge grin stretched across her face.
“Sorry, Nonna.” Tizzy looked genuinely remorseful. “To Luca and Sasha and all the little Moretti babies to come!”
Everyone clicked glasses, but there was way less enthusiasm in the gesture than in previous toasts. I smiled at Tizzy, trying to relay the “It’s okay you’re high as a kite and making a bit of an ass of yourself—we’ve all been there” message.
Taz stood after his twin—his expression far more suitable for torture than a joyous occasion like a wedding. “I’d like to make a toast to Luca and Sasha. May they have the kind of loyalty and love that does justice to the Moretti legacy.”
Loyalty. Right.
He raised his glass, and everyone politely smiled, clicking their glasses.