Mafia's Final Play (Mafia's Obsession #3) - Summer Cooper Page 0,39
an early showing of the movies at the cinema, usually during the day, on the weekends, where it’s cheaper to go in.” He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she’d never been to the movies. “You’ve never had buttered popcorn or nacho cheese while you sit in a room full of people with a large, overly-priced, and watered-down, huge drink of soda in a cupholder at your side?”
“No, but it sounds terrible. I’ve had popcorn here with you, and stuff like that back home, but not in a real theater.”
“Then that’s what you shall have, my love. Once the roads have cleared again.”
The weather was still off and on up there, even after two more weeks in the mountains. It would be bad when the weather changed for good, he thought. They’d have to buy groceries for a month at a time instead of days or a week at a time.
If they were still up here, that is.
“You don’t mind that we can’t go out tonight?” he asked her, his head propped on his right arm as he looked at her.
“Not at all. I’m still spending it with you, aren’t I?”
“That you are.” He patted her legs and looked at the television. She had on a documentary, something about Acadians and how they came to be in Louisiana. He watched it with her while Anton cooked in the kitchen. The man was an amazing cook and had all but taken over cooking duties from them.
At one point, Anton came in, set up two TV trays with tableware and glasses, and not long after, brought in two plates filled with lasagna and garlic bread. All freshly made. “Happy anniversary to you both. I’m going to eat, wash up, and head back up to my room once I’m done. Enjoy your evening.”
“Oh, thank you, Anton,” Marie said brightly with a gleam of pleasure in her eyes. “That means a lot to us.”
“Thanks, man,” Matteo uttered and gave his employee and friend a polite nod. “That’s awfully kind of you.”
“My pleasure.” Anton nodded brusquely and went back towards the kitchen.
“That’s just so sweet of him, to be so considerate knowing we can’t go out tonight.” She stuck her fork into the lasagna and moaned as she took her first bite. “That is gorgeous.”
“It is,” Matteo added but all he could really see was how beautiful she was as she ate. He could have been eating a cardboard box for all he knew, all he could see was Marie and the image of her as she enjoyed something as simple as her dinner.
She had liked the jewelry he bought for her and the clothes, she even had a few sweaters that she really loved, but that was because of how soft and silky the yarn felt. She took pleasure in simple things, and it always brought him back to reality. Life wasn’t about how much you had, it was about how much you enjoyed the things you did have. Marie reminded him of that all the time.
He also just liked to see the pleasure on her face when she really enjoyed something. She was a beautiful young woman, with beautiful oval eyes and full lips, with a nose that suited her face perfectly. She definitely had an Italian look to her, but that could have been her Cajun mother as well.
“Do you know your family’s history?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“You mean my ancestry?” she replied and sat back a little. Her face took on a faraway look and she looked a little troubled. “I’ve heard different things over the years, well, the years before my mother ran all the family off with the way she shamed us all.”
“I see. What did you find out?” When she looked at him with a quirked eyebrow, he realized it all sounded a little odd. “I’m just curious about what came together to make you so beautiful.”
“Ah, well, there’s the Italian side. And on Mom’s side: French, Spanish. There were also whispers of a quadroon mistress back in the 18th century that may have been where our line came from, and whatever else came along. They used to have these balls for slaves and free women of color that were used to place the young woman with a white man in something that wasn’t considered legal marriage, but did come with a contract, usually some kind of property, and if the woman was a slave, perhaps her freedom.”