we’re together now?”
“Yes, they know. Nonno washed the bloody car for you.” His brows furrow with confusion. “Where’s this coming from?”
My shoulders lift as I try to figure out why I’m losing my mind right now. “Just feeling nervous, I suppose.”
“Don’t be nervous.” His hands tighten around my waist as his eyes fall to my lips. “You know I love you, right?”
A flutter of warmth runs through my entire body because those words from his lips still have not lost any impact. “You’ve mentioned that once or twice.”
He goes quiet for a moment and then says, “And you’re happy with me?” His face is full of uncertainty.
“Yes,” I answer with a laugh because this is all so bizarre that we’re both just messes of insecurity despite the fact that we’ve spent every spare minute together for the past few weeks. How could I not be happy with a man as perfect and wonderful as Santino? I splay my palms out on his chest, my fingers teasing the fabric of his dress shirt. “I’m so happy that I’m annoying myself.”
“Good,” he replies, hitting me with a smirk that sends flutters through my belly. “Because you’re not annoying me one bit.”
“My God, you’re a charmer, aren’t you?”
I lift my hand to run my fingers through his hair, and he sags into my caress with a smile. His jaw muscle jumps as he leans in and nudges my temple with his nose, inhaling deeply, which causes me to lift my lips to his. When our mouths connect, it’s a soft, supple touch. His tongue strokes mine but not in the possessive, all-consuming way he’s been kissing me all week. This kiss is more of a gentle awakening that still manages to make my nipples pebble beneath my lace bra.
“Santino!” We jerk apart like two teenagers who just got caught snogging…which…is pretty much exactly what’s happening. It’s his nonna standing at the front of the building, watching us with a very angry look on her face. “Vieni dentro velocemente!”
She turns and storms off, leaving Santino’s mother behind as we make our way towards her, tails tucked firmly between our legs. His mother’s eyes lock on me with a knowing smile. “It’s really nice to see you again, Tilly.”
“It’s nice to be here,” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ear.
Carlotta turns towards Santino. “Figlio mio.” She pulls him down into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”
She stands between us and hooks her arms in ours, leading us around the corner towards the deli entrance. Just as we breach the threshold, several voices shout, “Happy Birthday!”
My jaw drops in confusion as I see Nonno, Bart, Angela, and a man and woman I haven’t met standing there singing. Nonna appears again, now carrying a white-frosted cake covered in candles towards Santino.
“It’s your birthday?” I ask, my eyes wide with horror as I glance at Santino, who does not look pleased.
“I told them I didn’t want to celebrate.” Santino shoots daggers at his mother, who’s standing between us.
“He never wants to celebrate.” Carlotta laughs, singing even louder, clearly not the least bit concerned by the mood radiating off her son. “But he is never home for his birthday so we shut down the whole shop in his honour.”
Santino looks stunned as he glances around and confirms there are no customers in sight.
“Buon compleanno, Santino,” Nonna says, holding the cake in front of him. “Esprimi un desiderio.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” Santino sighs, his jaw taut as he begrudgingly leans forward and blows out the candles. “It’s too much.”
“Never too much,” Nonno adds with a wink.
The party gets started and I’m quickly introduced to Santino’s zio Antonio and his wife, Belinda, who are the official owners of the store. Belinda inherited this large, historic building when her parents died.
Today, Antonio and Belinda still live in the flat above the shop while Carlotta, Bart, and Angela are in Santino’s childhood flat behind the shop with Nonno and Nonna one level below them. They all grew up within an arm’s length of each other for Santino’s entire life, and I find myself wildly fascinated with what that must have been like.
We return to the deli and have pasta, cake, espresso, biscotti, and a million other baked goods that Nonna keeps setting in front of me to sample. Nonno then gives me a tour of the supermarket and forces me to try all the cheeses and cured meats they have regularly shipped in from Italy. I’m so full