were able to get a cozy booth tucked in the back. It was terribly, horribly, wonderfully romantic, with lush navy velvet upholstery and a cluster of three real candles on the table, along with a small bud vase of fragrant peonies. Traditional Italian music played at the perfect volume in the background, and the light sconces on the walls cast golden glows on idyllic paintings of Tuscany landscapes. Vivien felt like she was in The Godfather.
Vivien ordered a negroni, and between phone calls, Jake decided on a glass of Primitivo. He was still talking to one of his sisters—maybe Irene, whom Vivien was pretty sure was the second one; Mathilda, a.k.a. Mattie, was the eldest—but Vivien could tell the conversation was wrapping up. He’d had to give each of his siblings all of the same information despite the fact that he’d probably texted the info as well, and she could see that he was quite ready to be done with it.
Just as their drinks—and a bread basket—arrived, he disconnected the last call.
“I really need this,” he said, lifting the wine to smell it. “Mm. Nice. My sisters make me crazy sometimes. Most of the time.”
Vivien submerged a quiet pang of sorrow that she didn’t have a sister to drive her crazy (although sometimes Liv did anyway, at least in her mind). She helped herself to a hunk of crusty bread and dragged it through the greenish-yellow olive oil sprinkled with salt and pepper. She was starving.
There was silence for a moment as they looked through the menus. Vivien felt both awkward and utterly comfortable—how was that possible?—sitting here at a restaurant across from the man with whom she’d once shared everything.
Finally, he put the menu down and looked at her with those dark, dark eyes as candlelight smoldered between them. “Vivien…thank you.” That was all he said, but there were volumes in the tone and in his gaze.
The lump in her throat made it impossible for her to respond right away, so she nodded, then lifted her glass. “To Ricky,” she said when she found her voice. “May he live another three decades or more, thus ensuring all of your thick, gorgeous hair goes completely gray.”
Jake laughed, his eyes warm over the rim of his wine glass. “To Pop’s health.”
They placed their orders, including the to-go, and then there was nothing left to do but talk.
“What happened with your mom?” Vivien spoke first purposely in order to divert the conversation from the uncomfortable topic she knew was coming.
“She was being treated for colorectal adenocarcinoma—uh, colon cancer—and she seemed to be doing well, responding to chemo as expected. We’d all visited her here—it’ll be two years ago in September. Then one day in November I got a call from Pop—not much different from today’s call—that they were on their way to the hospital because she was feeling really sick. We were all in shock when she died later that night—it was sepsis from the chemo, and it took her really fast—before any of us could even think about getting on a plane.”
“So none of you really got to say goodbye to her.” Vivien reached across the table and touched his hand. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“No, we didn’t—although at least we’d all seen her a short while earlier. That’s why everyone was so—tense, I guess, today. My sisters and Dom were already making reservations to fly in.” He turned his hand upside down so that her fingers slipped into his palm.
His hand, his skin, the texture, the shape…it all felt good. Right. Familiar.
Vivien pulled her hand away under the guise of adjusting her seat.
Too much. Too much.
“How’s your mom? And your grandmother?” he asked.
“Gran died last year,” Vivien replied. “She left me a little bit of money, and that’s how I bought the theater with cash.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were close. I only met her the one time, but she was a nice, really fun woman. I loved the way she just broke out into song and dance right in the middle of Bryant Park—remember, you were talking about some hot new show on Broadway? She collected quite the audience. I think it had something to do with the content of the song, but I can’t remember.”
Vivien’s eyes stung a little, and she laughed through the glimmer of tears. “I remember that. It was ‘Ohmigod You Guys’ from Legally Blonde, and she inadvertently made about fifteen bucks in tips that night after singing and dancing her butt off for five minutes—which