Page 5 of Falling for my Family's Rival

The day after the ball, well the fundraiser, I feel like I am still floating on air. Or maybe just swirling around the dance floor with the tall, handsome stranger that I met. Lou. That’s what he said his name is. And he lives in Fox River Falls. I looked him up last night, but I couldn’t find a Lou in that town. I’m going to ask Addie to ask her husband, Will. He’s a sheriff in that town, and who knows? He might know this guy.

Although if Will knows him, that could mean that the guy is a criminal. I don’t think I want to be with a criminal, although if his crime was something petty, maybe I could forgive him. I shake my head hard to clear all the nonsensical thoughts from my mind. None of this is productive, but I’ve never felt this way about a man before.

I’ve dated a few men that could have turned into something, but at the end of the day, they were all boring. Lou was anything but boring! I can still picture his shock of curly black hair, with his matching well-trimmed beard. His mask let me see his dark eyes, and every time our eyes locked, I felt like a part of me connected with him on a deeper level, unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

I lean over and wipe up the spill on the table in front of me. My back twinges in odd places, and I straighten, trying to stretch out the aches. When I was a little girl, I loved being in the restaurant. There was something so magical about it; like the fact that my parents owned this place, meaning that part of their legacy was mine, too. I used to sit at the end of the long mahogany bar on a cushy stool, drinking Shirley Temples, and watching the customers come and go. My father would hold court at the other end of the bar, telling stories and jokes. He still does that, but these days this place doesn’t seem quite as magical to me.

Of course, I know it’s because I have grown up. If I was still a little girl, I would still see this place through my childhood eyes. Working here was something I saw as temporary when I was in high school. Waitressing was a good way to make spending money and start saving for college. But I kept doing it all through college, and then after I graduated, I just kept working here. Everything in my life feels sort of… stagnant. It isn’t my parents’ fault, but sometimes I blame them.

I tuck the rag back into the waistband of my apron and survey the restaurant. The lunch rush is long over, and the dinner rush won’t start for another hour at least. Most of the tables are empty, with just a few of our regulars finishing their meals. I decide to finish the clean-up now, so that when the dinner rush starts, I can just seat people.

Being the “front-of-house manager” is really just a title my parents gave me to keep me happy. And at first, the position did keep me content. Tacking on the title of manager helped me feel like my college degree wasn’t totally going to waste. Over time, though, I realized that it was all just perfunctory. My job is hostess and waitress and busser all rolled into one. Yes, we have other people who do those jobs as well, but if someone calls off for whatever reason or if we are short staffed, I am expected to fill in. Some days that makes the shift go faster, but other days, like today, it makes it drag. Nothing exciting ever happens here.

Just as the thought enters my head, the front door of the restaurant opens, sunlight spilling into the darkened space. A man steps in, and for a second I have a flashback to the ball this past weekend and my tall, dark stranger. Then I blink, and I realize that I recognize this man. Luca Pistilli. His family owns Venetian Dreams in Fox River Falls. If a family has ever had a rival, it’s our family with the Pistilli family. Our restaurants are so similar, and even though they are in different towns, people still compare them.

I feel a flash of annoyance. Why the heck is he here? The Pistilli family has no reason to come here, unless they’re looking to ignite the flames of the rivalry. Even just thinking the words in my head sounds melodramatic, but that is what I’ve had drilled into my head over the years. The Pistilli family wants nothing more than to put us out of business. Now that I’m about to be face to face with Luca Pistilli, I have to wonder why that is.

“Hi,” Luca says as I approach him. “Are the owners around?”

I struggle not to roll my eyes. If I know who he is, then surely he knows who I am. “I’m their daughter,” I say. “How can I help you?”

I make sure to keep my voice moderate and free of any tone that might get misconstrued. Even if I don’t love working at the restaurant every day of my life, I don’t want to do anything to harm it either. And I know how word of mouth can become like a massive game of Telephone in this area.

Luca stares at me for a long moment and then frowns. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks.

“I literally just told you that I’m the owners’ daughter. I know who you are, so I’m sure you know who I am.” I prop one hand on my hip and try not to glare at him.

“So are you Chiara or Marissa?” he asks. From the smirk on his face and the glint in his eye, I can tell that he’s enjoying our little exchange.

“Marissa,” I reply. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, right. The reason I came in here,” he says.

“Yes, and that would be?” I prompt.

Even though I am irritated with him, I feel an odd connection to him. Like I know him from somewhere else. Maybe it’s just because the two of us are both the children of restaurant owners, and not many other people understand that point. There is something different about being a second generation in the restaurant business. Our parents pour their blood, sweat, and tears into this place, while we are expected to help keep their dreams up and running.

Luca blinks at me, like he just lost his train of thought. Then he says, “Oh, right. I have news from my family.”

“Okay,” I say, gesturing for him to get on with it. No matter how good-looking this guy is, I definitely do not have all day. The dinner rush is ticking ever closer, and we’re short two waitresses today. Ideally I’ll still be able to get all my cleaning and place-resetting done before the flood gates open and customers start pouring in. I know that’s a good problem to have, but at the moment, it doesn’t feel that way.

“My father says for me to tell you or your parents, whoever is fine, I guess, just make sure that the message gets to them. He told me to tell you that we know what you did, and you won’t get away with it,” Luca says with a flourish. “Did that work?”

I laugh, confused. “Did what work?”

“My presentation,” he says. “I want to make sure that I was believable.”

“You were fine, but I don’t understand. What did we do? Or what does your father think we did that we aren’t going to get away with?” I am genuinely puzzled.

“Right,” Luca says. “There have been a few cases of food poisoning associated with Venetian Dreams. My father is convinced that your father is out to sabotage him.”

“Why would my father do that?” I ask. My mind is already spinning in other directions. I’m not stupid. I know how damaging any cases of food poisoning can be to a restaurant, but I also know that no one in our sphere has time to sneak into another establishment and taint their food. “It’s an outrageous accusation.”

“I know,” Luca says with an easy going shrug. “I’m just the messenger.”

“And you couldn’t just tell your dad that you delivered the message? Instead you had to come all the way over here and waste my time before the dinner rush?” I challenge. I’m starting to overheat, which is something that tends to happen when I’m upset. My cheeks flush, and my whole body feels like it has a fever. Then I break out in a cold sweat. None of it is pleasant, and I certainly don’t want it to happen in front of Luca.

“I didn’t want to be in the kitchen today,” Luca admits. “It seemed like as good an excuse as any to leave for a while.”

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