Page 8 of Falling for my Family's Rival

One thing I hate about being a waitress is that I never know what kind of customer I am going to get. Most people who come in are delightful, but sometimes I get people who are just plain mean. So far, today none of my tables have been bad.

I take my orders to the kitchen. Antonio, our head chef, is busy yelling at Gretchen, his sous chef. Just another typical late afternoon at Little Italy. With a sigh, I head back toward the office, hoping to get a tiny break. Instead, I hear my parents’ voices. I stop in the hallway just outside the door. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I can’t help it.

“I can't believe that they would accuse us of that,” my mother says, her voice biting with anger.

“I can,” my father says. “What are we going to do to get them back?”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea, “ my mother says.

I remain frozen in place, unsure what I am hearing. On one hand, I know that they are completely justified in their anger and outrage. On the other hand, I can’t believe that they would stoop so low as Venetian Dreams. Part of me wants to interrupt them, but instead, I manage to unlock my feet and propel myself back toward the kitchen.

When I get there. Antonio catches sight of me. “Marissa, I need you to run to the store for me. I’ve run out of mushrooms. Can you believe how many people want mushrooms today?”

“I can't. I have tables,” I say.

Antonio makes a rude noise and waves his hand in the air. “Chiara will take your tables. Now, here is my list. Hurry up.”

It only takes a moment for me to decide that I’m going to the store. This will be the break that I need. Antonio acts as manager of the whole restaurant, though as head chef, that clearly isn't his role. The thing is, no one questions Antonio. If he says that something has to get done, then that something gets done. No one would dare question why he decided to put a mushroom pasta on the menu without enough mushrooms in the kitchen. Instead, I’m now on my way to the grocery store to get him more.

I decide to walk to the grocery store to give myself that much longer of a break. Besides, the weather has been so nice lately, that I don’t want to waste a minute of it. As I walk down the street, my thoughts turn to what I overheard my parents talking about. I hope that my mother will prevail. My father is just speaking out of anger. He shouldn’t talk like that, but I can understand where he’s coming from.

I want to call Luca and, I don’t know, warn him? Of course, I nix that idea right away. I can’t betray my family like that. Just like Luca couldn’t betray his family. It’s odd, but I find that I kind of just want to call him anyway. Just to talk to him. I shouldn’t want that either, since we both agreed that we’re going to forget all about the night at the ball. But is that really fair? Do I want to forget about the connection that we had? I don’t think that I do.

By the time I get to the grocery store, I feel like I’m a mess. The logical part of my brain knows that nothing could ever develop between me and Luca, but there is a larger part of me that wants that not to be true. I want to lose myself in his eyes, get to know him beyond the ball and our families’ rival restaurants. Even just thinking about our connection makes me feel guilty. How can I choose to betray my family like this?

I sigh and grab a cart as I enter the store. The produce section is immediately to my right, so I head there first. Antonio’s only note about the mushrooms simply says to get as many as I can. He apparently doesn’t care what type they are. So I start to load the cart up with every variety of mushroom that the store carries, although it’s the late afternoon, and I’m somewhat limited.

“Wow, you must really like mushrooms.”

I turn toward the warm voice behind me and nearly gasp when I see Luca standing behind me. “Oh, uh, no, these are for the restaurant,” I say.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that you weren’t that into mushrooms,” Luca says.

I laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping for myself,” he says. “I try to avoid being sent on shopping runs for the restaurant. I let my brother Angelo get roped into stuff like that.”

“See, I’m the exact opposite,” I say. “I just wanted to get out to have a break.”

“I don’t begrudge you that,” Luca says. We start to walk together through the rest of the produce section. Antonio is also missing several other essential vegetables. It crosses my mind to mention to my parents that maybe he’s not as organized as he should be. But I don’t want to rat him out or cause any more issues in the family.

“It’s not that I hate working at the restaurant, but it isn’t like my life’s passion or anything,” I say. Normally I would regret saying something like that to someone who isn’t just a stranger, but a rival. But with Luca, I don’t feel like he’s a stranger or a rival. He feels comfortable, like we’ve always known each other.

“I get it,” he says simply, putting a bag of carrots in the basket hanging off his arm. “Sometimes we do things for family that isn’t what we would choose for ourselves. It’s a hard line to walk.”

“It totally is,” I agree. It feels nice to have someone understand where I am coming from. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that Luca might have some of the same feelings I have about working in his family’s restaurant. “Like, I have total loyalty to my family, but sometimes I wonder why I went to college if I’m just going to waitress fourteen hours a day, six days a week the rest of my life.”

“Wow,” Luca says, “and I thought I worked long hours!”

“I might be exaggerating a little,” I say. “But you get my point.”

Luca and I fall into a companionable silence, as we continue shopping. By the time we reach the checkout counter, I feel like we’re old friends. I wonder if Luca feels it, too. “Well, this has been fun,” Luca says after we both pay. “Hey, can I give you my phone number?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, handing him my phone as I try to hide my excitement. He puts his number in, and then texts himself so he has my number, too.

As we part ways, I realize that I have feelings for Luca that I can’t ignore. I don’t know what I’m going to do about these feelings, but I really want to give them a chance to grow, to explore what they might mean. I might never have another chance to feel this way. Turning in the direction of the restaurant, my arms laden down with bags of mushrooms, I know that I’m treading in dangerous territory… but I just don’t care.

Seven

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