Page 21 of Don’t Fall For A Bodyguard

“Nonna, I’d like you to meet my…husband, Payton,” Lennie announced. “Payton, my Nonna, Bianca Rizzoli.”

Nonna put the spoon aside, turned around, and gave me a slow once over that told me this woman was not to be messed with. She looked fragile at first glance, but her eyes were sharp as hell and when they met mine, I took a step back. And bumped into my husband. I mean, Lennie. I was acting ridiculous.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rizzoli.” I gave her my best smile. “May I call you Bianca?”

“Come here,” she demanded in a raspy voice.

Okay, then, so much for trying the polite approach. I stepped closer to her and when I was within reach, she grabbed hold of my hand in hers, the grip so tight I nearly squeaked.

“You’re different,” she declared as she stared up at me, her blue eyes bright.

I almost said something sarcastic in response, but I nodded instead. Given the generation gap, I mentally braced myself for what might be coming next.

“But beautiful. Very beautiful,” she continued. “Unique. No wonder my Leonardo married you so hastily.”

My stomach unclenched a fraction.

“Well, you see—” I started.

Nonna waved her other hand in the air. “Done is done. My daughter-in-law will get over it. In time. You’re part of the family now. You cook?”

“Uh, sometimes. There’s only me though, so?—”

“You help me, yes? I’m making minestrone Milanese and polenta,” she paused. “Leonardo, get your husband an apron. Ora! Sbrigati!”

I’d never seen Lennie move so fast. I held back a laugh, but it was a near thing. Nonna, of course, caught my grin.

“What about the lasagna?” I asked.

“That’s only part of the meal. And if you want to keep your husband happy, you need to feed him. A lot.”

“That sounds kind of?—”

“And Leonardo’s a good cook, too,” she added. “He will do the same for you. You take care of each other, capisce?”

“Yes, Bianca.” I nodded, smiling at her.

“You call me Nonna,” she insisted, gripping my hand tightly again.

I felt wonderful and horrible at the same time. Deceiving these lovely people who welcomed me as their own. Suddenly, Lennie was standing beside me, offering me an apron. He placed it gently over my head and then tied it around my waist.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He gave my waist a squeeze, and I stared into his eyes for a lot longer than I should’ve.

“You have time for the sex later,” Nonna boldly announced. “First, we cook.”

“Nonna!” Lennie placed a hand over his head.

“What? I speak only the truth,” Nonna muttered.

“She’s right.” I winked at Lennie. “Food first.”

CHAPTER 8

LENNIE

Isat at my kitchen table, enjoying a glass of Barolo, and chatted with my mom, dad, and sister—while also keeping a close eye on Payton.

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