Page 50 of Christmas with the Mafia
“Regina, this is my father.”
I speak over her, and she turns to him and checks herself and this time offers him her hand. “Sir, I’m so pleased to meet you, especially at Christmas, which as we all know is about family after all and I well, I’m not there yet but, well, your son is a hard man to refuse and–”
All the time her words trip over themselves as if they’re running a sprint, she pumps his hand vigorously and the bemusement in his expression almost makes me laugh. The fact that she’s even touching him at all is surprising becauseI’m not sure I have ever seen him shake the hand of a woman before.
My mother is staring at her as if she’s an alien, and I suppose she is in their world.
With a sigh, I rest my hand on Regina’s back and say softly, “It’s been a long drive; perhaps we should settle in first before conversation.”
My mother surprises me by shaking her head, amusement flickering in her eyes.
“I won’t hear of it. Regina must be desperate for refreshment. Come, I’ll show you to the kitchen where we can get to know one another over coffee, or champagne if you prefer.”
My mouth drops as my mother steers Regina from the room, and my father’s expression is almost comical.
He shakes his head and sinks low on the couch and fixes me with an incredulous frown.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
I drop down into the seat opposite him, and he shakes his head.
“She’s easy on the eye, I admit that, and dressed impeccably, which I expect is down to you, but does she ever stop talking?”
“Of course.” My eyes twinkle. “When I have a better use for her mouth.”
My father chuckles softly and then adds, “Do not confuse attraction with marriage, Nico. Looks fade, personality not so fast. You will require a woman with nerves of steel and one who knows when to keep her mouth shut. This girl–”
“Regina.” I fix him with a hard stare.
“I have serious concerns.”
My heart sinks, but I’m not giving up yet.
“Then I will enjoy watching those concerns disappear over Christmas.”
He offers me a cigar, and as we light them, he blows smoke rings into the pristine room.
“And if they don’t, you will honor our agreement.”
“I never said that.”
I blow smoke rings into his, and he sighs. “Don’t be a fool, Nico. Would you seriously give up your birthright for that woman?”
“Regina.” I remind him and, leaning forward, stare him straight in the eye. “If you had the option all those years ago, father, would Gigi Constantine be wearing your wedding ring now?”
He says nothing, but the resignation in his eyes is my answer, and he scoffs, “That’s different.”
“Is it though?”
I inhale the smoke, regretting accepting the hated cigar. It’s customary for our father to share a cigar with his sons on Christmas, and as I can’t stand them, it’s a cross I am unwilling to bear.
He nods toward the drinks cabinet.
“Then we will toast your engagement with the customary bourbon and let fate decide if we are being presumptuous.”
As I stand, I reach over and grabbing the blade, I slice the end off the cigar, placing the rest in my pocket as I head to the drinks cabinet. This is going to be a long few days.
