Page 31 of Keeping My Bride

One of the staff enters the dining room to announce that dinner will be served momentarily. He goes around the table, refilling our glasses with wine before leaving.

“I had the chef prepare filet mignon. I hope you’re not a vegetarian, Verona. Perhaps I should have checked with my son beforehand.”

“That sounds great, and no, I’m not a vegetarian.”

Salvatore seems pleased by my answer. “Easy to please. Eats something other than salads. Luca, I think you hit the jackpot with this one.”

Luca stays quiet as he picks up his glass of wine and takes a long swig. When he sets the glass down, he ominously comments with, “Only time will tell.”

“You have time,” Salvatore remarks.

I pick up my own wine glass and take a drink just as Salvatore adds, “But not too much time. I do want grandbabies soon.”

The wine I was beginning to swallow suddenly goes down the wrong pipe, and I begin to choke and cough.

“Are you all right, dear?” his father asks me.

I nod vehemently as I try to collect myself and silence my coughing. The thought of having kids with Luca seems so far off into the distance that I can’t even see the light at the end of that particular tunnel.

Thankfully, the staff chooses that moment to enter the room with our meals, and we don’t have to further that discussion.

“Filet mignon, balsamic roasted Brussel sprouts with bacon,” one of the men says as he sets the plate down in front of me. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. If it tastes as good as it smells and looks, then I’m in for a treat.

The three of us dig in, eating in silence other than the occasional comment from Salvatore about how good the meal is.

When we’re finished and I can’t possibly eat another bite, Salvatore asks me, “How did you like it, Verona?”

“It was delicious.”

This pleases him but seems to piss off Luca. I just can’t win with my husband it seems.

“She doesn’t care for the food at home,” Luca says quickly.

I stare at him. That’s not at all true, but I don’t even have time to correct him before Salvatore says, “Well, that’s because you don’t have a professional chef hired. You can’t expect your new bride to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day, can you?”

Luca frowns at his father’s words.

“Hire on Greta. She doesn’t have much to do here since I don’t entertain much. And to be honest, I eat out more than I eat here. I’m sure she would be happy to cook for you again, just like when you were younger.”

“I’ll consider it,” Luca answers.

Greta is the one that helped me with Luca’s mother’s recipe for spaghetti. Just the thought of how that dinner was ruined puts me in a sour mood all over again, but I try to keep my emotions at bay since we’re in his father’s company. I can dwell on stuff later when I’m alone in my room.

Dessert is brought out next. A slice of tiramisu. I haven’t had this dessert since I was a little girl. And even though I was feeling full, I eat every bite of it. It’s so good, I just can’t bear the thought of any of it going in the trash.

After dessert, we spend some time touring the house. Salvatore gushes about his expensive acquisitions, but what I notice more than anything is how cold and sterile the house feels. There are no family photos anywhere, and there are no signs that a young Luca even lived here.

I don’t know the details behind Luca’s mother’s death. I only know that she died because my father mentioned it to me once when I returned from my great aunt’s house for my grandfather’s funeral. I don’t know exactly how she died or when, but it doesn’t really matter. Luca grew up without his mother; something I can definitely relate to.

I can’t help but wonder what this house was like when his mother was still alive. Did she bring a warmth into this house? Did she give her son the love that he needed and deserved?

I know what it’s like growing up without a mom and having a father who thinks you’re a burden. My father never let go of the memory of my mother; however, and that’s evident in how many photos and paintings of her that he has scattered around the house in her honor.

Salvatore Vitale is living in a home that seems to have forgotten his past love and former life. But maybe that’s how he wants it. Maybe the memory of her is too painful for him. Deep down, though, I don’t know if that’s the case. He seems too cold of a man to hold on to sentimental things and something as trivial as memories or family photographs.

“I’m very pleased with how this evening turned out,” Salvatore tells Luca at the front door when he walks us out. “I was going to wait to tell you this until tomorrow, but I’ll tell you now. I’m going to give you a few more territories to run.”

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