Page 68 of Wrong Place Perfect Time

It’s a tone filled with respect. A little surprised today, but there’s a ton of respect in his voice when he acknowledges her.

Something I’ve noticed most people, let alone families seem to have conveniently forgotten a lot about lately.

Especially in my own life.

My own family?

Meh, that’s a whole other story. And not one anywhere near as exciting.

I feel like I’m being literally sucked into the room.

I can’t even feel my body moving, and the sight of Don Martinelli should shock me, but it doesn’t.

“This is the girl you thought was Maria Portello?” the older woman murmurs to herself, moving her eyes over me again and making me squirm before she finally smiles.

It’s a big, generous smile with as much passion and energy as the sheen of her lipstick.

And it’s not an angry, evil smile either.

From her little laugh, I think that my appearance genuinely amuses her.

“I’ve explained things to my father,” Rocco tells me in a low voice, moving closer to me, and once his hand hooks into mine, I feel like I can breathe again.

Like whatever happens next doesn’t matter anymore.

Because he was telling the whole truth, he was right.

It’s Rocco and me from now on, no matter what happens.

Even his estranged mother reappears simultaneously as his crime boss father, who I thought we were running from.

“And I guess we’ve got some explaining of our own,” Rocco’s mom echoes, making a gesture with her gloves in her hands as if to ask, ‘What? Is nobody gonna take a lady’s coat and gloves?’

Her son fusses over her in an instant, and old man Martinelli takes her hand in his and kisses it.

Before either of them say anything, it’s clear to both Rocco and me that they’re still very much in love and that whatever made his mom leave in the first place hasn’t tarnished the shine on the love of an old married couple.

We move into the suite's living area, which, although similar to our own, seems smaller.

Rocco’s Mama and Papa take their seats first, and then Rocco directs me to a single seat while he takes the other opposite his folks.

I’m not sure why, but this is starting to feel a lot like a job interview.

And it’s not one I’m dressed for, let alone prepared for.

But Rocco, as always, does most of the talking. And in a few moments, we both have at least some more information that we both crave.

Mainly, “What are you doing here, Mama? Why did you leave us?” and then there’s the other part. But I’ll get to that.

That last part he wants to talk to his folks about…. That’s a doozy.

“I’m Catriona Martinelli,” the older woman says to me, introducing herself without offering her hand.

“And this scoundrel is my husband of more years than I care to remember…,” she begins, clasping her hand over her husband’s as he looks at her adoringly, not daring to interrupt her as she explains herself to her son.

“A long time ago, when you were little, Rocco, your father was worried about the Portello’s living up to their promise to have me killed.”

She says it so calmly, so naturally, that I do a complete double-take sitting further on the edge of my seat, and I know I’m all ears as much as Rocco is.

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