Page 38 of On Her Terms

“She sounds like a great woman.”

He nods and smiles, then turns his attention to the fridge. He pulls out a couple of different kinds of cheese and reaches for the grater.

“You must miss her,” I say as I slide off my chair and grab a knife from the table. I tear off some paper towel, spread it on the island and then reach for the bag of apples.

“I do.”

“Do you get home to visit her much?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he says and puts a pot of water on the stove.

I don’t want to pry but I kind of want to know more about him. “I’m really sorry about your father and your brother, Luca. It must have been so hard on you and your mother.”

He nods and turns on the burner. “I was away when it happened. By the time I got home, Mom was a mess.”

“When did it happen?”

“When I was at Oxford, my final year of law school.”

I pause for a second. I remember. He’d disappeared for a while and I made up all kinds of things about his absence. My final conclusion—or maybe at the time it was just wishful thinking—was that he was out being treated for a bad case of herpes. I’m such a jerk.

He exhales a slow breath, and a small smile touches his mouth. “I miss fishing with him.” Remaining silent, I take a sip of wine and go back to peeling apples as his mind trips down memory lane. “He taught my brother and I to fly-fish. We were all pretty competitive.” He laughs. “This one time, I caught a huge bass. Record-breaking,” he says and eyes me like I’m going to call him out on that. “I was only around ten, and it was almost as big as me. I yelled to Dad, and when I turned I lost my footing, and the rapids took me down the river.”

“Oh my God, were you hurt?”

“Only my pride.”

We both laugh and he says, “Never let go of the fish, though. I can prove it was big if you don’t believe me. Mom took a picture.”

“Hey, I never said I didn’t believe you.” I reach for another apple. “What else did your dad do? Besides fish with you.”

“He actually ran many big conglomerates. My brother was being groomed to take over.” His frown returns and he reaches back into the fridge, like he doesn’t want me to see his sadness.

“Who runs it now?”

“My uncle,” he says quickly, and I get the sense he doesn’t want to continue with the conversation. “You like cured meats, right?” He pulls a package from the fridge.

“I do. Although I don’t really eat it.”

“Why not?”

“Fattening.”

“You’re perfect,” he says and unwraps the meat. “You can’t have carbonara without authentic Italian guanciale. My mother would disown me if I used anything else. In fact she’d probably beat my ass with her wooden spoon.”

I laugh at that. “I really like this woman. I kind of missed...” I let my words fall off and his dark lashes lift over even darker eyes.

“Missed what?”

I cut a slice off the apple, take a bite and hand it to Luca. He tosses it into his mouth and we both chew for a second. “My mother gave up on everything after my dad left, and I never really had a female role model. I guess I miss that. I’m a little envious of what you have with your mom.”

“You want your ass beaten with a wooden spoon? I can do it for you,” he says, and I get that he’s trying to lighten my mood. I chuckle, but then he goes serious. “Mom would really like you, Brianna. She’d mother the hell out of you if she had a chance. I think she secretly wanted a daughter.”

“She’ll get one when you marry,” I say, then curse myself when he turns from me, fast. Good God, does he think I’m hinting at marriage? As I take in his back, the tightening of his shoulders, my stomach knots. The two of us are playing house. I’m never going to meet his mother. Never going to have a loving family of my own.

Do I want that?

Oh God, I think I might.

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