Page 17 of Billionaire in Disguise

Her entire family sported matching frowns. “Why not?”

“Because–” She pushed forward, gained approximately half an inch. “He’s not thinking about that now.”

“When should he think about it?”

This conversation was getting stranger by the minute. “I don’t know. A few years.”

Her mother parted her lips. “You want me to ask him how many matzo balls he wants in his soup in a few years?”

Matzo balls?

Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn. Oh darn. Oh, darn. Oh darn.

She closed her eyes. Wished herself invisible. Failed.

She opened them to find her family staring at her as if she was one matzo ball short of a soup bowl. Nick’s lips twitched. “You think I should wait years to decide on the number of matzo balls?”

How did a man’s voice sound so yummy? Forget the matzo balls. He was more delicious than sweet wine. “I… I… think it’s a very important decision that requires serious contemplation.”

He grinned. Her entire family looked at him. Looked at her. At him. At her. She’d bet a week’s salary each and every one of them was deciding what to wear to their wedding.

He stretched out his long legs, a natural king of his domain. “Perhaps you are right. Imagine the consequences if I ate an extra matzo ball, or one too few.”

“Yes, imagine,” she drawled. “The ramifications would last for years.”

“Indeed.” His smile widened, as he gestured to the ladle in her mother’s hands. “Yet, I am going to risk it. I’ll take three.”

Oh dear.

The rest of the family looked on in approval, as her beaming mother plopped three plump matzo balls into the soup with a splash. They bobbed on top of the swirling amber concentrate, casting the warm scent of her grandmother’s recipe throughout the room. Tense muscles softened at memories of blissful holidays and joyous family dinners. Her mother’s soup made everything a little better.

Nick sighed appreciatively. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months.”

It was the wrong thing to say.Her father winced, and the rest of her family looked on with surprise and pity. Her mother?

She looked like she’d just won the $18 bingo jackpot.

She clapped her hands together. “It’s lucky I prepared light refreshments.”

Nick’s eyes lit as he held up the bowl. “This is perfect.”

“The soup?” Her mother laughed. “That’s just the starter before the appetizers. Aunt Mabel!”

“I’m sorry, did you saybeforethe appet–”

Any comments were immediately and completely overwhelmed by a bevy of movement. Like a general with her soldiers, her mother directed a regiment of relatives in and out of the kitchen, as they brought out enough food to feed not only an army, but the opposing forces and three or four more armies, just in case they happened to show up.

Nick’s eyes grew as wide as the parade of platters, each in its own colorful ceramic dish gifted from decades of weddings, holidays and other assorted celebrations. It included a steaming vegetable lasagna, cheese covered mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits and about a thousand or so other dishes.

As Dominick stared wide-eyed at the food, Adrianna considered her options:

A. Yell “An alligator is eating the matzo ball soup!” and run out of the house.

B. Yell “An alligator is eating the biscuits!” and run out of the house.

C. Yell “An alligator is eating the mashed potatoes!” and run out of the house.

Her mother gave her a sideways look and positioned herself in front of the door leading out of the house.

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