Page 98 of The Honest Affair

Chapter Twenty-Four

Matthew

“Stop humming,” Frankie said from the backseat as I turned off the West Side Highway.

“Stop snapping,” I said, but did as she asked instead of continuing my rendition of “I’ve Got the World on a String.” “I got a little song in my heart, Frankie. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Yeah, Mama. What’s so wrong with that?”

I chuckled at the drawn-out vowels in my niece’s pronunciation of “wrong.” Despite Frankie’s best intentions, Sofia was sounding more and more like a character from Goodfellas.

“You should have her audition for A Bronx Tale, Frankie,” I said. “She’d fit right in.”

Frankie made a rude gesture that I could see through the rearview mirror, then went back to messing with Sofia’s hair.

“I don’t know what you have to be so chipper about. You only woke up a half an hour ago.” She looked me over irritably through the rearview mirror. “God, I hate men. All you need is ten minutes and you can walk out the door looking like a GQ model.”

I turned up Tenth Avenue and tipped my hat to one side. “If it makes you feel better, it took me closer to fifteen. I had to shave.”

I’d even picked out my clothes the night before, like I was a ten-year-old kid getting ready for school pictures. Gray tweed suit, Nonno’s felt fedora, my favorite red tie that had more than a few memories attached to it by now.

“Today’s a big day for me,” I added. “Bringing a girl to church and all.”

Frankie snorted, but there wasn’t much humor in her eyes. Just like last night before I’d left for work, when I’d told her we needed to pick up Nina on the way to Belmont. I knew that look because I gave it to her often enough myself, and it felt like I’d seen it nonstop for the last year. She hadn’t stopped looking at me that way since I’d told her that Nina was coming today. She didn’t know why, but my sister wasn’t stupid. Maybe she was in the dark about the engagement, but no one was going to believe that Nina was just a friend.

And despite my sister’s obvious disapproval, the fact couldn’t have made me happier.

Frankie glanced down at Sofia, then covered her ears. “I still don’t think you should bring her home until she’s not married anymore.”

“Mama!” Sofia wiggled out of Frankie’s hands, mussing up her hair again.

“Sofia! I just finished tying that! Now, hold still.”

So I chose to ignore Frankie’s worries as I turned onto Seventy-Fourth Street, then drove up Central Park West and around the block so I could pull up directly in front of the townhouse. Nina stood outside in the sun, dressed to the nines in a light blue coat over a cream-colored dress, with matching lace gloves. A small cluster of feathers and silk was pinned to her glossy, golden hair, a fishnet veil dropped just over one side of her brow. More than ever, she looked like a classic film star, plucked out of my dreams for this fine spring day. A perfectly put-together lady, whom I would take great pleasure in dirtying up later on.

“She looks like a princess!” Sofia squealed.

“She looks like something,” Frankie muttered.

I turned around and pointed at her. “Be nice.”

Frankie held up her hands in mock surrender while I got out.

“Hiya, doll,” I greeted her with a quick kiss on the cheek. “You look like a million bucks. I like that hat.”

Nina flushed as she touched the netting. “It’s a fascinator, actually—my grandmother’s, once upon a time. It’s not too much, is it?”

I smiled. She looked so uncertain despite the fact that she was so damn perfect. “It’s church, baby. It’s never too much. Nonna still wears a veil, if you can believe that.”

There was a knock on the window—Frankie, gesturing that we needed to get a move on. I checked my watch. Shit, it was past ten.

“All right, all right,” I said as I opened the passenger door for her. “Get in, baby. The Lord waits for no one.”

* * *

We managedto slip into one of the family’s usual pews at Christ Our Redeemer just before the big wood doors were shut and the organs and choir really started in earnest. It was the typical array of locals who still attended the Italian Mass in Belmont—a smaller group now than when Nonna was a girl, but Father Deflorio had his faithful flock who had been showing up every Sunday at eleven for the last forty years.

“Nice of you to show up,” hissed Lea from the pew in front of us, where she was busy wrangling her youngest in her arms while her husband, Mike, was doing his level best to shut the older ones up as the procession of ministers and the priest passed waving incense.

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