“That’s what you say now,” she said flippantly before her expression turned more serious. “If this thing between you carries on, your ovaries are going to insist on creating little mouths.”
“That’s not true. My ovaries are well aware of our opinions on the matter. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.” She didn’t look convinced, but I didn’t expect her to understand.
Elena wanted to have a big family eventually. She had been raised to believe it was the way to go, and she wanted everything that went along with it.
The last time we’d discussed what she wanted and expected in her future, she had informed me that she foresaw a whole room full of children and grandchildren coming to visit us in the nursing home one day.
Because yes, she wanted us to move into a nursing home together when the time came. That was one idea of hers I could get behind.
“I say so, but even if it was something I wanted, it doesn’t mean I would get it.” That was the crux of the problem for me. It was better not to hope at all than to be disappointed by what I ended up with. “I met his brother over the weekend, and he said their mother wouldn’t like me.”
“I’ve told you that,” she said matter-of-factly. “It didn’t bother you before.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” I said, even though it wasn’t completely true. “It’s just that it seems like a futile exercise to wonder about whether we might have a future together when his mother will hate me for something I can’t change.”
Obviously, I planned on trying to change it. But neither Marco nor Elena seemed to be overly optimistic about it.
“It’s a pity you can’t change it,” she mused, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. “He really doesn’t sound like the kind of guy anyone would want to let go of.”
“No, he’s not.” I sighed as I felt a stab of disappointment in my gut. I didn’t let it fester, though. I was happy with the way things were at the moment. “What do I do if I ever meet his mother?”
Elena’s eyes widened. “You run. That’s all you can do. Run. As fast and as far as you can.”
I searched her face for a minute, but I couldn’t find any traces of amusement. She wasn’t kidding.
With warnings from Elena, Aldo, and Marco himself, it didn’t seem like I had much of a chance with his mother. I usually tried to find the silver lining in situations, but I couldn’t see one here.
Except maybe for the certainty it provided.
Whenever I started feeling like I might have a future with Marco or I started hoping that there was something more between us than there was, his mother’s inevitable disapproval would be the reminder I needed to stop.
No matter what I did, Marco’s mother was never going to be happy with me. She would never give her approval to any relationship between us, and according to Elena, that meant Marco would never be in a relationship with me.
At least I knew it going in. That was something I would do well to remember.
Chapter 23
Marco
I pulled up to my mother’s house to find Aldo leaning against the wall, a shit-eating grin on his face. He uncrossed his arms when he saw my car, pushing away from the wall and lifting his sunglasses up from his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I asked after I’d parked and climbed out.
The grin widened. “I heard you were coming for dinner, and I wanted to come too.”
I narrowed my eyes as I studied him, noticing all of his small tells, the gleam in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the slight lift of his shoulders.
I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”
“No reason,” he said cheerfully.
I stood firm. “What have you done, Aldo?”
A slight wince before he composed himself and smirked. “I haven’t done a thing, but Mama is super excited to hear all about your new girlfriend.”
Fuck. My teeth ground together as I pierced my idiotic brother with a sharp glare. “I thought you liked her.”
“I do.” He held my gaze—as unwavering as I was. “That’s why I told Mama about her.”
Sighing heavily, I unfurled my fingers from my palms and shook my head at him. “You shouldn’t have done that. I would have told her if it went that far. Addy and I are nowhere near there.”
“She doesn’t deserve to be kept your dirty little secret.” He jerked his head at the house. “Let’s go face the music. Standing out here isn’t going to change the fact that she knows now.”
I lifted my face to the dusky sky, praying that somehow my mother wouldn’t react the way I thought she was going to. It didn’t work.
Mom was in the kitchen when we walked in. She had a wooden spatula in her hand and a tatty pink apron tied around her neck. With her silvery hair in a tight bun and the cooking paraphernalia, she looked perfectly harmless.
For just a minute, I relaxed. Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I lifted her into a big hug. “Hey, Mama. I’m here.”
She pulled her head back, allowing me to see the murder shining in her eyes. The spatula whacked my shoulder as she struggled against my hold. “Marco Ricci. Who is this new girl? Why did I have to hear about her from your brother? What does she do? Does she go to church? What part of Italy is she from? Please tell me it’s a local girl.”
After placing her gently on her feet, I held up my hands and stepped out of spatula reach. “Why don’t I get you a drink? I’ll answer all your questions, but let’s sit down.”
She let out a deep breath, her eyes darting from one of mine to the other in suspicion. Eventually, she nodded. “I’ll have a Grappa. A big glass. None
