“Dita Von Teese?” I say brightening up in pleased surprise. “The comparison absolutely flatters me, but yes.”
She nods, then waves us into the kitchen.
I look at Giuseppe again. His expression is now unreadable.
We follow her to the stove, where she continues to stir something that smells absolutely heavenly.
“So,” she says, casting a quick look my way. “You and Giuseppe, hmm?”
“Very much so.”
She nods again and turns back to stirring. We both wait, Giuseppe’s palm going sweaty in my hand.
Finally, she sighs.
“When I first met your father I didn’t like him at all. He was silly, and didn’t take life seriously. ‘What kind of husband could he be?’ I thought to myself. I was dating Salvatore at the time. You don’t know him,” she says, casting a brief look to Giuseppe. “But he was who I thought I should be with. He worked at the butchers with his father. But…I couldn’t stop thinking about that Joey. That Joey who made all the boys laugh during mass. That Joey who sang idiotic songs just to get my attention. That Joey who had this smile that…” I see a slow smile creep to her face as she studiously focuses on the pot in front of her.
“My point is,” She turns to look at Giuseppe, then at me, then back to him again. “I dunno what my point is, but…” she stares at me, casting her eyes up and down to take me in. “I like her better than the other one—that Emily.”
There’s a low bar. I wisely keep that one to myself.
“If you like her enough to bring her to Easter Sunday dinner then I suppose I should give her a shot.”
My smile is positively dazzling. Before I can say something witty to win her over, another voice joins in.
“I hear there’s a performer in the house!”
We all turn to see a big man—at least now I know where Giuseppe get’s his height—with a smile that, well, I know why it leaves Giuseppe’s mother speechless.
I laugh and pop a hip to the side. “Guilty as charged.”
“Like that va-va-va-voom type?”
“Pa,” Giuseppe protests with a sigh.
“Even more guilty,” I say with a wink and a dimple, causing him to laugh so hard I’m surprised the walls don’t shake.
“Maybe you can put me in one a ya shows. I look pretty good in a feather boa.” He dances, looking as though he’s washing his back with an invisible towel while shaking his hips.
Behind me, his mother mutters something that sounds like Italian.
Next to me, Giuseppe groans under his breath.
I just laugh.
“Oh, Mr. Castiglione, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
Chapter Thirty-Three Giuseppe
“Are you nervous?” Honey asks with a teasing grin.
“Honestly, I’m more ravenous than anything,” I say as we approach the small brick house on a huge stretch of open land. “What is that smell?”
“Either Daddy’s barbecue ribs or Uncle Leroy’s brisket. Probably both. They both overpower the best bit though, gram’s peach cobbler.” She squeezes my hand and grins. “At any rate, welcome to the barbecue Giuseppe.”
Neither New York nor New Jersey is known for any of what she mentioned, and right now, I honestly don’t care if her family hates my guts. I’ve got to taste whatever it is I’m smelling.
Instead of going into the house, Honey takes me through the patchy grass around back. The sound of people talking and laughing, not to mention the music blaring, just barely drowns out the sound of some kind of obnoxious buzz from the trees.
The weather on this Memorial Day weekend reminds me of the worst part of summer in New York. I’m glad I took her suggestion of wearing long shorts and a t-shirt, though neither do anything to beat the humidity. She assured me that this event would be the very definition of casual. Even Honey has dressed down to a jean skirt and a pink tank top and flip flops.
“Ah yes,” Honey says as we get closer. “You’re going to hear a lot of old school R&B. Lonnie has control of the music. In all fairness, it’s usually pretty good.”
Right now I hear “Love Train” playing, which definitely fits the vibe of the scene around us. There are a lot of people, being that Honey’s entire extended family seems to have been invited. I’m pretty sure they could populate a small town.
And I’m the only white face.
But at least her immediate family has had plenty of advance notice about me before the two of us came down for Memorial Day weekend.
“So we finally get to meet this Giuseppe of yours,” a man says rolling up to us with a grin on his face.
“My brother, Brandon,” Honey says, dropping her eyes toward his red cup. “Don’t tell me you’ve already spiked the punch.”
“I spiked my own dang cup, thank you very much, and don’t act like you ain’t gonna do the same. Anyway, why you gotta out me as a lush in front of your man?”
“If you’re the worst he sees, we’re in for a dull night,” she says with a smirk.
“Girl, if you don’t come over here and hug me—”
“Oh hush,” she says laughing and falling into him. He practically crushes her into a hug.
He lets go amid her protests and turns to me.
“Nice to meet—”
My sentence is finished with the same bear hug he had for his sister. Good grief, if this is what it’s like I’ll be strangled to death before I can eat.
“We ain’t formal down here,” he says letting go of me with a laugh. “So long as you have an empty stomach, you’re good.”
“Speaking of which, I’d better show him what he’s in for, let him get something in that tummy before he salivates to death,” Honey says, poking my stomach with a laugh.
She takes my hand and drags me through the backyard, if you can call it that. It’s an even wider open space with a large patio. People have set
