“Did I thank you for bringing dinner?” he asked as he leaned against the counter.
“About four times.”
“It was really good.”
He’d already told her about his attempt to provide a “healthy” dinner the previous evening. She’d done her best not to laugh.
“The Grands know how to cook,” she said. “Grandma Tessa does all the traditional Italian dishes, while Grammy M could bake her way into heaven.”
She pulled steaming bowls out of the microwave and tried not to notice the delightfully squishy sensation that lingered after their quickie. She felt satiated, content, and just a little bit wicked.
“Do you cook?” he asked.
Francesca pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. “No. I’ve taken tons of classes on every kind of cooking. I do fabulous garnishes, but I’m lousy at real food. Honestly, I don’t even like cooking.”
“So why do you take the classes?” he asked as he settled next to her and picked up a fork.
“Guilt,” she said cheerfully. “I’m not interested in the traditional marriage role, and in my family that’s about as blasphemous as not acknowledging the Pope. So I study cooking.”
“You can rebel enough not to remarry, but not enough to tell them you don’t like to cook?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but even being aware of what’s happening doesn’t take away the guilt. I’m Irish, Italian, and Catholic. Guilt is my birthright.”
Sam chewed a mouthful of ravioli. It had been pretty good at dinner, but after what they’d just done in his office, it was delicious. As was Francesca. Her mouth was swollen, her skin flushed. She looked content and satisfied, which pleased him.
“I’m not trying to make trouble here,” he said, “but shouldn’t your professional training make a difference?”
“Psychologist, heal thyself?” she asked, then laughed. “You’d think it would, but then you’d be wrong. Besides, without guilt, I’d have too much mental free time.”
“Good point.” He grinned. “I never did show you my Picasso.”
She looked at him, blushed slightly, then laughed. “Oh. Yes, well, we’ll have to do that another time.”
“Just say the word.”
Not that he wanted to make a habit of five-minute sex. Not with her. Their night together had been too extraordinary. But with Kelly in the house, everything was different.
“I can tell by your change in facial expression that you’ve shifted to another mental topic,” she said.
He nodded.
Francesca leaned toward him. “It’s only been a few days.”
“I know. We both have to adjust. It’s going to take time.” He pushed the bowl away. “I understand all that, but I’m ready to get on with fixing the problem.”
“Have you defined what’s wrong yet?”
Yeah, some kid he’d never known about had unexpectedly entered his life. Instead of being someone he could relate to—a boy, or quiet, or normal—Kelly was difficult, stubborn, and ill-mannered.
“We don’t exactly get along,” he said instead.
“That will come. First you have to get to know each other.”
“Not easy when she spends all her time pissed off at me.” He picked up his wine. “Was I wrong to cancel her credit card?”
“Of course not. I’m shocked her mother let her have one. The thing is you have one set of expectations and she has another. You’re going to have to find some middle ground. And maybe next time warn her before you cancel her card.”
“Good point. Too bad her idea of middle ground is for me to do everything she wants and stay out of her face.” He took a sip of wine, then set the glass on the table. “She’s going to be annoyed when she finds out I’ve hired a nanny.”
“You found someone?”
He nodded. “The service wasn’t thrilled to be providing car service and baby-sitting for a twelve-year-old, but for the right money, they’ll do it. She starts Monday.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’ve been great helping me out, but I can’t take up all your time.”
“I haven’t minded. If nothing else, I’m learning about ballet.” She hesitated. “I’ve been debating this for a while and I’d like to take Kelly to my folks’ place after class. My older sister is getting married, and we have a ‘girls only’ planning meeting scheduled.”
Sam squeezed her fingers and released them. “She’s going to be in the way. I’ll take the day off work and cart her around myself.”
“You don’t have to,” she told him. “I don’t mind taking Kelly to meet my family. I think they’ll overwhelm her with attention, and that won’t be such a bad thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you say you’d been debating it for a while?”
She wrinkled her nose. “My family. They’re going to read too much into the situation and start planning a double wedding.”
He could see why that would make her uncomfortable. “So don’t take her. I can play hooky for the afternoon.”
“It’s not that simple. I understand a lot of what Kelly’s feeling. Or I think I do. When I was growing up, there were a lot of times when I felt like an outsider. But the feeling didn’t last long because I had my family to adore me.”
He shifted uncomfortably. No way he adored Kelly. “It’s not that I dislike her,” he said.
“I know.” She touched his arm. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. My point is I think my family could be good for her.”
He understood more than she was saying. Even though it meant setting herself up for unwelcome matchmaking, Francesca was willing to take Kelly home because it was the right thing for the girl.
“You’re a hell of a woman.”
She smiled. “Not really, but I’m glad you think so.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I have no idea what my family might say to Kelly, so I’m warning you in advance.”
“I have no idea what Kelly is going to say to them, so we’re even.”
“Good. Kelly is going to be cheek-pinched and hugged and fed until she’s one big ball of good feelings.”
“That will be a change.”
Francesca’s smile faded. “Sam, have you thought anymore about what I said? About Kelly acting out because she doesn’t feel secure?”
“I’ve thought about it. You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with her.”
“She needs to be loved.”
“She’s not very lovable.”
“That doesn’t change the need.”
He knew she was right. Funny, he would have thought loving his own child would be immediate and overwhelming. As it was, he had trouble liking Kelly.
“So are you going to charge me billable hours?” he asked.
She grinned, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. “I was thinking more of taking it out in trade,” she whispered.
Francesca whispered something Kelly couldn’t hear, but it didn’t matter. She was so mad, she was shaking. She hated her father. Hated him with all her heart.
The smell of food had lured her from her room a few minutes ago. She’d come downstairs and had heard Francesca and Sam in the kitchen. She’d just decided she would maybe join them when she’d heard Sam say she wasn’t very lovable.
Spinning on the ball of her foot, she ran to the stairs and raced back to her room.
He was a horrible man. She should report him to the police or something for child abuse, and then they would lock him up and he’d have to spend the rest of his life in prison. That’s what he deserved.
Kelly threw herself on her bed and pulled her Pooh bear close.
“Francesca’s not so bad,” she whispered into the scuffed fur. “But he’s the worst.”
She hated him and she would never, ever forgive him. No matter what.
Halfway to the hacienda the next day, Francesca still hadn’t come up with an explanation for Kelly’s presence. It was hardly as if the Grands wouldn’t notice.
She glanced at Kelly, who had changed into shorts and a shirt after her morning ballet class. The preteen stared out the window without saying much. Francesca tried to figure out the best way to admit she had a problem. A big problem.
She cleared her throat. “Did I mention that my father’s side of the family is Italian?” she asked.
Kelly turned to look at her. Not a flicker of interest showed on her face. “No.”
“They are. My mother’s family is Irish. Basically we’re talking about grade-A European meddlers.”
Kelly continued to watch her without speaking.
“Their idea of perfection is to see all four of their daughters happily married with five or six kids, which, to date, hasn’t happened. But there is a ton of family pressure.”
She waited to see if Kelly would say anything. Sam’s daughter simply watched her.
“I’m going to tell them that your dad and I are friends,” she continued. “The thing is, they’re not going to believe me. So brace yourself for a lot of very unsubtle hints about weddings, marriage, engagements, not to mention questions about how many brothers and sisters you want. Okay?”
“Okay.” Kelly shrugged and turned her attention back to the view out the window. “I understand. Parents can totally overreact.”
Francesca had a feeling that comment was a slam on Sam, but she ignored it. “The other thing I need to warn you about is that my grandmothers love everyone. They’re going to make a big fuss over you, which I know you’ll think is totally uncool. So you need to be prepared.”
Kelly’s expression turned wary. “What do you mean, a big fuss?”
“Oh, they’ll hug you and tell you you’re pretty and try to get you to eat a lot of cookies and stuff. They’re grandmothers.” She smiled. “The usual boring stuff.”
The wariness faded. “I can probably handle it.”
“I’m sure you can. I just wanted to let you know it might be a real drag.”
Francesca didn’t want to back Kelly into a corner. If she was enthused about her family, then Kelly would have to take the opposite side and instantly hate them. The girl had a defense ready to go in every situation.
Instead, she had decided to make it all sound like an imposition. Kelly’s natural reaction to be stubborn meant she might actually want to like the Grands. Francesca had a feeling that an afternoon at the Marcelli hacienda just might shrink the massive chip on Kelly’s shoulder.
She saw the arched entrance to the Marcelli property. As she turned under the arch and onto the long paved road, Kelly swung around and gaped at her.
“You’re Marcelli Wines?”
“Sort of. My grandfather owns the winery, not me, but this is where I grew up.”
“Drinking wine?”
Francesca laughed. “Sometimes.”
“Wow!”
Kelly turned in her seat, glancing first to the left, then to the right. Grapevines stretched out for acres. It was the first excitement she’d shown since arriving nearly a week before. Francesca was thrilled.
“So these will be wine soon?” Kelly asked.
“Sure. I think so.” Francesca glanced out her side window. “I’m not the expert. If you have any specific questions, you should talk to my sister Brenna. She’s the one who knows everything.”
Kelly asked a few more questions, then fell silent when they rounded the corner and she saw the three-story Spanish-style hacienda. The pale yellow structure was topped with a tiled roof. Wrought-iron balconies decorated the front windows, and a porch circled the entire structure. Coordinating outbuildings lay in the distance.
