Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (25 page)

“Morning, honey.”

“Hey, Ma. Happy Mother’s Day.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“What time’s dinner today?”

“Eh, thought we’d eat around four. Your friend still coming? That boy? Isn’t he gonna be with his mom?”

“He’s still coming. He said they do breakfast.” Sammi’s head pounded.

“Okay. Why do you sound funny? Did you just wake up? It’s almost noon, Samantha. You didn’t go to mass this morning, did you? Were you out partying last night?”

“I was workin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Carmela’s voice was sharply suspicious. “Your last night at a bar. I know how those things go. Anyway, four o’clock. You’re making the Caprese salad and the dessert. I can’t wait to meet him, Sammi.”

“Tell Pop to be nice, okay? And Uncle Gino.”

“He’ll be on his best behavior. Well, for your father, you know. Uncle Gino, eh. Can’t do much about him.”

“I gotta go to the market. Just wanted to call and check on the time.”

“Don’t be late! See you soon.”

Sammi gulped down the rest of her coffee and followed it up with a slice of dry toast. I need to text him the info. The thought of contacting him this soon after the wretched, drunken, embarrassing disaster she’d been hours ago made her stomach roil.

In a little bit.

She struggled into comfy jeans and a hoodie to go to the market, deciding to walk; it was a typical cloudy spring morning—her favorite. The cool mist refreshed her warm face and soothed the hammering in her head.

The little market was her favorite in the city. They carried unique items that larger supermarkets tended not to carry, plenty of homemade baked pastries, freshly baked Italian loaves, a variety of fresh, verdant herbs, choice cuts of meat, fish, and Italian sausage, and plenty of fine, homemade Italian wines.

She was considering her options for fresh mozzarella when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. 

CILLIAN
: Good morning. Didn’t want to risk waking you—just wanted to know what time I should be over.

SAMMI
: I was gonna text you in a little bit—sorry. It’s at four, if you still want to come. You can just meet me at my place and we can walk over.

CILLIAN
: Of course I want to come. See you then. Should I bring anything?

SAMMI
: Just yourself…and a big appetite.

CILLIAN
: No problem there. Later.

Another memory of screaming at him from her bed flashed through her mind and she winced, slapping a hand to her forehead and drawing the stare of the woman next to her at the cheese stand. Sammi glanced over at her, her hand still cupped around her forehead and offered a weak smile before turning and walking away.

She gathered the rest of the items she needed, plus a giant bouquet of fresh flowers and a card for Carmela, then headed home. Rocky met her at the door, his tail straight up with the tip curled over and she scratched his head quickly before heading into the kitchen to set her bags down to get started on the tiramisu; it needed time to chill. The Caprese salad could be thrown together at the last minute.

Sammi took her time getting ready, indulging in a long, hot soak in the tub before blow-drying her hair. She applied a little mascara and lip gloss, and got dressed in jeans, a ruffled yellow top, and a white cardigan. As she was stepping into her flats, there was a knock on the door. He was ten minutes early. 

Her stomach tensed as she opened it. But Cillian was smiling as if nothing had happened, looking gorgeous in jeans, tennis shoes, and a lightweight knit pullover in a pewter blue color that almost perfectly matched his eyes. He held something in his hand, what looked to be a long, slim printed bag.

“Hi.” She cast her eyes down, her face burning again. Her heart rate increased and she felt anxiety clawing at her throat.
Why does he have to be so beautiful?

He stepped into her apartment as she moved back a little more. “How you feelin’?”

“Um…utterly ashamed of myself and embarrassed, for starters.” She heard him chuckle behind her. “It’s actually
not
funny.”

He shook his head, smiling slightly still. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughin’ at you.”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” To her relief, a little tension leaked out of the room with the sound of his laughter. “I was—I was way out of line last night.”

“Stop. Shit happens, okay? If I had a nickel for every time I got a little drunk and wild, well—Ronan’s would have been all mine a long-ass time ago, let’s just put it like that.”

“Shit happens,” she agrees, “but that was on a whole other level. That was not—I don’t act—I’m not like—”

“Forget about it,” he interrupted, and met her gaze with a half-smile. “Seriously. No hard feelings. Not even for throwing your alarm clock at me and cussin’ me out and disinviting me to dinner.”

She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “Yeah. Sorry about all of that.”

He laughed again. “I’m just givin’ you a hard time. I’m not upset with you, Sammi, I promise.”

She swallowed, looking up at him. There was more to say, but it was probably best to leave well enough alone for now. “Okay. I have to make this salad, then we can go. What’s that?” She pointed to the bag he carried.

He lifted it and reached inside, and halfway drew out a bottle of red wine. “I thought your family might like it. Little Mother’s Day gift.”

“That’s so sweet of you. What kind is it?” She reached for the bottle. The label read
Montepulciano d’Abruzzo
. She glanced back up at him, lifting an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong? No good? I’m not a big wine-drinker, so I just went off the guy’s recommendation at the store.”

“This is actually my mother’s favorite red wine. And mine.” She smiled. “I’m impressed, Irish-boy.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that pat on the back. I’m glad you like it.”

“Ma will be thrilled.” She handed the bottle back and went into the kitchen, pulling out the Roma tomatoes, mozzarella, fresh basil and balsamic glaze for the salad and placed it all in a glass bowl with a lid, then stacked it with the chilled dish of tiramisu. She hefted the bouquet and the card in one arm and the dishes in the other, then she carried it all to the door, where Cillian waited.

“Ready.”

“You got it? Need some help?”

“Just the door. Here’s my keys. Can you lock up behind you?”

He took the keys and held the door for her as she stepped past, careful not to trip on the rug just outside and spill everything.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Sammi warned. “My mother will take it as a personal insult if you don’t eat until you explode.”

“No worries there. Far be it from me to insult the chef.”

Sammi couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you so calm?”

“Why are you so worried?”

“Because I
know
them. I know what they’re capable of, I’ve seen what they can do.”

Cillian laughed again and shook his head. “You talk about your family like they’re insurgents or violent criminals or somethin’.”

Sammi briefly considered his words and decided he might not be totally off-base with that comment. “I’ve seen what each of my sisters has gone through. I’ve
participated
in what they’ve gone through—now it’s my turn. They’re ready for payback.”

“Just relax, Sammi.” He nudged her gently with his elbow. “Let’s just have a good time. I’m looking forward to meeting your family.”

She looked up at him doubtfully, but let it go. They walked across the open courtyard in the middle of the apartment complex and up the stairs toward her parents’ unit. Cillian stood behind her, calmly holding the stack of dishes she handed off to him while she reached for the doorknob. Already, the loud voices of her uncle and father were dominating whatever conversation was being had.

Carmela met them at the door as soon as they walked through. “Sammi!” she exclaimed, as though it had been a hundred years since they’d seen each other, instead of barely twenty-four hours. She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Honey. You’re late.”

“
Five minutes
, Ma. I was trying to make sure the Caprese was fresh.” She handed her mother the flowers. “For you, Ma. Happy Mother’s Day.”

“Aw, honey. Thank you.” Carmela kissed her forehead and pushed her inside by the shoulder. She beamed at Cillian and held out her hand. “And you must be Cillian.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you. Happy Mother’s Day.” He offered his hand but she ignored it and gently took his face into her hands instead, touching her cheeks to each of his. Sammi hid a smile at the look of mild surprise on his face.

“You sure your mother won’t mind you bein’ here?”

Cillian smiled and shook his head. “My family does brunch, and my father always takes her out on a date at night. They won’t miss me.”

“Well, I’m so glad you’re here. Come on in here.”

Carmela led them into the living room where Joe and Uncle Gino were sitting in easy chairs, Sammi’s brothers-in-law on the couch, discussing some sporting event. Joe glanced up at them, and Sammi cleared her throat nervously.

“Daddy.” She went to her father’s side and bent down to kiss his cheek.

“How ya doin’, cupcake?” His steady gaze stayed on Cillian.

“Daddy, this is my friend, Cillian Ronan. Cillian, this is my father, Joe.”

Joe rose to his feet as Cillian stepped forward and extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for having me in your home.”

Joe’s face stayed impassive, but Sammi saw a gleam of appreciation and respect in her father’s eyes and felt immense relief. Cillian had immediately slipped into his military bearing; obviously, he was well accustomed to displaying this type of courtesy and respect to someone who “outranked” him.

Joe clasped Cillian’s hand, giving it a firm shake, and Sammi noticed a small half-smile form on her father’s face. It was a good sign; it meant that Cillian’s handshake had been equally as firm. Joe always said how important a handshake was to him, that it said a lot about who a person was, especially a man.

“Cillian, I’d like you to meet my brother, Gino.”

Cillian shifted his gaze to the slightly shorter, balding, portly man, who remained seated and gave Cillian a mere nod and took his proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“And these two bums are my daughters’ husbands, Ryan and Vince.”

“Good to meet you, man,” Vince said as they shook hands.

“You too.” Cillian nodded.

“Uncle Gino, bet you didn’t know you had a real, live war hero in your livin’ room,” Ryan said.

Cillian smiled politely, but Sammi knew he was uncomfortable with any recognition of his “war hero” celebrity. She shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“What war hero?” Uncle Gino demanded grumpily.

“Gino, you don’t know this kid?” Joe said, surprising Sammi. He reached out and clapped Cillian’s shoulder. “He was in all the papers a little while back. Army guy, saved some soldiers’ lives after they got hit, ah,
maddon’
.”

“Geez, Dad,” Sammi said. “I didn’t know you knew his whole bio.”

“What, I get it wrong?” Joe glanced at Cillian. “Am I wrong?”

“No, sir. That’s—that’s basically what happened.” Sammi didn’t miss the way he shifted awkwardly, his mouth tight at the corners.

“See?” Joe reached out to pinch Sammi’s cheeks lightly. “Your old man knows what he’s talkin’ about.”

“He’s a hometown celebrity,” Vince added, “but he’s about to be even more famous. He’s fightin’ in that big MMA tournament upstate New York soon. My money’s on you, bro.”

Sammi rolled her eyes. Cillian seemed completely at ease, but she knew him well enough by now to know how uncomfortable he was.

“Okay, okay.” She held up a hand. “Give him a break, he just walked in.”

“What’s that you got there?” Joe pointed to the wine bag in Cillian’s hand.

Cillian glanced down as though he’d forgotten he’d been holding it. “Wine, sir. I thought you and your family might enjoy it.”

“Let me see this.” Joe pulled the bottle out of the bag. He examined the label and nodded. “Ah. This is very good. Definitely a favorite in this house. Look, Gino.” He held the bottle up so Uncle Gino could read the label. The older man nodded his stoic approval.

“
Bene
.”

“Thanks, Cillian.” Joe handed the bottle to Sammi. “Take that in the kitchen, cupcake. Go help your mother and your sisters.” He affectionately cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on both of her cheeks. “Go on. Let us men talk. Hey, you want a beer, Cillian?”

Sammi glanced at Cillian over her father’s shoulder; he wasn’t supposed to drink right now, but Joe had extended a gesture of hospitality, and he’d be a fool not to take it. Besides, it wouldn’t kill him; the shit Basanta would talk if he found out would be worse than any effect one bottle of beer would have on Cillian’s body.

She nodded slightly at him.
Say yes.

“Yes, sir. Beer would be great. Thank you.”

Sammi hustled into the kitchen, seeing her mother stirring sauce in a big steel pot on the stove. Niq and Toni were standing by the sink, talking and laughing.

Toni spotted her and grinned. “Hey, there she is. The disco queen.”

Sammi shot a furtive look at Carmela. “Shut up, Toni.”

“Disco queen?” Carmela raised her brows.

“Look, Ma.” Sammi held the bottle out to her mother like a peace offering, changing the subject. “Wine. Your favorite. Cillian brought it for you. Daddy’s holding him hostage in the living room or else he would’ve given it to you himself.”

“Oh, let me see that.” Carmela turned around, taking the bottle and peering over the top of her glasses at the label. “Oh, it
is
my favorite! What a sweet, thoughtful boy.”

“Yes, we really should go say hi.” Niq smiled innocently.

Sammi pointed at her. “You leave him alone. Between your groupie husband and Uncle Gino, he’s got his hands full.”

She pulled out a beer from the refrigerator and popped off the top, carrying it to the living room, and was surprised but pleased to see Cillian nodding at something Joe was saying, smiling genuinely and broadly. He looked up when she approached and his smile widened.