Straight Flushed (Hot Pursuit #1)(63)
For all the years I’d known Mrs. DeLuca, she spent her days cooking and baking endlessly. I don’t think I’d ever walked into the DeLuca house when she wasn’t making something. She rushed up next to Vance. A hefty gust of wind carrying the scent of roses entered the room shortly after her.
Vance’s mother resembled a full figured Sophia Loren. She had the eternal beauty, the bone structure, the high arched brows and the full lips. With the exception of her short, course, dyed black hair, she was a dead ringer. Vance was her only baby boy and her pride and joy. She’d probably gone into a panic when she heard he’d been shot.
With a fury, she dropped her bag on the table. “Ma piccolo cucciolo!” she yelled and grabbed Vance’s head, smashing it against her ample bosom.
Hearing her use Vance’s pet name, I stifled a laugh. It was a term of endearment I’d heard his mom use countless times, and I loved the reaction it always garnered. It stemmed from his big, brown eyes—a feature obviously inherited from her—and how he used them like a weapon on all women, from day one, to get what he wanted. And oh, how he hated it.
“Ma! Stop calling me that,” Vance said, though his words were muffled by the mounds of breast tissue suffocating him. “You know I hate it.”
“What’s wrong? I can’t call my baby my baby?” she said through a thick Italian accent. She released his head and held it firmly in her hands before planting him with a big kiss leaving his lips stained with her cherry red lipstick.
“No, you can do that, and I’d actually love it if you would.” He pouted and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I loved watching him interact with her. He acted more like a little boy than a man and it was endearing. “Instead of calling me your little puppy,” he added. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Aye!” She brushed his remark away as if she were swatting away a fly then she looked to me. “Diana!” She threw her hands up.
I stood up to give her a proper hug. “Hi, Mrs. DeLuca,” I said, and she squeezed me so tightly I thought I might burst. “It’s nice to see you.”
“What’s dis Mrs. DeLuca? You call me ‘Mama’, eh?” she said, holding my shoulders then kissing each of my cheeks.
It was a request she’d made multiple times over the years, but I never felt right calling her “mama” for some reason. “Of course,” I agreed with a smile.
“And you believe my boy? Telling his mama what she can call him after he gets shot. Shot! How you don’t even call your mama?” She shook her fist at Vance.
“Ma, I’d just gotten up when Bianca came over this morning.” He sulked. “I’d been at the hospital all day yesterday. You know if I’d called you this would have happened when all I wanted to do was sleep. I was getting ready to call you when Di got here. She brought me some food too. I should be stocked up for the next year or so.” He mumbled the last sentence under his breath.
She looked over at me, tilting her head and shooting me a warm smile. “Good girl. She know you don’t eat enough too. Mama’s gonna make you a plate.” She pinched his side. “You so skinny!”
Mr. DeLuca stepped behind his wife and nudged her out of the way. He motioned with his hands, in his characteristic delicate way, suggesting she settle down. All the other women who’d entered with the DeLuca’s were shuffling around in the kitchen, buzzing like busy bees, turning the oven on and preparing a few of the dishes and cramming the rest in his freezer.
“Ciao, bella,” Mr. DeLuca said, taking my face and giving me a kiss on each cheek. He was a short, stalky man with silver hair and always smelled like he’d been rolled in fresh vetiver.
“Hi, Mr.—” I stopped myself. “Uh, Sal. How are you?”
“I’m well. Thank you for taking care ‘a my boy.”
I smiled. “He’d do the same for me.”
He held my cheeks and gave them a couple of gentle pats. “Good girl.”
He walked to Vance and kissed him square on the lips. He whispered something into his face I couldn’t hear, to which Vance responded, “Thanks, pop.”
Sal retreated into the family room. He was a smart man and knew the women in the kitchen would chew him up and spit him out if he didn’t get out of the way and let them work.
I sat, feeling a combination of both envy and sympathy toward Vance. Part of me longed to be smothered by such tremendous outpourings of love, but at the same time, I understood he was often overwhelmed by it.
I’d been on my own since I was eighteen when I went to college. I moved out of my parents’ home the week before classes started and into my own apartment. I fully immersed myself into getting my business degree. My parents loved me, but they often took a step back from my life and let me spread my wings—a hand’s off approach to parenting, if you will. It pushed me, most of the time, to take flight, which I was grateful for, but I also thought it might have been nice if someone would have been there to pick me up when I fell.
I sat amidst the chaotic kitchen enjoying the swells of savory scents infusing the air, but I needed to escape otherwise I’d be there all day. An unexpected visit with the DeLuca’s could easily turn into an all-day affair. I was outnumbered, and there was no way I would to get out of there without a fight. All of the heavenly scents were making my stomach growl, and if they heard, it would seal my fate.