My Big Fat Fake Wedding(52)

I swallow and look to Ross. “Well, we’re getting married. And I moved in with him over the weekend. Abi’s done with the invitations, I think. I tried on dresses over lunch and found a possible contender, but I’m not certain yet, and Ross has a tuxedo already.” Luckily, that I know because I saw it in his closet.

Ross runs a thumb along my cheekbone, looking at me reverently, and I swear Mom sags in relaxation as he caresses me. He speaks to my mom and everyone else at the table, but his eyes never waver from mine. “We’re getting married, and from there, we’ll figure it out. Whatever Violet wants—kids, house, puppies, white picket fence—whatever it is, I’ll get it for her. We’ll get it together. That’s the one-, five-, ten-, and forever-year plans.”

It’s that moment that I melt into a big puddle of goo under Ross’s weighty stare. That sounds good, so temptingly good. It’s not the specifics. I don’t even have time for a dog or kids right now. It’s that overriding sense of teamwork and happiness. The potential of a life filled with good things.

He licks his lips, and I press a kiss to them. Sweet, appropriate, but meaningful. I realize that’s the first time I’ve kissed him, and the smile on his face says he knows that too.

“Ross,” Papa says, finally getting in on this. He’s been watching the show, quiet and unobtrusive until now. “I had a question. This other man, Colin Radcliffe,” Papa asks. “Have you spoken with him since you and my Violet came together?”

Came together? Oh, dear God, my head starts to fill with images, and I’m distracted by the beginning of Ross’s answer. I can’t help it. I’ve been sleeping in the same bed as Ross for days now but haven’t touched him . . . and my body has needs. I’ve even been too shy to handle things myself, afraid he’d hear me or somehow just know even though I haven’t heard him. Not that I’ve been listening at the door . . . much.

“And so I’m celebrating his stupidity,” Ross finishes, pulling me back to reality as he takes my hand on top of the table. “His loss.”

“I see . . . and if he tries to disrespect Violet?”

Ross smiles, but it’s a predatory smile. “Mr. Russo, my littlest sister reminded me of something I did a few years ago. When I was still a bit of hellion, you understand, but it stands. A boyfriend of hers disrespected her . . . the details aren’t important. But it ended with my taking that boy, hauling him out into the middle of a lake, and throwing him overboard to swim a half mile back to shore. What my sister left out of the story, since she never knew, is that before throwing him overboard, I taught him a few lessons about disrespecting my family, and he left my family’s boat sans trunks. My last words to him were if he ever said anything to my sister other than apologizing, there’d be more serious consequences.”

Ross looks to me, grinning. “Don’t tell Courtney that, ’kay, honey?” I nod, surprised at the twist to the story I never knew. I remember the guy he’s talking about, Eric something or other. He was a total jerk who thought he was so bad. I was glad he’d prompted Abi’s little sister to grow out of her short-lived bad-boy phase.

Papa laughs, nodding as he takes a bite. “You are the one. I’ll be honest with you now, Violet. I never liked that Colin, anyway. He always struck me as someone who . . . thought his shit didn’t stink. Those are the ones who are always worse than an outhouse baked in the sun.”

Ross chuckles while Nana looks sufficiently outraged. “Stefano! Don’t cuss at my dinner table.” He raises an eyebrow at Nana and she purses her lips. “Well, fine, but don’t do it in English in front of our guest.” She lowers her voice, like it’s private between her and Papa, though we can all hear, and singsongs out of the side of her mouth. “You have to baby step him into the craziness of the family or he’ll run.”

“Pshaw, woman. I am who I am. You ain’t gonna change it now. Too late for an old dog like this to learn new tricks, and I ain’t got enough time left to even try,” Papa says jovially.

And that’s the brunt of it. All of this is because of his age and health, the impending doom of his passing that I can’t imagine weathering. I look to Nana and can see the cracks in her strong wall, and then to Mom, whose eyes are glittery. Sofia puts a hand over Nana’s, and I know that she’s thinking they’ll be back together soon. Just the two sisters, both widowed by the men they love with all their hearts.

Even more than WrestleMania.

Nana gets up. “Let me get dessert.”

“So, let’s talk about this wedding!” Nana says bravely as she and Mom come back in with bowls of gelato for everyone. “We’ve got everyone flying in. There are cousins Stefano and I haven’t seen in decades, and their kids, and maybe a few grandkids. I already had to talk to Father O’Flannigan at the church, and he assured me the sanctuary will be big enough.”

“We may just put his boast to the test,” Sofia boasts. “This will be a Russo family reunion that won’t be matched for a generation, at least. The perfect sendoff for Stefano!”

“My husband isn’t dead yet, vacca!”

“No, but you said you wished I was when I said I didn’t like your gnocchi,” Papa teases, making Nana turn pink with anger. The teasing bickering is comforting, the soundtrack of their lives together.