When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(79)

Brooke smiled anyway as she sat back down.

Franny leaned over. “I don’t understand everything they’re saying either.”

“I bet you know more than me.”

Franny giggled. “Well, duh. I’ll teach you. I forgot. I have a test for you.”

“I have to study first. I’ve been super busy with work.”

She wagged a finger in Brooke’s direction with a smile.

They turned toward the silence to see that Sergio was walking away and Antonia had locked a stare on the both of them.

Franny nudged Brooke over. “You can sit with us.”

Antonia glanced toward Brooke.

Brooke made room for the other woman with a smile. “We’re doing homework.”

“Oh . . . what subject?”

Brooke wanted to respond with “Second grade.” But didn’t.

“Reading comprehension.”

Franny pushed her paper aside. “Why didn’t you come to the park today?”

Antonia lifted her chin. “I had to move out of the hotel.”

Brooke stared at Antonia as if to warn her about bringing Luca into that reason.

“I’ll be staying with Rosa.”

“Auntie Rosa?”

Antonia tilted her head to the side. “She’s not really your zia, is she?”

Brooke stopped her. “Sometimes family are the people that you choose and not the people that you’re born to. Rosa is a sister to Mari, and therefore an aunt to Franny—”

“Francesca,” Antonia corrected.

Brooke didn’t comment, kept a slight smile to her lips.

The knot in her belly was tight, but she knew she was getting her points across to the other woman without saying one unkind word.

“Antonia!”

They both looked up.

Instantly, the tension ended as Franny’s mom moved to her feet and hugged the woman who’d just walked up to the table.

The two spoke in Italian, obviously old friends.

Brooke was pretty sure she rolled her eyes.

Franny put her hand on Antonia’s arm.

“Mama?”

No response.

“Mama?”

The two women kept talking.

“Antonia?” Franny’s voice reached another level.

Brooke was pretty sure three tables around them heard her.

Antonia frowned. “Francesca. Don’t call me that. I’m your mother.”

Brooke patted Franny’s hand.

“Papa says it’s rude to speak in Italian when people around you don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Brooke glanced at the eight-year-old girl and was pretty sure she’d grown up in that very moment.

The woman with Antonia instantly apologized.

Brooke smiled and Antonia glared.

Luca stepped around the corner, two plates in his hands.

“Ciao, ladies,” he said, passing his ex-wife and her friend.

He set the plates on the table, leaned down, and kissed Brooke. “For my girls.”

“Is this lobster?” Franny asked.

“It is. To celebrate Brooke’s return.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Luca’s romance toolbox was pretty stacked.

“You’re sweet.”

He winked. “You okay?” he asked in a whisper.

She nodded.

Luca stood and turned toward Antonia. “Were we expecting you?”

“No, my darling. I thought I’d make it up to our daughter and visit since I couldn’t make it to the park today.”

He hesitated, glanced at Brooke.

She shook her head as if to tell him to ignore her comment.

Not in front of Franny. Alone, fine, he could correct Antonia on her “my darling” bullshit, but with Franny there . . . no. Let it go. The girl had enough to deal with right now.

“Eat while it’s hot, my loves.” He turned to Antonia. “Can I get you anything?”

She smiled. “Whatever they’re having is fine.”

Luca shook his head. “It’s not on the menu tonight. If I’d known you were coming, I could have made more. Perhaps the cannelloni we have on special tonight?”

The slight was smooth . . . and a direct hit.

And likely the truth.

Brooke felt herself falling for the man by the second.

“Oh, dear . . . you know I don’t care for all that cream and cheese. A salad is fine.”

He smiled. “Your choice.”

“Wonderful seeing you again, Antonia. Let’s have lunch soon,” her friend said.

“I’m so sorry . . . how rude of me.” Antonia made introductions, which Brooke promptly forgot.

The woman walked away, and Antonia sat back down.

Luca took a seat beside Brooke, nudged her arm. “Eat, cara.”

Without much more encouragement, Brooke took a bite and moaned. “Oh my God.”

“Papa is the best.” Franny scooped a whole ravioli into her mouth and talked around it.

“You’ll be just as good if you keep practicing,” Luca told his daughter.

Franny lit up. “You think so?”

“It’s in the family genes.”

“You’re teaching her to cook?” Antonia asked.