Frisk Me(36)

He let out a little laugh before wiggling his fingers. “Sweetheart, I’ll have you know that I’m the charming one of my family.”

She frowned. “Anthony was lovely.”

“I assure you. He’s not. Vincent’s worse, my sister’s a pain in the ass, my mom will probably ask to measure your hips and utter the word womb at some point during the evening, and my father was the New York Police Commissioner for twenty-seven years, which pretty much says it all.”

“And what are you?”

“Your savior for the evening.”

“Well all right then.” She slipped her hand in his, and the sensation of her fingers against his was oddly calming.

He ignored it, tugging her down the hall toward the kitchen, which had always been the heart of his parents’ household.

Luc meant to release Ava’s hand before entering the kitchen. No need to give anyone—especially Ava—the wrong impression.

But somehow his fingers didn’t release when he meant them to, and when they walked into the kitchen, the usual fighting, laughing, and yelling tapered off so there was only Nonna at the counter muttering about how her daughter-in-law “still couldn’t cut tomatoes for the life of her.”

Ava quickly tugged her hand away, but not before his entire family had seen exactly what was going on. It was times like this that being part of a family of cops sucked. They missed nothing.

And while his mother’s experience in law enforcement had been as a dispatcher, she was a mom. Her observation skills put her cop husband and sons to shame.

At least when it came to her flock.

“Bambino,” his mom said, giving him a beaming smile before holding her arms to the sides.

“Ma.” He moved toward her, kissing both cheeks.

“Bambino?” Ava asked.

“Baby,” Vincent translated from the corner of the room where he stood with his back leaned against the wall. His serious face as unreadable as ever as he studied the newcomer.

“Luca’s the youngest of the family,” Elena explained, moving toward Ava and swooping her into a hug.

“Oh!” Ava said in surprise before giving his sister an awkward pat on the back. Luc almost grinned at her discomfort. Ava apparently wasn’t a hugger, which Luc didn’t find all that surprising. For all her bright smiles and talk-to-me! expressions, the woman had a veritable force field around her.

“Yeah, we do that,” his mother said, explaining the hug, even as she followed up her daughter’s hug with one of her own. “We like to blame it on the Italian, but mostly we’re just pushy.”

“You guys, um, know me, right? Know what I’m doing here?” Ava said, shooting Luc a nervous glance.

He responded by going to the sideboard and pouring them both a liberal dose of wine. They were going to need it.

“That you’re showing the world just what kind of man my son is? Of course we know. We couldn’t be more thrilled.” This from Tony Moretti.

Luc closed his eyes briefly, jarring only slightly when a big hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Hi, Dad.”

“Son.”

His father’s fingers squeezed on his shoulders, and although Luc knew the gesture was fatherly…protective…it was also a warning. Not to say too much. Not in front of her.

Then his dad moved away from him, descending on Ava with a broad, genuine smile before he, too, kissed both of her cheeks.

Good God, was the woman blushing?

What was it with her and the Moretti men?

Was she enamored with all of them except him?

Luc hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was the charming one. Well, he and Marco.

But Marc was in another time zone, and his two Moretti brothers that were here had the gruff, growly kind of vibe that didn’t appeal to vivacious, straightforward women like Ava.

Unless he was wrong.

Too late, he realized that his mom was threatening her with a tour of the house and an invitation to come stay with them any time.

Jesus.

“Ma, how about some introductions before you start monogramming her a towel?”

He moved beside Ava to hand her the wine he’d poured. She accepted it with a murmured thanks, and the normal thing to do would have been to step back.

He stayed where he was.

“Ava, these women who ambushed you are my mother, Maria, and my sister Elena. The grump in the corner with the social skills of an eggplant is my brother Vincent. Then there’s my dad, Tony, his namesake, Anthony, whom you’ve already met.”

“Forgetting someone, bambino?”

“Just saving the best for last, Nonna. That old crone cutting tomatoes is my grandmother. Her name’s Teresa, but I’m pretty sure she’ll insist you call her—”

“Nonna,” his grandmother proclaimed, pointing the knife in Ava’s direction for emphasis. “And it was my idea to invite you. Remember that when you’re deciding who to give the most screen time to in your little TV special.”

“Wait, is you inviting me supposed to be a good thing?” Ava asked. “Because jury’s still out on all of this.”

Nonna snickered. “I like this one. She doesn’t smooch my butt like half the girls you bring round here.”

Ava lifted her eyebrows. “Other girls, hmm?”