The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(194)

“I thought Benny was puttin’ in a new kitchen for you,” she noted.

“He is,” I confirmed.

“And why aren’t you helpin’ him?”

I looked down at my awesome jeans, my fabulous top, my stylish cardie, and my magnificent high-heeled boots, then I looked at her.

“Do I look like a woman who lays tile?”

“He should have help,” she informed me.

“Manny’s gonna come over when he does the cupboards and stuff,” I informed her.

“He’s doin’ something for you, Francesca.”

“Yes, and it’s my job to look amazing to remind him why, thus…” I swept a hand down my front and let that speak the rest for me.

She rolled her eyes.

“Are you gonna let us in?” I asked.

“I suppose,” she muttered irritably and stepped aside, but did this still muttering. “You get any of that grape soda on my furniture, you’re payin’ for the cleaning.”

“I’ll be careful, Mrs. Zambino,” I said as we moved in.

We got settled in her living room. I let Gus off his leash and he went directly to Mrs. Zambino’s feet and laid on them.

She said not one word about this, mostly because she might call him “the mongrel,” but she adored him. I knew this because she came over in the mornings and demanded he go on her power walks with her.

She did this saying, “Someone has to keep that mongrel in shape,” even though she knew Benny and/or I took him on at least three walks a day.

Instead of saying something about Gus, she pierced me with her gaze. “I see Benny hasn’t put a ring on your finger.”

“Not yet.”

“He should see to that. Livin’ together without God’s sanction. Now that Manny has finally made an honest woman of his Sela, Theresa’s lightin’ candle after candle in hopes of savin’ your souls.”

I grinned at her because of her totally-didn’t-mean-it surly words and at the reminder of Manny and Sela’s awesome wedding.

I did this before I suggested, “Why don’t you do me a favor and tell him to get on that?”

She looked to her knees, murmuring, “I don’t want to disturb his work in your kitchen.”

This meant she was happy giving me shit, but she wasn’t about to give the same to Benny Bianchi. I figured this was not because she was afraid of Benny. She wasn’t afraid of anything. This was because she didn’t want to do anything that might make him stop fixing stuff around her house when it broke, which didn’t happen frequently, but her house was old so it happened regularly.

“Mrs. Zambino,” I called, and she looked back at me. I crossed my legs and held her eyes as I said straight out, “You were right.”

“I’m always right,” she returned, and I grinned again. “But what in particular was I right about this time?”

“Love is never wrong.”

She studied me, but I could swear her eyes got soft.

“I’m lucky,” I said quietly. “Havin’ an old woman across the street who’ll give me wisdom.”

She looked toward her TV.

“Mrs. Zambino,” I called again, and she looked to me. “It took a while, but you started it, so you gotta know: I look in the mirror now and see what you see.”

Yes. Definitely. Her eyes were soft.

“Frankie,” she whispered.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” I asked.

She pressed her lips together.

“Pure beauty,” I said softly.

That was when I saw her eyes get bright a second before I saw her chin lift and heard her mouth say, “If you think you can get into my will by bein’ sweet to me, forget it. I got enough girls fightin’ over my jewelry and handbags. I’ll pick a piece for you to get when I die and you’ll like it.”

“Of course I will, you have great taste,” I told her.

“I know I do,” she returned.

That was when I burst out laughing.

* * * * *

The instant the waiter left our table, I grabbed my Champagne glass, glued my eyes to Benny across from me, put my glass to my lips, and belted it back.

All of it.

Benny burst out laughing.

We were at Giuseppe’s. I was wearing a phenomenal dress I knew was phenomenal because we were late for our reservation, seeing as Benny banged me against the wall about a nanosecond after he saw me in it.

We were there to celebrate our new kitchen, which was a bit crazy, seeing as I didn’t want to be in a restaurant. I’d had enough of restaurants and takeaway and microwave meals the last month Benny spent working on the kitchen.

What I wanted was to use my fabulous new stove and stare into my scarily expensive, new stainless-steel fridge until it started beeping (then close the door, open it, and stare into the cavernous space again).

But Benny wanted to celebrate at Giuseppe’s.

And Giuseppe’s was Giuseppe’s.

So who was I to say no?

Ben reached to the Champagne bottle and started to refill my glass, saying, “Glad we had a good week at the restaurant so I don’t have to take out a loan to pay our check tonight.”

Every week was a good week at Vinnie and Benny’s Pizzeria.