Cuff Me(86)

Tony dropped his Reuben. “Now see here, what my mother never understood was that I had to do things my own way, on my own timetable—”

Vincent set his glass down hard enough to rattle the table. “Exactly,” he said. “Which is why I’ll ask that my family let me and Jill do things our way, at our speed.”

The three of them stared at Vincent for a moment before exchanging a glance.

“Nah,” Luc said finally, reaching over and stealing a fry. “That would have flown, say, five years ago.”

“Bambino’s right,” his father said gruffly. “That woman is the best thing that ever happened to you. It’s time that you stop *footing around and—”

“Make an honest woman of her,” Anth said in a rather impressive imitation of their father.

Tony jerked an elbow at Anth, unperturbed by the subtle mockery. “Yeah. That.”

“I’m trying,” Vincent said quietly. “You think I’m not f*cking trying? I bought her flowers. I set out candles. I cooked.”

“Damn,” Luc said, looking impressed. “And she’s still pissed at you?”

Vin pushed his plate away, mostly untouched. “She didn’t know.”

“What do you mean she didn’t know?”

“She just… she came over wanting to go out, muttered something about not wanting Chinese food—”

“You cooked Chinese food?” Luc interrupted.

“No! Steaks. But she didn’t know that, and—”

“What about the flowers?” Anth asked, puzzled. “She didn’t put the pieces together?”

“Well, I don’t know that she even saw the flowers.”

“Okay, this is bullshit,” his father said with a shake of his head. “Total bullshit.”

Vin lifted his eyebrows at his dad’s input. “Perhaps. But I didn’t go about it the right way, so maybe she’s right to be pissed. But then she got all… girly.”

“Oh, dear God. You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

Vincent ran a hand over his face, feeling tired. “No, but she started rambling about how I have caution tape around my heart, and would I ever love her, and how she wants marriage.”

Luc whistled. “Our Jill doesn’t pull her punches.”

“But she’s got a point,” Tony said. “It’s been what, five, six years?”

“It’s been three weeks!” Vincent said, slamming his palm on the table.

Anth squinted and made a face. “Eh. It’s been more like six years.”

“Jesus,” Vin said, putting his elbows on the table and dropping his face into his hands. “What is it you’d have me do? Hire an opera singer to serenade her? Hold a boombox over my head outside her window? Set up a scavenger hunt that leads to all her favorite kinds of tacos just to show I care?”

“Wait. She has multiple favorite kinds of tacos?” Luc asked. “That’s either hot, or weird, I can’t decide.”

“I don’t think Jill cares so much about what you do,” Anth said quietly. “I think she cares about how you feel.”

Vincent lifted his head. “I’ve never been good at that stuff.”

“Nobody is,” his father said gruffly.

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” Tony interrupted. “You think that because you’re quiet and a loner, that because you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve, and that because you sometimes overthink things to death—”

“I’m next in the naming Vin’s flaws game,” Luc whispered to Anth.

Tony ignored his youngest son and pressed on. “You think that because you’re hyper-rational and prefer facts to fancy and data to whimsy that you’re not capable of love. That you don’t deserve it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Vin saw his brothers exchange a glance, but Vincent never looked away from his father, torn between wanting to argue and desperately, desperately wanting to believe what his father was saying.

“Dude, is that what this is all about?” Anth asked, his voice kinder than Vincent was accustomed to. “You think that just because you don’t show feelings that you don’t have them?”

“This conversation is ridiculous.” His voice was gruff. He started to push out of the booth, but Luc grabbed his forearm.

“Stay.”

Luc had abruptly shifted from Luc, charming younger brother, to Luc, badass cop, and Vincent found himself doing exactly as he was told.

Vin swallowed, oddly nervous. “I guess I’ve always just figured that something was missing. That some part of me was dead. Or was never alive, or something.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” his father asked.

“I don’t know how to connect with people. People don’t… I don’t know how to make people like me.”

What Vin really meant was that he didn’t know how to make people love him. It was an uncomfortably vulnerable moment, and judging from the way his father and brothers looked away for a moment, as though to give privacy, he suspected they knew what he meant.

Luc cleared his throat. “So just to be clear… you don’t think you can love Jill, because you don’t think she’ll ever love you?”