Chapter Forty-One

After Todd’s departure, the Bayou Queen project moved ahead as well as any other Remy had supervised, which is to say they found new problems that had to be fixed, some sub-contractors fell behind and held up others from completing their work, fixtures didn’t arrive on time, etc. Still, with Julia’s amazing efficiency and contacts, he thought May instead of June for the opening.

In the Black Box, their experiment in living together went about the same. He and Julia had some small squabbles and jockeyed for drawer and closet space when she moved more of her things from New Orleans. They survived a formal Christmas Eve dinner in Mandeville with his family, then crossed the causeway and celebrated Christmas Day with hers. All of this stress was offset by amazing sex and the feeling of moving forward toward a completion that wasn’t purely physical.

Remy pondered when to make his next move and spent some time researching Italian wedding customs. Number One on the internet list: gain the permission of the bride’s father to seek her hand in marriage. That meant approaching Sal and Sammy with his honorable intentions one evening when Julia went to New Orleans to check on some other projects in the works for Regal Restorations. On a Saturday early in February when the first hints of spring color showed in a spurt of wildflowers along ditches and a pleasant warmth filled the air, he invited them over for a cookout on the deck. Once the uncles downed a few beers and mellowed some, Remy turned with the grill fork in his hand, the thick-cut steaks sizzling behind him, to say his carefully rehearsed words.

“I love and admire your niece, Julia, and would like to ask for permission to seek her hand in marriage.”

Sal squeezed his beer can so hard suds surged from the top. Sammy slapped the bare, hairy knee exposed by his Bermuda shorts. Remy held the grill fork in a defensive position, tines out—until both men burst out laughing until tears ran down their broad faces.

Once they caught their breath, Sal said, “Have you asked Jules yet?”

“No. I read up on your customs and thought I should speak to you first.”

That set off another round of chortles. Sammy wiped his eyes on the hem of his purple and gold T-shirt. “Our customs, that’s hilarious. This ain’t the Old Country. I sure hope your proposal is more romantic. If you want, I could coach you. I’m good with the ladies.”

Sal slurped some beer to clear his throat. “Better not tell Jules you asked us first, or she’ll move back into the motorhome again. We’ll have to hear over and over how her personal life is none of our business.”

“A little clarification needed. Do I have your consent?”

“Oh, hell yes. We seen this coming months ago. You’re kinda slow off the mark. If fighting NuNu for her life—which was pretty damn impressive—didn’t do it, nothing will. You shoulda asked her right after that, but Jules has a mind all her own. You not only got our permission. We wish you all the luck in the world. Pay attention to those steaks now. I like mine medium rare, not charred clear through. Wine, we should have wine to toast your upcoming nuptials,” Sal suggested.

“I have some upstairs. So, you think she’ll say yes.”

No gaffaws this time. “Can’t tell with Jules,” Sammy admitted.

“I’ve been concerned about her last words to Todd—about not falling love with your boss. Technically, I’m her boss right now.”

“Yeah, I almost felt sorry for that poor jerk. Todd had a real talent for plasterwork and threw it all away for a dame, even if Jules is the best. He cried on the way to the bus station. Anyhow, I wouldn’t wait, my friend. While you’re finishing this project another Todd with lots more sense could come along and make an offer.” Sal chugged the last of his dented can of beer and flattened it under his heel, not a gesture that gave Remy confidence.

Sammy—possibly the more sensitive of the two—stepped up with a plasterer’s hawk load of encouragement. “But her mama loves you. That helps. She’s staying over with her tonight. I know Katie will be filling her ears with your praises. You made an impression at Christmas.”

“Yeah, complimented her mom’s cooking and didn’t get drunk. Brought her that little present, the framed sketch of Julia you did, and helped with the dishes when you should have been sitting among the men watching sports and swilling wine. You’re a little wussy sometimes for my taste, but I ain’t marrying you.”

“Come on, Sal, give the guy a break. He held off a hunting knife with a trowel—a god-damned trowel—and killed the guy with it. Remy can cover my back in a bar fight any night.”

“I’d like to think I’m a twenty-first century kind of man, not a Neanderthal. Let me get that wine.” Remy flipped the steaks and turned the fork over to the other men who started debating which had the most Neanderthal blood.

Killing a man didn’t make him a hero, made him a little sick inside in fact, but he’d do it again to save Julia. Life without her seemed more and more impossible, but her answer to his proposal came with no guarantee. She hadn’t been in any rush to move into the Black Box. Could be she wanted out when the project came to an end.

Remy ran up the flight of stairs, retrieved the bottle of robust red, glasses, and one other item. By the time he returned, they’d decided Sammy had more caveman blood because who ever heard of a bald Neanderthal like Sal?

“Take a look at this while I plate the steaks.” Remy turned over his design for an engagement ring for their approval. “I think I was supposed to show you the ring first, but it’s taking a little longer than I figured.”

Sal and Sammy studied the sketch. “Hey, that’s an egg and dart pattern on the band with a rosette center.”

“Julia said that was her favorite type of cornice, the one she chose for the Queen’s rooms too. I plan to put a two-carat diamond in the rosette. A jeweler in New Orleans is working on it right now.”

“Nice,” said Sal.

“Thoughtful,” said Sammy. “When do you plan to give it to her? Valentine’s Day? It’s coming up fast.”

“Too obvious. Maybe the next weekend in a special spot.”

Sal raised his glass. “Here’s to your nozze.”

“My nose?” Remy fingered the small bump in his bridge that he’d had no time to fix.

“Italian for wedding.” The uncles tossed back their wine and smashed Remy’s glasses on the deck. “May you and Jules have as many happy years together as the number of these shards.”

“Lots and lots of shards there. Thank you, I guess. Don’t get up. I’ll fetch a broom. Enjoy your steaks.” Marrying into the Rossi family—obviously going to provide a world of new experiences.