Skye

 

The next night is the first weekend day, Marco, Luca, myself, and Gio all have off together, which means a big family lunch at our parents’ house.

Our sister Valentina is a cosmetologist who opened her own day spa six months ago, so her schedule may not be as crazy as the rest of ours is, but she’s still a busy beaver.

As has always been the way at home, I let myself in, walking straight into Dad’s sanctuary at the front of the house.

I find the man in question ensconced in his leather recliner chair, the room dark, the flat-screen TV on the wall blaring out an English Premier League game—his sport of choice.

“Hey Papa,” I say, bending down and kissing his cheek. He doesn’t tear his eyes from the screen, but he reaches up and holds me close.

“Hey, baby girl. Five minutes and I promise you’ll have my undivided attention.”

I laugh softly. “It’s okay. I’ll go find Mama. It looks like I’m the first one here.”

“You are.”

“Good. Means I can steal some food before everyone else.”

“There’s my girl,” he says with a hearty chuckle.

“Always will be.”

“Until the right man turns your head and proves himself worthy of you.”

I grin. “Hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it won’t.”

Now he does look up at me. “Any man would be a fool not to snap you up. I saw your mother across the tracks at a train station in Florence and knew I had to have her.”

“Five kids later, you’ve definitely achieved that,” I say with a smirk.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Always the cheeky one.”

“Wonder where I get that from.”

He holds his hands up. “Definitely not me. Now go snack; I’ll be there soon.”

I leave the room and go in search of Mama, finding her in the kitchen, stirring a big pot on the stove. My stomach growls as the smell of her famous meat sauce fills the air.

“Hey Mama,” I say as I put my purse down on the counter. After moving toward her, I kiss her cheek.

She wipes her hands on the apron around her waist and envelops me in a huge hug. “Skye,” she says warmly, a huge smile transforming her face. It turns into a small frown as her gaze roams my features. “You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Mama.”

“Then you must not be drinking enough water. You look worn out.”

“I’m okay. I promise,” I say, crossing my heart. “Would you like some help?”

“Such a good girl. Everything’s under control, but there’s an antipasti platter in the refrigerator. Why don’t you pull it out and take a seat while I pour us a glass of wine? Then you can tell me about your week before everyone arrives.”

I fetch the large food-covered plate and a bottle of Chardonnay and move back to the counter. “Or you let me take care of our drinks, and you can catch me up on all the neighborhood gossip.”

Mama studies me. “You wouldn’t be hiding something juicy from me, would you?”

I shake my head. What is it about mothers being able to read their daughters like a book? Or maybe it’s just mine. “I swear, if I had time to actually have a life, I’d share all the scandalous details you could handle. But I work, sleep, and work. That’s the extent of it right now.”

“I worry about you.”

I grin. “I’m good, Mama. I promise.”

“You need to have some fun.”

“I have fun.”

“You need a man,” she says.

I laugh. “I need a man for some things and not for others. I’m happy. I’m fulfilled. I’m far too busy, but if the right one comes along, then I’ll make sure he’s worth turning my head for.”

She locks eyes with mine. “Okay, you may not need one, but what if there’s a man out there who needs you?”

I stare back at her, shaken, but I don’t dare show it. That would just encourage her. Sometimes mothers have this uncanny way of saying things you need to hear without knowing it.

She walks over to stand across the counter from me, ensnaring me with that mom look that demands you listen to the wisdom she’s about to impart. “I get the need to work hard and establish yourself. I love that you want to do that. You’ve made us so proud with everything you’ve achieved in life, but soon—not now, but soon—you’ll reach a point when you will want more than just work and sleep and fun.” Her gaze softens. “Just remember to keep your eyes clear and your heart open while you do it, okay?”

Thankfully, Valentina chooses that moment to enter the kitchen, followed by all three of my brothers.

Saved by the siblings.

It’s after we’ve all finished eating when it really gets interesting—as all Rossi family gatherings seem to do.

“Did Cohen move in already?” Mama asks, and one by one, the heads of all three brothers snap to attention.

“Hang on. Mama knows? Was this, like, the worst-kept secret?” Marco asks. Luca grumbles under his breath about keeping hands to themselves, and poor Gio, who misses out on most of the firehouse gossip, just looks lost. “Wait. Cohen’s moving in?” He turns to Marco and Luca. “You guys let this happen?”

I roll my eyes, lifting my glass and taking a long, slow sip to quell my need to say something.

Val does it for me. “The bonus is you can catch an easy ride now.”

I spit out whatever is left in my mouth, Luca becoming the unfortunate recipient of an unexpected wine shower.

“Shit! I’m… so… sorr—” I say as Val snickers beside me, and as hard as I try not to, I burst into a fit of giggles at the wide-eyed look of horror on Luca’s face. Marco’s deep chuckle soon follows, along with Gio’s and our dad’s. Mama jumps out of her seat and attempts to pat Luca’s face, which he’s too polite to stop. Instead, he just scowls at me.

“Do we need to give Cook another talking to?” Gio asks, lifting a brow at Marco.

“It’s been a year. He’s behaved himself since our last chat.”

Wait, there’s been more than one ‘Don’t touch our sister’ talk?

Marco isn’t finished. “But now he’s underneath her…”

My mind goes straight to the gutter, and Val and I lose it all over again.

I pull myself together, Val continuing to stifle a giggle here and there. There’s something still bugging me though.

“Wait. You had a talk with him as well?” I say, pointing my finger at the cop. The fine, upstanding citizen who isn’t supposed to be going around giving the hard word to anyone.

Gio leans back, crossing his arms over his puffed-up chest and looking rather proud of himself.

“Yep. Just ’cause I don’t work there doesn’t mean I don’t have my own eyes and ears in the fire department. I know exactly what Cohen Cook has been like in the past. Sailors have a different girl in every port. Casanova Cook had one in every hospital.”

That’s not news to me, but Gio’s judgment of it is. I throw my head back and burst out laughing. When I settle down, I find Dad frowning, the three musketeers—aka my brothers—with varied expressions of amused confusion. Mama and Val both frown.

“Boys…” Papa says, his eyes narrowed at all three of them. “While your intentions were good, your execution was poor. You may express your concerns to your sister, but you shouldn’t put down a man’s life decisions when the man himself is not here to defend himself.”

My sister—as is her way—just tells it as it is. “Or you guys could just mind your business and let Skye do whatever she wants with whoever she wants, whether that be Cohen, a doctor, a cop, a fire—”

“A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker.” I snigger, fighting and failing to hold back a snort. My mom’s lips twitch, and Val loses it completely.

“What is it with Rossi women?” Luca asks, chuckling.

My father’s eyes are glued to his wife, a soft and totally goofy lovesick smile on his lips.

“Okay, so since we’re over the slut-shaming of my best friend and now landlord, hit me with your Cohen questions so, once and for all, you boys can stop grunting and growling and pitching a fit whenever you think Cass is getting too close to me.”

Papa shoots me a sneaky wink. The one thing our parents instilled in all of us is to stand our ground and be true to ourselves. I may be the baby of the family, and equal last in the height stakes, but I can go toe to toe with all of them.

”Okay then, when did this happen?” Gio asks, obviously happy to get in first.

“The Friday before last. We had a meeting with the contractors, the architect, and two of his brothers the Monday after he moved in. I was even able to help with the apartment layout. They started demo work on the middle flat this week.”

“And it’s hasn’t been too disruptive? You can always crash at mine during the day if you need to get away from the noise,” Val says. “You’ve got a key. Just come and go as you please.”

I lean sideways and give her a one-armed hug. “Aww, see? You do love me.”

“Yeah, sometimes. But it comes with a condition,” she adds, piquing much curiosity.

“Okay…”

“Come with me to the next singles’ night at Throb.”

Well, that’s easy. “Okay,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll be your wing-woman.”

“You mean, make sure I don’t go for the immature jerks like I normally do?”

Luca snorts. “Why do you think we keep you away from Scotty?”

“Ha ha, good one,” Marco says, holding his hand up for a high five.

Val—God, I love her—meets my eyes, mischief dancing in hers as she dons an innocent expression. “Wait, wasn’t that guy you set me up with called Scotty?” she asks.

The dining room goes so quiet, I swear you could hear a mouse fart.

Then Val breaks. “Ha! Gotcha!”

“Yeah, yeah, can we get back to Casanova living with our baby sister?” Gio asks.

“Okay, he’s living in my building. Well, technically, his and his brothers’ building.”

“The house-flipping one?” Dad asks.

“Yep. So Jamie heard me say my building was being sold. They did whatever house-flippers do when they’re looking for new projects, and the next thing I knew, they’d bought it. That old smelly dude from flat two decided to bail, so they’re starting there, then I’ll move into the finished one and they’ll do my apartment, and then Co and I will play musical places and I’ll go back to my new place and he’ll move so they can do the ground-floor one.”

“Okay, I’m confused,” Val says.

I giggle. “Just smile and nod, and drink wine, then I’ll drive you home after.”

“Now that I can do,” she says with a smile, topping up her glass and doing as she’s told.

Mama starts clearing away the dishes from the table. I stand and begin doing the same. “I’ll help with the washing up.”

“I’d love you to, sweet girl,” she says, cupping my cheek with her spare hand as she moves past.

Once we’ve cleared the table, Dad, Val, and the brothers go outside to look at Val’s dodgy alternator, leaving the two of us in the kitchen.

“How’s work going?” Mama asks.

“It’s good,” I reply, before launching into the story about Jenny and Forrest.

My mother laughs. “We did always tell you kids it was important to love your job.”

“Exactly. Gio gets to help people, Val makes them feel good about themselves, and Marco and Luca get to save kittens from trees,” I say with a giggle.

“And you? You work so hard—I just want to know you’re happy.” I don’t miss her unasked question.

“I am,” I say softly, feeling the love. “I’ll eventually do my paramedic training, but for now, I’m happy working at the firehouse and partnering with Co. Life is good—I promise.”

“And you and him?”

My head jerks back, my Spidey senses tingling. “Huh?” I ask, hoping to divert the new path of this conversation. “We’re friends, Mama. Best friends.”

“Some of the best relationships start that way.”

“He’s Co, and I’m me, and we’re just not like that.”

“Maybe him living in the building is a chance to see if you can be like that?”

I love my mom, but damn, she’s got to stop getting her hopes up. “I promise, Mama, on Nonna’s grave, rest her soul, there isn’t anything other than friendship vibes there.”

She sighs and shakes her head, muttering under her breath in Italian, but I swear I hear the word clueless.

“At least bring that boy home for dinner one night. I can whip up a carbonara in twenty minutes. Just give me a call, and I’ll win him over with my food.”

What I say in my head is, “I want to bang him, not marry him.” What I say out loud is, “I love you,” as I wrap my arms around her waist and cuddle her from behind.

“I’m not going to give up yet. Mothers know these things.”

It’s not like I’m about to tell her that Cohen and I are friends, and that’s all we will ever be, except hopefully we’ll graduate to friends who also get naked and share orgasms, so I go for the safe route. “Not this time, Mama,” I say, hoping she’ll take the hint.

“Okay. What about that Scotty guy then?”

I offer a prayer to the ceiling for the first time in years.

Lord, save me from my mother’s matchmaking, and I promise I’ll go to church sometime in the next decade. Much appreciated, Skye Rossi.