The old brick walls of Mama Marino’s restaurant were graced with black and white photos of generations of Marinos, along with antique cooking utensils. It was warm, inviting. Customers felt like they were stepping into an Italian home at the turn of the century. It was part of Mama Marino’s unique charm.
“This is lovely,” Maryruth stated, looking around as Igor helped her with her chair. “And it smells delicious. What is that?” She sniffed the air. “Lamb, I think?”
“Good nose,” Igor said with a smile before taking his own seat.
They weren’t seated for two minutes before a silent waiter arrived at their table and poured them a bottle of something red. When he disappeared into the kitchen, Maryruth leaned over and whispered, “Did you set that up in advance?”
Igor shook his head. “Mama will give you what she wants to give you. Best to go with it, pchelka.”
Maryruth shrugged and smiled, picking up the glass of wine and sniffing its contents. She took a tiny sip before setting it back down. “Mama has good taste.”
Mama Marino came out of the kitchen with the first course: plates of antipasti, meats, olives, cheese, and hot, steaming bread right from the oven. She plopped everything down onto the table with a great flourish. Then, she yanked Igor from his seat and embraced him. Next, she turned her laser-focused, brown gaze onto Maryruth.
“You,” Mama stated.
“Me,” Maryruth chimed.
“Stand. So I can hug you.”
Igor stifled a laugh as he watched Maryruth nearly disappear into Mama Marino’s ample chest. “Sit,” Mama Marino commanded. “Eat.”
“Thank you,” Maryruth murmured, looking dazed as she placed the white cloth napkin in her lap.
“You try the wine?”
Maryruth nodded. “Incredible.”
“From one of our vineyards. In Italy.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Someone wants to say hello.” She turned her head toward the kitchen and bellowed in Italian. A moment later, a man with dark brown curls came through the double door, wiping his hand on his white apron.
“Ori!” Igor shouted, jumping up and embracing the man.
“Igor,” the booming Italian greeted, slapping Igor on the back. Ori’s eyes darted to Maryruth. “You must be the wife.”
Maryruth stood up again, the napkin in her lap falling to the floor. “Maryruth. Nice to meet you.”
Ori clasped her hand and hauled her against him. She let out a surprised oof causing everyone, even Mama Marino, to laugh.
“Sit and eat,” Ori stated. He waited for Igor to sit before placing his hand on his shoulder, leaning in and whispering, “We’ll speak later?”
Igor glanced at Maryruth who was watching their exchange. He nodded.
“More food comes out in fifteen minutes,” Mama Marino warned.
“We’ll be ready,” Igor assured her.
The Marinos left them to eat. Igor picked up the serving spoon and held it out to her. She took it but didn’t make a move to serve herself. “What was that about?” she asked.
“What?”
“That moment with Ori?”
Igor hesitated a moment before replying. “He’s going to help me with some business.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Okay? You’re not going to demand specifics?”
“What good would that do?” she asked in honest curiosity.
Igor took her hand, skimmed his thumb over her knuckles. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”
She cocked her head to one side and grinned. “Isn’t that one of the pillars?”
“Pillars?”
“Of a solid marriage.”
He laughed. “We’ve been married three days.”
“We’re nailing it, this marriage thing,” she quipped. “Now eat your capicola before Mama Marino takes your head off.”
“You know what capicola is? I’m impressed.”
“Google.”
“Ah,” he said, dropping her hand.
As she served him and then herself, Igor’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. “Have to take this,” he said, rising from his chair and looking at the screen.
“I’ll be here. Trying to make a dent in all this food.”
He laughed as he stalked out of the restaurant. Rounding the corner into the alley, he answered his phone to speak to Vlad. It was a quick conversation. Everything was ready to go on his end. Igor would have the rest ironed out by the end of the evening—after he spoke with Ori. Igor went back inside, but before returning to Maryruth, he diverged and headed to the bathroom. When he was finished, he opened the door and nearly collided with Mama Marino who was waiting for him.
“Yes?” Igor asked with a slight smile. “Can I help you with something?”
Mama Marino stared up at him, her arms crossed over her chest. She was silent. He waited.
“Your wife…”
Igor raised an eyebrow.
“She’s keeping something from you.”
“How do you—”
“Because I raised three girls. I know when they’re hiding something. And that one”—she pointed in the direction of Maryruth— “is hiding something.”
She patted his cheek before disappearing back into the domain of her kitchen. Igor took a moment to compose himself and then went to the table. Maryruth looked up at him with the fork in her mouth.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He nodded, placing the napkin in his lap.
“Bad news?” she pressed.
“Everything is fine.”
A crease formed between Maryruth’s brows. “You’re acting funny.”
“Am I?” Igor reached for his glass of wine and then downed a hefty swallow.
“Yes. You were fine before the phone call. Therefore, it’s safe to conclude that the phone call is the reason for your change in attitude. And why you’re snapping at me.”
He trusted Mama Marino’s instincts. She’d been the sole maternal figure in his life after the death of his mother. Along with raising three daughters, she’d also raised three sons, all of whom were involved in the Italian family business. Why would she lie?
“Want to tell me something?” Igor purred.
“Tell you what?” Her voice was calm, but he saw the rapid flicker of her pulse at her neck.
“Maryruth,” he warned.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want me to tell you? Because you obviously think I have something to tell you,” she babbled. “And don’t take that tone with me.”
His jaw gaped. “What tone?”
“That tone that says you’re disappointed in me for something I did or didn’t do.”
“Did you do something?” His heart tightened. Had she betrayed him in some way? Was his world about to come crashing to the ground?
“Do something?” she repeated flatly. “I didn’t do it alone.”
He frowned in confusion. “Do what alone?”
She sighed. “Pregnant. I’m pregnant, Igor.”