let me slide into the booth first, then took a seat beside me so we were facing his mom. âI ordered a bottle of red wine,â he said to me.
âJust one?â I joked, slipping off my jacket. âAfter the day Iâve had, I could handle one all by myself.â
Francescaâs smile stiffened. Marco lifted his eyebrows to signal that Iâd made a gaff.
âJust kidding,â I said. âOne glass will be enough. Actually, not even one. Maybe half. A small halfâmore like a third.â
âTell me about your terrible day,â Francesca said, reaching across the table to put her hand over mine, probably to make me stop babbling.
I ran through the list in my head and came up with only one item I felt comfortable telling her. So I recounted my tale of the tabby cat and left it at that. She seemed disappointed.
âA minor problem,â she said, sitting back.
âYou wouldnât want to take the cat back to Ohio with you, would you?â I asked hopefully.
She gave me a classic Italian shrug. âI canât make any decisions until I know for certain whether Iâm staying in Indiana.â
A horrible feeling rocked the pit of my stomach. âStaying? Here?â
âI keep asking myself why I should remain in Ohio,â she said, gesturing with her hands. âMy other children are scattered all over the country. But hereââshe reached across to pinch Marcoâs cheek, but he dodged herââI have Marco, Raphael, Gina, and my grandbabies. And you, bella. Then there are your wedding events to plan. That will take a lot of work. And soon after your wedding, maybe more grandbabies for me, eh?â
I locked my jaw so my mouth wouldnât fall open.
âMa,â Marco said firmly, âweâre not here to discuss babies.â
I knew he was irritated with her because he hadnât called her Mama , as he usually did.
Gert, the waitress whoâd been at Down the Hatch since it had opened, put a bottle of Cabernet in front of us and got out her corkscrew. I took the opportunity to whisper to Marco, âI really think weâre going to need more than one bottle.â
âA toast to your future.â Francesca raised her wineglass, and we clinked rims. Then she got up, went over to the bar area, and came back with two plates of manicotti with sides of garlic bread, both of which Francesca had made especially for us.
âNow you can nourish your bodies while we discuss business.â This time she managed to pinch Marcoâs cheek. âOnly the freshest ingredients for my bambinos. Bella, do you have the magazines I sent you?â
The ten bridal magazines sheâd mailed me last winter that had piled up in my closet until I threw them out? I scratched my forehead. âUm.â
âDonât worry. I have backups.â
While I tasted her manicotti, which had to be the most delicious Iâd ever eaten, Francesca pulled a large file folder from her oversized purse and opened it up. Inside was a stack of pages sheâd clipped from bridal magazines. She slid them toward me.
âThese are the wedding gowns that would work best with your figure. I phoned the bridal salon and all of the gowns can be ordered in plenty of time to make any necessary alterations. We can make an appointment to have a look at the ones they have in stock, eh?â
As she pulled out a spiral-bound notebook, I gave Marco a pleading look. This was exactly what I didnât want to happen. Weâd agreed to keep our wedding simple and sweet, and that included my dress, flowers, bridal shower, honeymoon, and all the other elements associated with getting married.
Marco gave me a look that said, Humor her.
I gave him a look back that said, Okay, as long as weâre on the same page about this.
He gave me a nod.
Francesca opened the notebook to a page marked Shower #1 , and uncapped her pen. âFirst we work on the Italian
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