by Hazel Parker
We chatted amiably and casually, but I could tell Nick had nerves that would have made him swing wildly at every single pitch against a high schooler. He was trembling, his words came out like a hot mess, and he kept looking at Izzy. If she didn’t know that he was about to propose to her, then she was either willfully ignorant or truly naive.
“All right, Ferrari family!” my grandmother said from the kitchen. “Come and get your food!”
None of us ever needed to hear such a phrase twice for us to move like mad bulls toward the dining room. We already had plates of pasta, spaghetti and meatballs, and chicken parmesan waiting for us. Although we now had a chef who made food for us, he incorporated a trick of my grandmother’s on the chicken parm; I wasn’t good enough with food to say what it was, but it felt like some sort of special cheese that added just the right kick.
And, of course, we had some Ferrari Wine to go with the meal.
Tonight, the siblings arranged themselves so that Nick and Izzy sat in the middle, while Layla sat on Izzy’s left, and I sat on Nick’s right. That, unfortunately, also meant Leo sat to my right, but aside from an awkward hand-hold during grace, we both just ignored each other and kept consuming our own food.
For the first half-hour of conversation, I contented myself with eating the food, drinking the wine, and making conversation with Nick about the baseball season. Apparently, the Giants were in first place, but they had lost six of their last nine games. You would never know it from Nick, though, who clearly had a time that he was going to propose, as evidenced by the frequency he checked his phone.
To my right, Leo just made the occasional small talk with our grandmother, but for the most part, he just stared straight ahead, his eyes not really looking at anything, wishing he could see something else. In my softer moments, I would admit that Leo got something of a raw deal; he had to live up to everything the three siblings ahead of him had done, from becoming a star athlete to becoming two very successful business people.
But that didn’t excuse him acting like an aloof jackass half the time.
Or maybe I need to not be a jackass to him. Maybe he’s just reflecting how I act to him. But I doubted it—I was not the only one Leo resented. Perhaps if Layla and I had switched spots, he’d be talking more tonight. But it really made no difference to me at all.
Right after the dessert came out, I heard the chime of the glass, the clinking of silverware against the stem of a wine glass. But it hadn’t come from Nick.
It had come from my grandfather.
“Allow me, please,” he said. “As always, it is a blessing to have everyone gathered under one roof. Though we may have our quarrels and our contentions, we must always appreciate that we, as a family, have remained one. And, of course, with a guest of honor tonight, Miss Izzy Saunders. And so, before we stuff ourselves with dessert, let us toast to the Ferrari bonds.”
“Here, here,” we all said.
Except I said my words with resigned heaviness, and Leo didn’t even say his at all.
Nick gulped his wine so fast that he had his glass down before anyone else had even finished their sip. He cleared his throat, and when he felt sure that he had all eyes on him, he rose from his chair. I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but I was feeling nervous on behalf of him. Someone in this generation of Ferraris was finally getting married—to someone that he actually loved.
“I would also like to make a toast, and a little bit more,” he said.
I tried not to make it obvious that I was looking at Izzy’s reaction, but something told me she knew on some level what was about to happen.
“It is indeed a blessing to have everyone under one roof,” he said. “But one thing that grandma and grandpa have always said is that our roof needs to be large enough to add more people to it. There will come a time when we, the youngest generation, need to make our own roofs and have our own people under it.”
Then he turned to Izzy, put on the most loving expression I’d ever seen my little brother wear, and put a hand on her shoulder. It was perfectly sweet.
“Several months ago, I met this woman and immediately thought that she might someday fit under my roof,” he said. “This metaphor might becoming a bit unwieldy, but my love and affection for her is not. If anything, it continues to grow strong day after day. I have no doubt that our foundation is built upon the strongest rock possible, and it is for this reason that I can now look at you, Izzy Saunders, and say that I know that I want to build a home with you. Not just for the next few years, but for forever.”
I heard gasps from around me. I smiled. Izzy’s eyes welled as Nick dropped to one knee and displayed a ring.
“Izzy Saunders, will you marry me?”
And then Izzy had a reaction that had us all laughing.
She laughed, cried, and said yes through her tears. We clapped as Nick kissed her. I looked over at Layla, who had tears in her eyes. I didn’t turn around, but even Leo was clapping. Slowly and softly but clapping nonetheless.
“Well, then!” my grandfather said. “This unexpected but utterly delightful news requires the finest dessert and the finest wine we have!”
And so out came chocolate cake, tiramisu, and the most expensive brand of wine that the Ferrari Winery produced. When we retired from the table to outside, everyone took turns congratulating Nick and Izzy on their moment. Izzy never dabbed her eyes; I was pretty sure she wanted the reminder of the moment to last forever. And who could blame her?
When it was my turn, I hugged both of them.
“Proud of you two,” I said sincerely.
But I could only be serious for so long. I turned to my brother and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Congratulations for being the first Ferrari grandchild to officially be off the hook with grandma and grandpa.”
Nick doubled over in laughter at that. Izzy looked at him with confusion. I shrugged.
“Our grandparents, if they had their way, would have had us married a decade ago each,” I said. “So, it’s for the best.”
“This is true,” Nick said. “But really, I’m just happy I found someone I love. I don’t care about money or making others happy as long as I got her.”
It may have been cliché, but it was absolutely believable with Nick.
“Well, congrats, brother,” I said.
I turned to get some more wine, but then Nick called me back, this time without Izzy. Seeing that grandpa was at the table of wine, I certainly wasn’t about to take the chance not to have a “when will this be you?” conversation.
“How are things on your end?” Nick said.
“Fine?”
“You know what I mean.”
I did. I absolutely did. It was impossible for me not to know what he meant.
“This is your day, brother,” I said. “And let’s keep it this way. I’ll tell you more tomorrow, but for now, let’s just enjoy the good news.”
Nick smiled.
“As long as the ball is rolling on your end.”
I nodded, he patted me on the back, and I went to get another glass of wine, this time without grandpa there. I pulled out my phone and checked to make sure I’d read Uncle Nick’s text from earlier in the day correctly.
Yes, the ball was rolling.
Yes, this would be me in six months.
But would I be as happy as brother Nick was now?
Chapter 10: Chelsea
Sunday Evening
I sat in a wooden, hand-me-down chair in my father’s apartment, waiting for him to finish the pasta that he had insisted on making on his own. In my left hand was a glass of Ferrari Malbec. My right hand was placed under my chin, watching him, waiting for him to discuss what would come in the days ahead.
Although everything up to this point had taken on the appearance and decor of a normal evening, neither of us pretended that it would be a normal evening. My father had not said much at all since the time that I had walked in, and I had found myself in my own head just as much as h
e did. I’d already had the odd feeling of having to say goodbye to the floor staff at Polozzi’s on Friday; tonight felt like saying goodbye to the normal life that I had now.
But, hey, I’d already made my choice, so it wasn’t like I was regretting it. More just present with the fact that there was a surreal feeling surrounding the whole deal.
My father finally finished the pasta, scooping it out into one of those bowls that looked more appropriate for a lion than a person. He put in the middle of our table, sat down, and said a quick prayer for the two of us. After we said, “Amen,” we both silently dug into the pasta.
I let this go on for about three bites before I decided I couldn’t bear the awkwardness anymore.
“Do you know anything else now?” I said. “About this whole arranged deal? I don’t even know where to go tomorrow.”
“Right, yes, I do, thanks for asking,” he said.
It was hard to gauge exactly how he felt. There was some sense of contentment in his voice, but it wasn’t there, like he felt he wasn’t supposed to feel that way.
“So tomorrow, you’ll have a limo come and pick you up at your apartment, and—”
“They know where I live?”
I realized it was a stupid question as soon as I asked it. I just hadn’t realized the full extent of what this endeavor would mean.
“Yes. They will pick you up around eight-thirty or so, I believe; you need to be at your new place at nine, so I would guess that they’ll grab you then. They’ll also drop you off after work, but I think after tomorrow, you’ll be on your own.”
Guess it won’t be limo rides all the time, I thought with bemusement. I was doing this so I could secure myself for the future, not so I could live in luxury all the time, though it was a nice perk.
“You’re expected to wear professional attire. The place you are going to work is customer facing of a high-end nature.”
“Like the furniture store?”
“Higher. Much higher.”
Intriguing.
“Remember that on the first day, you are only being hired to be an assistant. Not this man’s lover or wife, but just an office assistant. The place is apparently a family-owned business, much like Polozzi’s, so you can expect all eyes to be on you.”
“Do they all know what I’m coming in for?”
My father shrugged.
“These things tend to operate on a need-to-know basis, so if you want my honest guess, I would say probably not.”
How surreal that would be, to have my boss know about the plan and maybe a couple others, but for everyone else to wonder how I’d pan out as an employee. Did they even know that I was being brought in as a new employee?
“Obviously, you will need to balance between showcasing some chemistry with this man and professionalism, but, you know.”
“Yes, Dad, I know how to flirt.”
Boy, that could not have been a more awkward exchange between father and daughter if we were forced to watch an X-rated film together.
“Anyway,” my father said before I’d even finished my last words. “After about two weeks of...well, you know, the guy will invite you out to dinner. It will be known that you’ll be invited out to dinner, so you’ll have to play the part in public, but whatever happens…”
In private is between us. Yeah, I don’t need to hear my father saying that.
“Just, in those first two weeks, act professional and dignified. Like you think the guy’s attractive, but you’re having to restrain yourself in some fashion.”
That seemed simple enough. I’d had enough jobs in my life to know that it was somewhat natural for the first few weeks to have a certain novelty kick to them. As long as this new job didn’t take me to somewhere truly awful like a prison or rehab center, I could display a certain natural euphoria for the job and no one would be any the wiser.
The real question, as it had been since this deal was first proposed to me, was if I was about to hit the jackpot and land a hot, handsome young guy, or if I was getting dragged in by a man-child who still loved in his father’s mansion. I figured most likely, I was going to get something in the middle—perhaps a guy in his late thirties who had some redeeming qualities, but had obvious reasons for why he was single and having to have a secret arranged marriage.
“Once you two go out, you’ll start maintaining public appearances as partners. How real you want that to actually be will be up to you two. After six months, if people ask what the future is, you gush and say you can’t imagine that there’s anyone else you’d rather be with.”
Boy, the more I heard about what I had to do, the more I realized just how much work went into being an actress. Appearances had to be kept up, character had to be consistent, behavior had to evolve in a way that seemed organic...it wasn’t as easy as adopting an accent and moving on. Of course, I was getting paid for life to do this.
“And the rest, they’ll tell you later.”
I nodded. How simple he made that sound. If only “the rest” didn’t somehow encompass the next decade of my life, a little less if I was lucky. It wasn’t like “the rest” was a few weeks thereafter.
“And, I cannot say this enough, Chelsea, this cannot be discussed in any fashion with anyone,” he said. “I mean, anyone. Even the man you’re set to marry. Maybe he isn’t aware of what’s going on. I think he is, otherwise, why would you be allowed to have private and public personas, but the point is, you should assume that there are only three people in this world who know what’s going on. You, me, and the person who arranged this—someone whom you may meet, but you wouldn’t know they were the arranger. There can be no negotiating—”
“I get it, I don’t want to die,” I said with a chuckle, but my dad didn’t laugh.
I felt sort of bad for a second about it. My father sighed, stabbed some pasta with his fork, and twirled it to take a big bite.
I watched him do that and thought about all of the things he’d done for me in his life. Even though he had remained aloof and had always had his hands in the grubbier, seedier parts of society, I’d never doubted that he cared for me and loved me. His care just took on a different form than what most people would do.
“So I’m curious,” I said, figuring this might be the one night that I’d actually get to have a conversation like this. “When this guy first comes to you and says that he has a proposal to wed me off to his...son or nephew?”
My father shrugged. OK, then.
“When that offer came to the table, what was your reaction?”
My father sighed and looked down at the table for several moments. Now that I thought about it, it couldn’t have been easy. I couldn’t imagine any father ever getting an offer to sell his daughter off for marriage and have it feel good in their heart.
“I was disgusted by it when I first heard him say he wanted to make this coupling,” he said. “I said that you weren’t for sale, that you are going to be fine on your own, and that even if you weren’t, you deserved to have a say in who you loved and who you married. But, and perhaps this says something about me, when he threw the number fifteen million out there...I would have been stupid not to have listened.”
“I agree,” I said.
That seemed to put my father at ease some. I wasn’t going to agree yet that this was the right course of action, as only time would reveal the answer to that. But fifteen million? Only a privileged few would get a number like that and get to ignore it.
“So they give me the number, and all I can think about is a promise I made to myself after your mother died. I promised myself that I would do whatever it took, no matter the personal cost, to make sure that you had a good life, a safe life, and a peaceful life. I was assured many times over that this is a family that does not engage in secret, criminal activity, and that they are past the stage of being affiliated with more violent members of the world. Given that, and the number, I felt that I at least had to bring the offer to you.”
Even as he said this, even as I a
greed with his logic, I could see some part of him felt like a failure. It was like he believed if things had gotten to this point, then he must have not raised me right or sent me down a career path worth enough money or something like that.
“If you had cursed me out and told me I was an awful asshole for saying what I did, I wouldn’t have blamed you at all. I would have accepted it, told the guy who came to me to shove it, and moved on with our lives. But…”
“I had the same reaction you did,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Fifteen million dollars. I mean, wow. That’ll make a whole lot of people pay attention, huh?”
“It’s a rather unique offer, to say the least,” my father said.
The tension broke with a gentle laugh between us.
“I just wish your mother were here,” he said. “I still…”
He didn’t finish his words. Part of it was the emotion of remembering it, but part of it, I knew, was a still silly insistence on not revealing anything about my mother’s death to me. I knew she’d been murdered. What more needed to be said?
“I’m sure she would be happy that you’re doing this for me,” I said. “Although she might slap you first.”
“And I’d probably deserve it,” he said. “But, hey, I’d just tell her what I’ve told you. The people that came to me, I’ve known them for some time. They’re good people, or as good as you get for someone offering this type of proposal. We just have to hope that their future actions match their good nature to date.”
It was a mighty big hope. It was a mighty big gamble. But it sure seemed like it was worth the risk right now.
“I trust that you wouldn’t put me in an awkward or dangerous spot,” I said.
But my father, as much as he loved me and cared for me, did not exactly give me the most reassuring response I had hoped for.
“For my own peace of mind, that is the hope.”
* * *
When I went to bed, there was a feeling that I had done all that I could to prepare for this day. I was nervous, of course, but the nerves were settled in part by a feeling that there was nothing that I could really do to change things. I just had to accept them.