“There’s no shame in emotion, Vince.” Pop’s voice was gentle. “We’re passionate people. That means we yell a lot, we get mad, we say things, but we also love with that same . . . fierceness. It’s something to be proud of.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my jaw. “I just hope I can convince Amanda of that. After we got back to my house, she yelled at me, too, and then she left. She doesn’t want to talk to me. Not yet.”
“She’ll get over it.” Ma smiled. “That girl is gone over you, Vince. She loves you. I knew you two would end up together from the first time I saw you at Ava’s engagement party. You’re meant to be.”
My mouth dropped open. “You did?”
My mother gave me her classic shrug. “Of course, I did. I’m your mother. I see things. I know things. Trust me. It’s going to work out.”
“I hope so.” I thrust my hands into my pockets. “And what about us? Are we going to work out?”
Pop braced his feet against the porch. “Well, we need to talk about the business, son. We don’t want to lose you at the restaurant, but if you decide it would work out better for you to live in the city and accept that offer, we’ll figure it out. But know this: just because you leave the restaurant doesn’t mean you leave the family. You’re still one of us. One of ours. Got it?”
I nodded. “I’d like to talk to you about that. I might have an idea that would work for all of us.” I paused and then added, “Assuming Amanda agrees. If she’ll speak to me again.”
Ma laughed. “I told you. Trust me.”
For four days, I pretended that Vincent DiMartino didn’t exist.
It wasn’t easy. First of all, he texted me all the time. He didn’t complain when I didn’t answer, but he kept on texting—just a sentence here and there, telling me that he’d talked to his parents, that he couldn’t wait to see me when I was ready . . . and that he loved me. He always closed with those words.
I love you, Amanda.
It was a hell of a good way to end. How could I argue with that?
But I was angry. He’d hurt me, both by not telling me about the interview he’d had and by the way he’d spoken to me when we fought. His words . . . they had hurt, too, but even as he’d spit them out, I’d known that he hadn’t meant what he was saying. He’d been upset by the fight with his parents, and so he’d lashed out at the person closest to him—which happened to be me.
I didn’t like it, but I understood. Still, I didn’t answer his texts, not so much because I wanted to punish him, but because I knew if I did, he’d want to come see me, and I had to get through these last days of exams.
If his persistence wasn’t bad enough, Ava and Liam were pestering me, too. Liam had called on Sunday night to check on me, and I’d answered, just to assure him that I’d made it back home safely and wasn’t drinking myself to oblivion.
“I know the DiMartinos can be a lot to take in at first.” Liam sighed. “They’re the opposite of how you and I were raised. They’re loud, they say whatever they want, and they’re not afraid to express feelings.”
“That’s for sure,” I laughed a little. “I never felt like I was a repressed person, but maybe I am. I don’t let it all hang out like they do.”
“Their way isn’t better, necessarily. It’s just different. But I’ll tell you one thing. When they accept you as one of them, you’re part of the family. Ava’s parents, her siblings—they’re mine now, too. I love them, and they act like they love me. So just keep that in mind, okay? You and Vince are great together. I’d hate to see you lose each other over a misunderstanding like that.”
I knew Liam was right, but I didn’t have the mental energy to unpack that just yet. “I’ll think about it after finals. I promise.”
He chuckled. “Understood. Good luck, Amanda. You don’t need it, but—good luck anyway.”
My last exam ended at four on Thursday afternoon. As I walked into my apartment building afterward, I felt as though I was slogging through water. Exhaustion was about to take me under, and I only wanted my bed. For about forty-eight hours, at least.
“All done, Ms. Simmons?” Rocky greeted me as I dragged myself toward the elevator. “That’s got to be a great feeling. Congratulations!”
I managed a smile. “Thanks, Rocky. Right now, the only way I feel is numb. I can’t believe it’s finally over. Law school, I mean.”
He winked at me. “You’ve been working hard, and I bet you’re worn out. I think once you go upstairs, you’ll feel much better.”
“Yeah, probably.” I paused, frowning at him. “What’s up with you today, Rocky? You look . . . I don’t know. Like you’re about to burst.”
He shook his head, his grin stretching even further across his face. “Nah. Just happy to be alive, I guess. It’s a beautiful spring day, am I right? We should all be happy.”
“Um, sure. I guess.” I hit the elevator button. “See you later, Rocky.”
The elevator hummed as it carried me up to my level. Hitching my bag over my shoulder, I trudged to my door and dug into my pocket for my keys.
A strange and yet enticing aroma wafted through the corridor. It was an alluring mix of sugar and lemon, and my mouth began to water. I wondered which of my neighbors was baking, and if whoever it was might considering sharing whatever it was they’d made with an exhausted law school almost-graduate.
The minute I unlocked my door and stepped into my apartment, though, anything else I’d been thinking flew out of my head. The light was on in the kitchen, which was unusual, and the drapes that covered the windows on the far side of the living room had been pulled open. I knew for a fact that I’d left them drawn that morning, because I’d thought about how much Vincent loved the view, and I’d remembered the way he’d stood there the first night we’d been together.
Someone was in my apartment. I didn’t know who or how—the security in my building was insanely good—but someone was in here. A shiver ran up my spine.
“Don’t freak out.”
I whirled to my left, my heart racing and my fingers gripping my keys a little tighter, as though I could use them to defend myself.
Vincent stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a tea towel over his shoulder, leaning on the arched wall. His eyes were on me, watchful and cautious. For a moment, I drank him in: from the long legs encased in snug, faded denim, to the light blue T-shirt that hugged his biceps and torso, to the sensuous lips that parted slightly under my gaze. A blast of longing shot through me before I remembered that I was still mad at him.
“Does that ever work for you?” I dropped my bag on the bench just inside my front door. “The whole don’t freak out thing? When you break into other people’s apartments?” I kicked off my shoes and padded over to stand by the sofa, giving myself a little bit of distance as my heart slowed to a more reasonable rate.
“I didn’t break in.” He smirked at me, cocking one eyebrow. “My girlfriend gave me a key.”
“Oh, your girlfriend, huh?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I thought you never wanted a fucking girlfriend.” Those words still stung. Even though I’d known when he said them that he was upset about the fight with his parents and lashing out at me, deep down, I’d worried that what he’d said contained some kernel of truth.
He sighed. “Babe, I’m sorry. I’m really and truly, a hundred percent, down-on-my-knees begging-for-your-forgiveness sorry. I was spouting off on Sunday, and I said lots of things I didn’t mean to lots of people. But what I said to you is what I most regret.”
“You really hurt me.” I spoke quietly. I’d had time to think over these past days, and I’d considered Vincent and me—what was between us—from every possible angle. “I didn’t like that. At first, I was mad at myself for giving you the power to do that. Whether you know it or not, Vincent, you have the ability to break my heart. I’ve never let anyone else so close to me. I’ve never taken that chance. And then I realized making myself vulnerable and trusting the other person—that’s a key element in a real relati
onship. It’s scary as shit. I don’t want to do it.” I swallowed. “But you make me want to believe it can work, even if we hit some bumps.”
Vincent pushed off the wall and stepped closer, standing in front of me. He reached toward me and touched my cheek with one finger. “You make me want to do everything I swore I never would. I said the other day that I never wanted a girlfriend, and I wasn’t lying. I didn’t, for a long time. But I want you. I want you now, and I’m going to keep wanting you, forever. You’re the exception to all my rules.”
Closing my eyes, I leaned into his hand. “We still have things to figure out. I don’t want you to think you have to change where you live or what you do for me. If you’d asked me about the interview at the hotel, I’d have told you that I’m not sure I want to work in the city. I’ve been thinking for a long time that maybe it’s not where I want to practice. You don’t have to give up everything for me. I know you think we come from different worlds—”
He touched my lips with his, silencing me. “I don’t care about how different our worlds are. That’s bullshit. I don’t want to be part of your world or make you part of mine. I want to live in our own world, one that makes us both happy. I don’t know what that looks like, exactly, but it’s what I want.”
Happiness and relief filled me, making my knees weak. “Okay. I can live with that. But please tell me that our world includes lots of whatever it is you’re making in my kitchen.”
Vincent laughed. “Hold on a second. Stay right here.” Kissing me once more, fast and hard, he disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later with a plate in his hands.
“I told you once that I don’t do romance. I don’t bring flowers or write poetry or play your favorite songs. But that’s not really true. This is my romance.” He held the plate toward me, and I saw it was covered in small white cookies. They smelled like heaven.
“This is my love language. I brought you these. They’re Italian love knots, and I made them just for you.” Lifting one, he held it to my lips. “I love you, Amanda.”
I opened my lips, my eyes drifting closed as he slid the sweetness into my mouth. It was soft, lemony and perfect.
“Mmmmm.” I moaned my enjoyment. “This may be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
His hand closed around the back of my neck. “I think I might be able to change your mind on that.”
“Oh, really?” I ran my tongue over my lips in an exaggerated motion, giving him the come-hither eyes. “I don’t know. My boyfriend might not like that. He’s kind of possessive.”
“You’re right.” Vincent wrapped his arms around me, pressing my body to his. “Your boyfriend wants all your kisses. All your moans. He doesn’t want to share any of it. Ever.”
“My boyfriend sounds pretty possessive. He’s not one of those crazy types, is he?”
He laughed softly. “Crazy, yes, but only for you.” He lowered his lips to mine, his kiss filled with the promise of forever.
“Vincent.” I murmured his name against his lips several minutes later. “Did you work things out with your parents? With your family?”
He smiled, touching a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Yep. We talked it all through. We agreed that while I don’t want to quit Cucina Felice, maybe I need to diversify a little. Have something that’s more mine.”
“Really?” I tilted my head. “That sounds intriguing.”
“I called Danielle Romano, and I made a counter-offer. I’m going to supply the pastries and breads they want for the hotel under the new branch of Cucina Felice—the pastries division. It’ll give me the opportunity to try a few different things—and it’s going to be something I run myself. But at the same time, I’ll still be baking at the restaurant. Pop’s happy about it, and so is Carl. I’ll pull fewer dinner shifts in the kitchen, but I’ll still come in to help on busy nights.”
“That’s wonderful.” I played with the hair at the back of his neck. “Does that mean we’ll be able to see each more often?”
He shrugged, his eyes steady on me. “I told Pop I want to take the summer to get everything up and running with the Romanos. Since you have to be here to take the bar, I thought maybe . . . you might be willing to take on a roommate for the summer.”
“Ooooh, I don’t know.” I pretended to look doubtful. “My standards are pretty high. I’m very demanding.”
“I’d cook for you. And I’d pick up your shoes. And I’d lay you out on that sofa right there, the one where I made you come for the first time, and I’d go down on you. Every. Single. Night.”
“I think you’ve got yourself a deal.” I smiled up at him. “Of course, I’d probably need some kind of sample of your work first. Just to make sure you’re, uh, up to the task.”
Swiftly and without warning, Vincent bent and scooped me into his arms, carrying me to the sofa. Laying me down, he reached for the buttons on my jeans. But before he stripped them off my body, he paused, looking up at me.
“The first time I did this, it was only supposed to be for one night. It was only supposed to be a hook-up. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”
I reached down to feather my fingers through his hair. “I remember.”
“This time . . . now . . . it’s more. So much more. I don’t want just a single night or a single weekend with you. I want it all. And I want it forever.”
My breath caught as his fingers began to move down my legs.
“Forever is a good place to start.”
THE END
If you enjoyed Amanda and Vincent’s story, check out the rest of the Perfect Dish Romances right here!
Italian Love Knots
5 cups of unbleached flour
5 teaspoons of baking powder
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1.5 cups of cooled melted butter
1 cup of milk
Pinch of salt
Zest of 1 lemon for cookie
1 ounce of lemon extract
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar together until fluffy.
Add eggs one at a time, and then the extract and zest.
In a smaller bowl, combine the flour, salt and baking powder, then slowly add to the creamed mixture alternately with the milk.
When everything is incorporated, let the dough rest for 5 minutes, or wrap and chill overnight.
Place cookies on a parchment-lined baking sheet.
To form the knots, use a cookie scoop to keep the size uniform. Scoop the dough and roll it into a log about 5 or 6 inches. Take one side of the log and form a circle, then tuck the other end down.
Bake for 12 to 15 minutes.
Cool on racks.
Traditional Lemon Icing
1.5 cups of powdered sugar
Zest of 1 lemon
1/2 teaspoon of lemon extract
Enough lemon juice to attain the right consistency
Mix together and taste for correct lemony flavor.
Babas
1 teaspoon active-dry yeast
1 tablespoon milk
2 1/4cups bread white flour
¼ cup sugar
6 medium sized eggs, beaten
½ cup butter, room temperature
Pinch of salt
For the syrup:
1 cup white sugar
Peel of 1 lemon or orange
9 ounces of limoncello
3 cups water
Mix the fresh yeast with the milk and 2 tablespoons of the flour until it forms a small ball of dough. Leave in a bowl, covered in plastic wrap in a warm place, for about 30 minutes or until doubled in size.
Place the rest of the flour in a mixer with the ball of dough and while mixing, add the sugar and the beaten eggs. Continue mixing 15-20 minutes or until the dough begins pulling away from the sides of the bowl and is very elastic.
Add the salt and the butter, cut into small cubes, one piece at a time, mixing well after each addition. Remove from the mixer, cov
er the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough rise for three hours in a warm place.
During this rise, make the syrup by placing the lemon rinds in a saucepan with the water and sugar. Bring to a boil. When the sugar has dissolved, take the pan off the heat.
Add the limoncello (don’t cook after this or the alcohol will evaporate).
Set aside, covered, and allow the mixture to infuse until needed.
Prepare the molds by greasing and flouring them well. For traditional babà, use individual molds just over 2 inches in height and 2 inches in diameter on top, tapered towards the bottom.
When the dough has risen, shape into medium balls and place in the molds (they should fill the molds by about a third).
Leave to rest in a warm place until the dough forms a dome and rises to the top of the molds.
Bake at 350°F for about 30 minutes or until the babà has developed a deep golden-brown color. Let cool.
Heat the limoncello syrup until it is warm. Remove the heat and submerge the babà in the syrup, turning until soaked through.
Pull them out with tongs and squeeze the excess syrup out gently. Place on a rack over a baking sheet to catch drips.
Cassata
Butter to grease pan
1 cup plus 2 tbsp. flour, sifted, plus more for pan
2⁄3 cup plus 3⁄4 cup sugar
1 tsp. orange zest
6 eggs
1 cup shelled almonds
3 cups confectioners sugar
1 egg white, lightly beaten
2 tbsp. rum
1 lb. ricotta
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1⁄2 tsp. ground cinnamon
Just Roll With It (Perfect Dish Romances Book 4) Page 22