“Are you ready?” Matt takes my hand.
“You look very handsome.”
My rugged mountain man blushes. “You’re stunning.” He bends down and kisses me, pulling away way too soon for my liking. I can’t get enough of his drugging kisses anymore. “So, are you ready?”
I nod. “We’ll make him see reason.” We. Not I. It’s him and me against the world now—or in this case, against my grandfather. We. The babies. And the Ice Tigers. We’ll be unstoppable.
“I love you.” He kisses my hand.
“Did you just say that through unclenched teeth?”
“You know I did.” Even if he hadn’t said he words, his moss-green eyes shine with the love he feels for me.
“I love you.” I caress his cheek. “Let’s get this over with. I can’t wait to have you to myself again.”
He chuckles. “Insatiable, aren’t we?”
Easy for him to say, since he hasn’t had to deal with raging pregnancy hormones and no satisfying outlet for the past several months. But now is not the time to think about sex again.
“Let’s go.” I take his hand in mine and lead the way to the car.
During the car ride, he keeps stroking my hand with his thumb while I go over my little speech again. After all the improvisation in the previous months, tonight I’m prepared for the most important business meeting of my life. Failure is not an option.
When the familiar front façade of Il Sole appears in the window, I take a calming breath. This is it. Game seven in the playoffs. I can’t afford to lose tonight. And I won’t. I’m sure—okay, 99.9 percent sure. The sneaky 0.1 percent keeps creeping into my thoughts. What if he doesn’t see reason? What if he’s already sold the team? I ditched most of his calls over the last week, not wanting him to invade the bliss Matt and I were floating in. But now I wish I hadn’t.
Him being here is a bad sign. Why bother coming here other than being the bearer of bad news? For me. And for the team. It would be just like him to rub my failure in my face.
I hate how he never involves me in his decisions. How am I supposed to make the right decisions when I don’t know what’s going on half the time? Anger boils up inside me. He’s pushed me around long enough. But I’m not the timid girl who left Italy in September. And I’m not alone anymore.
“Emy, could you please let go of my hand? My blood flow is kind of restricted.” Matt’s voice comes out of nowhere.
My eyes dart to our hands. Sure enough, his knuckles are paperwhite, and my hand flies to my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ve got this.” He brushes my hair behind my ear while our eyes meet. I nod and wait for him to open the door for me.
“Emilia.” A baritone I’d recognize anywhere sounds from behind us the moment my feet touch the pavement.
“Grandfather.” I turn around. And there he stands, staring at me. Proud and tall. Oozing confidence and arrogance out of every pore. A patriarch through and through.
I take Matt’s hand and close the short distance. “Matt, please meet my grandfather, Eduardo Ravelli. Grandfather, this is Matt Walker.”
“Signore Ravelli. Nice to meet you.” Matt nods, while my grandfather looks him up and down with a hard expression on his face. A deafening silence surrounds us while my grandfather inspects my husband.
Could he at least have extended his hand for Matt to shake? I’m fuming inside. It’s one thing that he’s rude to me, but another to treat my husband with disrespect. Who does he think he is?
I’m about to tell my grandfather exactly what I think of his behavior when Matt pushes me to the entrance. “Let’s go inside.”
Breathe, Emilia. Breathe. I repeat the words like a mantra in my head. An outburst at the very beginning of this evening will get me nowhere. I’ve got this. I must.
Giovanni outdoes himself as a host again, clearly impressed to have the head of the Ravelli family as a guest. Once we’re seated in one of the private rooms and have received our drinks, I clear my throat, but before I can begin my little speech, my grandfather startles me.
“You look exactly like her. You always resembled her, but now it’s like looking in her face.” His expression is pained.
I swallow. “I might look like Mamma, but I’m not her.”
“No, you aren’t. I had hoped—”
“I’m my own person. And I won’t apologize for being me.” Matt puts his hand on my thigh, but I ignore it. I’ve waited way too long to stand up for myself and what matters to me. The only person responsible for my happiness is me.
He sighs. “Emilia—”
I stare right into his steel-gray eyes. “No, it’s my turn to speak now. You always wanted me to take responsibility. Well, I’m taking it now. I want you to sign over the Ice Tigers. The team is part of my inheritance, isn’t it? I might not have the talent to manage a high-fashion company, but I can manage a hockey team. Successfully.” Please, let him have not sold the team already. Please.
My grandfather looks at me for a long time. Then he nods. “You might be a Ravelli after all.” He pauses and looks right into my very soul. “I sign over the team under two conditions. You’ll be in Rome for the quarterly meetings, and once I’m gone, you take over as CEO.”
I want to pump my fist in the air, but the negotiation isn’t over. “I’ll be at the quarterly meetings, but you should install Gianluca as CEO. He deserves it, and I don’t want the job. I’ll be involved on some level, and I want to build the RAVELLIS brand in North America, but I want to stay with my husband, and his life is here in Boston.”
I hold my grandfather’s gaze. For the first time, it feels like I have the upper hand.
“You’re a Ravelli—”
“I’m a Ravelli-Walker.” I take Matt’s hand in mine and set them on the table as I meet his eyes. He smiles at me and squeezes my hand, passing over his strength.
My grandfather looks at our hands. “You never found your place in Rome, did you?”
I shake my head. “It isn’t my world.”
He sighs. “And managing a hockey team is?”
“Yes. I’m part of the team here.”
He sighs again. “I needed you to be strong, Emilia. What if something had happened to me? I….”
“I miss them too.” I reach over the table and take his hand in mine.
He nods but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I understand.
The loss of Nonna, Mamma, and Papà has shaped us both—in different ways. While he chose to harden himself against the world and forget love ever existed, I kept searching for happiness and found it when I most needed it. Maybe my nonna had a hand in guiding me to her favorite spot on the hotel rooftop on that very evening. Who knows? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that neither Matt nor I gave up on our love.
Without love, we wouldn’t be sitting right here shaping our future the way we want it to be. Without love, I’d have never found my inner strength. And without love, I’d have never experienced the miracle of having a family of my own.
“What’s your second condition?” I ask into the silence.
“Your children will carry the Ravelli name. And no double name.” His voice booms through the room.
Matt’s voice reaches a similar volume as he answers before I have time to say anything. “As you wish, Signore Ravelli.”
While my grandfather nods, I lay my hand on Matt’s thigh and caress it. I’m beyond grateful to call him my man. Our eyes meet. I mouth, Thank you, and he squeezes my hand underneath the table. Then I turn back to my grandfather.
“So be it. Maybe from now on, you’ll treat my work with the respect it deserves. RAVELLIS was our most successful launch in years, wasn’t it? I think I can top the figures with a clothing line for children. An affordable one. I’d be willing to work with Gianluca on a worldwide launch.”
His jaw hardens. “I’ll think about it.” Then he turns to Matt. “Now, while we have to wait for our food. Tell me the rules of this hockey game, Matthew.”
Matt doesn’t seem to realize that my grandfather commanded rather than asked him to explain hockey, and if he does, one wouldn’t know.
“Gladly, sir, but only if you call me Matt from now on.”
My grandfather wouldn’t dignify such a request with an answer, but Matt ignores him being rude. And that’s why we spend the rest of the evening talking about the sport that has brought us together. All of us.
Chapter 23
Emilia
“I believe in you.” I kiss Matt goodbye and wait for him to walk through the door to the locker room. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes tonight. Of all the teams we could play, we’re playing New York—the team that didn’t want him anymore last season. The team that didn’t think him good enough. Thank God Coach Benning and Rob saw his true potential as a first line forward.
My hands shake as I waddle back to the elevator to make my way to the owner’s box. Being eight-months pregnant with twins isn’t a joke. I move around like a penguin, and my favorite item of clothing has become Matt’s jersey. Thank God for oversized hockey gear that fits my belly—and supports my husband. I love two-in-one solutions.
As always, there will be visitors to greet and business partners to woo. I’m still surprised how many business deals I’ve brought on while watching a hockey game. RAVELLIS sales have improved over the past two months with vendors showing increasing interest in the brand, and we’re moving forward with the children’s clothes. The first samples have arrived, and I’m thrilled.
The designers have outdone themselves with the cutest patterns and boldest colors. Kidrelli couldn’t be farther away from the classic Ravelli designs. We’re preparing for the future with this new brand and have hired a young team for this purpose only. They’re fun to work with, and thanks to modern technology, I conduct video calls with Rome from my favorite couch all the time now. Our signature prints will feature all kinds of baby animals with big eyes playing with each other—my favorite being the little white tigers with the bluest eyes that play on icy rocks. Or maybe it is the green and yellow dinosaurs chasing each other underneath trees. Or the puppies racing after big bones. It’s safe to say I love them all. And I hope my little ones will too. I can’t wait to put their little arms and legs into matching sets and push them around in a stroller.
Before I can push the button for the elevator, the doors open and out steps my grandfather. He only arrived here yesterday and, as always, hasn’t informed me why he’s come to Boston.
To our utmost surprise, he has visited us twice in the past few months. He won’t be able to be here for the Cup finals, but he watches the games in Italy, even the ones that take place at nighttime in Europe. He supports us—in his unique way.
I wouldn’t go so far as to call our relationship an easy one, but he’s more respectful and wants to see his great-grandkids on a regular basis once they are born. And he doesn’t interfere with the Ice Tigers anymore. Technically, he can’t, since the team is officially mine now, but a piece of paper is just that for Eduardo Ravelli.
“Emilia, I have something to say to the team.”
Hello, to you too. Some things never change, do they? Did I just say he doesn’t interfere with my hockey team anymore? Boy, was I wrong.
I swallow. “I’m not sure Coach Benning—” He stares me down, and I feel like a child again. One simply doesn’t say no to Eduardo Ravelli. He is a born leader, after all. He might say the right things.
Like a marionette pulled by invisible strings, I follow my grandfather into the Ice Tigers’ locker room and wait for what’s to come. I’m still not over the fact that, in the locker room, grown men can look like schoolboys, anxiously listening to whatever their coach has to say to them and eagerly nodding to everything he demands of them. I might never be fully able to understand the concept, but I’m definitely fascinated. Or irritated.
I’ve spent twenty-six years witnessing what my grandfather’s presence does to people, but seeing over twenty grown men jump up on their skates and stand stock-still when the door falls shut behind me takes things to a new level for sure. One could hear a needle drop in the silence it takes Eduardo Ravelli to inspect my hockey team.
“Signore Ravelli, how nice of you to grace us with your presence.” Matt stumbles forward on his skates. I want to kiss him senseless for remembering my grandfather’s favorite line to greet me and for having the courage to greet the man himself that way. Even if my grandfather was irritated by my husband’s words, he’d never show it. He’s a true master of keeping up appearance after all, and “Matthew,” as he still calls Matt, has somehow earned his respect.
“Matthew, thank you for welcoming me.”
Tyler coughs audibly. And Smithy’s eyes bulge before he too coughs. No one here would call Matt “Matthew.” That’s a given.
My grandfather ignores the coughing concert and continues his speech. “With leading a big company comes pressure. Some people crumble under pressure. Some people need it like air. Some are not affected by it at all. No matter what effect pressure has on you, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t deal with it. Tonight is an important game for you. But a long way lies behind you. How many young men dream about playing hockey for a living? How many make it to the very top? You’ve made it. Tonight is just another step on the way to your ultimate goal. Take it with care. Be prepared to stumble. Be prepared to face worthy opponents. But you’ve made it this far. Why shouldn’t you be able to take another step? A lot of people would wish you luck. I won’t. You don’t need it.” He nods and walks out of the room, leaving behind frozen hockey players.
Tyler meets my gaze and blinks twice in slow motion. “Is…” He clears his throat. Twice. “Is he always like that?”
I nod twice. “You’ll get used to it.” After twenty years or so. “Now, just go play hockey. See you.”
I waddle-sprint out of the room and drop against the next wall, doubling over with laughter. I’ll never forget Tyler’s look of sheer irritation, but it wasn’t a bad speech. Thinking about it, he might have strung the right cords.
I place my hand over my belly. Three periods to find out.
“Emilia, for the love of God, will you sit still for a second?” My grandfather gives me his signature stern look.
Under normal circumstances, I’d adhere to his wishes, but I don’t even spare him a glance. We’re one win away from making the finals. One stupid period. And one stupid win. And we’re in the lead. How could we not after the speech he gave the team in the locker room?
I wipe away a sheen of sweat from my forehead. Since I’ve arrived in my last trimester, I’m hot all the time now, but tonight it isn’t the twins who make me feel flushed.
The boys deserve to achieve their goal more than anything, and I wish the clock would run down faster. We’re in the lead, but I’ve learned my hockey lessons. Don’t take anything for granted until there’s a big fat zero on the clock. At least that’s what Coach Benning always tells the guys.
As far as hockey rules go, I’m still a beginner. Even my grandfather knows more advanced strategy stuff. He frequently calls Matt to ask him about rules and referee decisions, and Matt, being the pro he is, answers with all the patience in the world, insisting that the little ones should have a relationship with their grandfather after they are born, especially since his own father still refuses to talk to Matt.
My due date can’t come soon enough for my taste. I could do without having to visit the bathroom a million times a day.
Speaking of which, four minutes and twenty-three seconds are still on the clock, and I need to pee. Like thigh-clenching need to pee. But if I leave now, I might miss game-changing moments.
While I face my peeing dilemma, Matt plays like a tiger unleashed, hungry for goals rather than for meat, circling his opponents like he’s the only player able to move in a game of chess.
I shift in my seat, willing the remaining time on the clock to vanish while my grandfather gives me one of his signature stares.
I jump up and waddle-sprint to the bathroom. Once I plop on the seat, snapping like a fish for air, I pull my phone out of my purse, dial Lily’s number, and take care of business while I wait for her to pick up.
“Do you need an ambulance?” Her voice sounds different on the phone. Everyone’s does. Why am I even thinking that right now?
“No, I needed to pee, and you have to keep me up to date.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I pull up my skirt with one hand and send the toilet door flying against the wall when I open it.
“I don’t want to listen to… you know,” she whispers through the phone. Poor Lily. She doesn’t know how to say no, even when she wants to.
“Already done. Now tell me what’s going on out on the ice.” I wash and dry my hands in record time, balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear.
“Not much. I can’t believe you made me do this.”
“That’s what friends are for.” My singing voice isn’t great in general, but when I’m waddle-running to the owner’s box, it must be pure torture. Lily does the only sane thing to protect her ears and hangs up on me.
I waddle on and plop down on my seat again, meeting Lily’s eyes for a split second over my grandfather’s head, to which she shakes her head.
I take my attention back to the ice. One minute twelve seconds remain. Come on, boys, you can do this. I repeat it like a mantra in my head, willing Matt, Tyler, and Smithy to shoot another goal or at least to keep the puck far away from ours.
But New York is a tricky team to play. They manage the unthinkable when they put the puck in the net with only ten seconds on the clock. I’m not sure whether I want to scream and smash the wine glasses around us against the wall or bury my head in my hands and cry. How am I going to survive overtime?
I watch Matt skate from the ice. His face is a mask—a mask of concentration and determination. He can do it. I believe in him and his abilities. On and off the ice.
Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2) Page 25