The Other Man (Rose Gold Book 1)

by Nicole French

  “She’s been sober for two.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  “She’s trying.”

  “I’ve heard that too.”

  “Mattie, please consider seeing her. The others won’t until you do.”

  I stared at the counter, weighing her words. Lea and I had had this conversation countless times before, and it wasn’t fair. My sisters were grown women. They could make their own decisions. It wasn’t my fault that the other four followed my lead when it came to our mother. And honestly? If they did? Maybe that was for the best.

  “Listen.” I turned. “You were ten when Mom left. Maybe you don’t remember how many times she and Dad jumped on the wagon just to fall right off again.”

  “I remember,” Lea started, but I had more to say.

  “Or maybe you don’t remember the way she and Dad used to go at each other like cats and dogs, then come at me when one of them finally ran out. Maybe you don’t remember how fuckin’ hungry you girls were all the time when she and Dad forgot to make us dinner.”

  “Mattie—”

  “I remember, Lee. Because until we moved in here, I was the one who had to clean up after them. I was the one who took the beatings when she and Dad were too pissed to think straight. I was the one who went hungry and begged the grocers for Joni’s formula. And to be totally honest, I think forgetting that does a disservice to the only real parents we’ve ever had, one of whom is sitting at the table right over there!”

  “Come on, Daddy was Nonna’s son! She never wanted us to forget him! And she never told us not to forgive Mom.”

  “Well, maybe I just don’t have the grace that you do.” I tossed the salad tongs back into the bowl with a clatter. “Fuck!”

  “Zio…”

  Sofia’s sleepy yowl broke through the argument. On the other side of the counter, the chatter around the table had quieted, and Kate had slipped away to give us privacy while we talked. I caught Nina peering at me, worry etched across her smooth forehead, and forced myself to smile until she turned back.

  “Mattie, she’s better,” Lea said quietly once people started talking again. “You think none of us remember when Daddy died, but honestly, we all do. Even Joni and Marie.”

  I turned. “They were babies. Not even one and two.”

  “They remember in their hearts.”

  I stared at the leftover food long enough that Lea relaxed next to me. Out of all of us, she was the most stubborn. Having three boys will do that to you, I guess. Frankie wouldn’t have stopped arguing until she chased me out of the house. But Lea just waited me out.

  I sighed. “I’m glad you and Mom are connecting if it makes you happy.”

  “It does. It really does, Mattie. And I think you—”

  “But if it were me,” I cut in gently, “I wouldn’t let my kids within a square mile of her.” I shook my head and turned. “Nonna! Do we have any limoncello?”

  At the end of the table, Nonna nodded with a raised hand. “Sì, sì.”

  I grabbed the bottle of the sweet homemade liqueur out of the freezer. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go help Nina escape the paparazzi over there, now.” I picked up Joni’s plate. “Think about what I said. For the little one, eh?”

  Lea sighed. “Fine. But you think too.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  I returned to the table and shoved Joni to the next chair over so I could be next to Nina while I poured the limoncello into the small digestivo glasses Nonna had brought out. My baby sister gave me a dirty look, but promptly started shoving pasta and ricotta into her mouth.

  “Mmmmm, Nonna, it’s so good!” she cheered.

  Nonna just smiled and nudged Joni’s cheek, muttering something in Italian that sounded roughly like “beautiful baby devil.” Well, if the shoe fits.

  “It was delicious, Signora Zola,” Nina complimented my grandmother again. “And I haven’t had limoncello this good since I was in Italy.”

  I smirked. Clearly she had been taking notes. Every time she said something about Nonna’s food, she got extra points.

  “Grazie,” replied Nonna with a broad smile. “Ti darò la ricetta.”

  Nina looked at me. “What did she say she’ll give me? My vocabulary’s a little rusty.”

  Frankie’s eyes had grown very large. “She said she’ll give you the recipe.”

  Joni looked up. “What? Nonna, you won’t even give me your limoncello recipe, and I live here!”

  “Nina helped clean up,” Nonna returned. “When you do that too, you can have it.”

  “Ha!” Marie cackled, only to receive another dirty look from Joni.

  Nonna turned back to Nina and touched her cheek, lapsing again into Italian, as she often did after a few glasses of wine. “Guarda questo bel viso. Sembra proprio Grace Kelly, no?”

  Everyone at the table immediately examined Nina more thoroughly.

  I chuckled, but nodded. “Yeah, I see it, Nonna.”

  Nina blinked curiously. “I couldn’t catch everything. What was that?”

  I smiled. “She said you look like Grace Kelly, doll.”

  When the word dropped from my mouth, a lightning-quick silence swept over the room. I stared at the table, hoping everyone had missed it. Maybe no one noticed. It was that fast.

  But when I looked up, it was clear that everyone had. So instead, I focused on Nina.

  “She’s right, you know,” I said, shooting for casual but failing miserably. “You do.”

  Nina just looked around, unsure why all the attention in the room was suddenly on us. “That name sounds familiar. You mentioned her before, I think. But who is Grace Kelly?”

  “What?” I almost dropped my glass.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Frankie remarked.

  “Done what?” Nina asked.

  “Mattie has a thing for old ladies,” Lea chirped.

  “Shut up, Le,” I snapped. “Grace Kelly is not old.” I turned back to Nina. “She’s timeless.”

  “Well, technically, she’s dead.”

  “I said shut up!”

  “Zio…”

  “Here, this should cover me for a while.” I threw a crumpled five down the table in the direction of Frankie, who happily stuffed the bill into her dress pocket, then rocked Sofia back to sleep.

  “Look,” she said. “Here are some pictures.”

  We all turned back to Frankie, who was holding up her phone so we could see the collage of pictures provided by the internet.

  “Oh!” Nina said as she accepted the phone. “Yes, of course. I recognize her now.” She pointed at one of Grace Kelly at her wedding to the Prince of Monaco. “Did you know that Kate Middleton based her wedding dress on this one? Everyone wanted her to do it like Diana’s, but this is much more classic, I think. Mine was a little bit like it too.”

  I took a long drink of water, ignoring the way my chest ached a little at the idea of Nina in a wedding dress. A wedding that wasn’t mine.

  “Nonna’s right. You do look like her,” Kate said. “Oh my God, Mattie, look at this, they’re practically identical here! What movie is this?”

  “High Society,” Nina read off the screen. “What’s that one about?”

  “Isn’t that the remake of The Philadelphia Story? But as a musical?” Marie wondered as she examined her drink.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Love quadrangle. She’s about to get married, but her ex-husband comes back to get her. Plus there’s the guy she’s supposed to marry, and another suitor too.”

  “So she ends up with her husband again?” Nina didn’t sound very impressed.

  I shrugged. “That’s the era for you. Marriage conquered all, don’t you know?”

  Nina just gave a tiny snort.

  “What about that one?” She pointed at another movie picture. “The Swan. I like the poster.”

  “That’s her last film,” Frankie offered. “I only know because it’s Nonna’s favorite. Isn’t it, Nonna?”

  Nonna smiled. “Yes,
yes. I love this movie.” She sighed dreamily and sipped her liqueur.

  Nina clicked on the film’s streaming page. “She’s a princess?”

  “Well, she becomes one. She took the safe road there too,” I said. “Had a brief affair, but went back to the boring prince she was supposed to marry. Sort of like her real life, I guess.”

  “Oh,” Nina closed the window and passed the phone back to Frankie. “Are there any where she doesn’t end up with the safe choice?”

  “Well, there’s To Catch a Thief.” I smirked. “She hooks up with a cat burglar there. But everyone has seen that movie.”

  Nina shook her head. “Not me.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Frankie murmured.

  “Come on, doll.”

  With a screech of a chair, I stood and grabbed Nina’s hand. Again, that slight shock flew through our fingers. I wasn’t exactly used to it by now. More like addicted. But I had other things on my mind than trying to fight it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as I towed her away from the table, ignoring the way three of my sisters’ mouths had dropped at the familiar nickname.

  “To give you an education,” I said. “And get out of this damn henhouse.”

  “And into the Bermuda Triangle!” Frankie called, breaking the second awkward silence as everyone started to laugh. “Otherwise known as Mattie’s DVD collection.”

  “Hush, Fran,” I retorted. “We’re just going to my place to watch a little Hitchcock. You’ll love To Catch a Thief. I promise.”

  “Your place?”

  Nina stopped short and pulled her hand back. Behind her, Frankie’s eyebrows practically touched the ceiling. Lea’s too. Everyone else just watched curiously.

  I knew exactly what she was worried about. And maybe if I’d stopped for half a second, I’d have been worried about it too.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching out to touch Nina’s arm. Innocent. Always so innocent. “It’s just a movie. No funny business, I promise.”

  Nina touched my hand. “All…all right.”

  Ten minutes later, we had said our goodbyes, even to the boys who were passed out in front of an old Star Wars VHS in Nonna’s room. We were outside waiting for an Uber when the door opened once more.

  “Mattie.”

  I turned around at the sound of Frankie’s voice. “Hold on,” I told Nina. “I’ll be right back.”

  Frankie was waiting for me at the door, watching Nina warily.

  “What is it, Fran?”

  “What are you doing?” Frankie asked, as direct as always.

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Mattie. You called her ‘doll.’ Just like…you know.”

  Yeah, I wasn’t getting anything past her. “No one noticed.”

  “Everyone noticed.”

  I shrugged. What did she want me to say?

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Frankie tried again. “I know you love Grace Kelly and everything, but bringing her back to our place…this late at night… Do you want me and Sofia to come with you? We don’t have to go to Mass tomorrow.”

  I swallowed. My throat was thick. Was it that obvious what I wanted? Was the tension really that thick my own sister had to point it out?

  It took a Herculean effort not to pull at my collar. “Ah, no. I know you want Sof to go to Sunday school and everything. It’s just a movie, Frankie. You guys are reading too much into the situation. We’ll be fine.”

  My sister looked like she didn’t believe me. Well, whatever. Frankie always looked like that. Over her shoulder, I could see the shadows of at least three other females behind Nonna’s lace curtains.

  “All right,” Frankie said finally. “Just be careful, Mattie. Okay?”

  “Fran—”

  “I mean it,” she said firmly. “That one…she’s trouble. I can tell by the way you look at her.”

  “Frankie, I can take care of myself.”

  “I can also tell by the way she looks at you.”

  To that, I had nothing. “I…”

  “Just be careful,” Frankie said again. And then she walked back up the steps and closed the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took us a little over an hour to get all the way back to Red Hook. I had considered asking Frankie for the car instead of shelling out for an Uber, but decided I couldn’t do that to her and Sofia. It was a long-ass train ride to take with a squirrelly three-year-old on your lap, and they deserved wheels after giving me the house to myself.

  To my surprise, though, Nina didn’t seem to mind or even argue about the long ride through three different boroughs to get to my house.

  “Is there—do you—” I twisted my lips trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say. “Is there anyone at home waiting for you tonight?”

  Nina frowned. “Well, you already know that Calvin is out of town.”

  I did know. Holy shit, did I know. Just like I also knew that while Nina had checked her cell phone several times over the course of the night, she hadn’t received a single call or message.

  Again, I couldn’t help but think about how I would do things differently. That if she were my wife while I was traveling, I wouldn’t even be asleep without a very long, probably dirty, likely X-rated FaceTime session. Nightly.

  Just the thought made my pants tighten.

  “Ah, no,” I said. “I mean…like, is there anyone else who would be there? Anyone expecting you?”

  Her frown deepened. “You mean Olivia? I told you, she’s at school.”

  “No, I mean—like your doormen. Or, maybe a housekeeper?”

  Recognition crossed Nina’s face. “Oh! You mean staff. No, we don’t currently employ any live-in. Not since Olivia left. I’m considering asking my housekeeper to stay, though, if only to cut down her commute. And it’s nice to have someone around.”

  Currently. I marveled at how the concept could be so normal for her to discuss. The fact that she would potentially hire someone out of loneliness too…the idea cut to the quick.

  The car pulled to a stop outside my homely brick townhouse, which was about half the size of Nonna’s and still took nearly a third of my paycheck for the mortgage.

  “This is home,” I said as we got out. “No live-in staff either. Just a couple of tenants in the basement and Frankie and Sofia in the upstairs.”

  “But not tonight.”

  Our eyes met as the car drove away, leaving us on the street alone.

  “No,” I said. “Not tonight.”

  Nina looked around. Red Hook was admittedly a tomb compared to most parts of New York. It was one of the reasons I chose to live here, aside from the fact that I was able to buy before the market shifted. Fifteen years ago, Red Hook was one of the worst neighborhoods in Brooklyn. When I bought, a couple of breweries and a big artist group had just leased some of the more decrepit properties on Van Brunt while the projects to the east were being cleaned up. A few years later, celebrities had moved into the newly refurbished lofts on the water. Just a few blocks away from my house was the Hudson, with a direct view of the Statue of Liberty, and beyond her, the lower end of Manhattan and a distant view of New Jersey. It was gentrified, sure, but for now I liked the relative diversity of the neighborhood. And I liked the quiet. A lot.

  “Well,” said Nina, her voice low enough that if I hadn’t been right next to her and in this part of the city, I might not have heard her at all. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  I grinned. She grinned back.

  “Sure,” I said. “Follow me.”

  I led her up the steps of the house and unlocked the door, then flipped on the lights to guide her inside. Nina peered into the small, but bright space as she followed me past the stairs down a short hallway.

  “Kitchen,” I said.

  “Do I get the full tour?”

  My mouth quirked. “Ah, sure. If you want it. Come on.”

  I led her back to the foyer and then up the stairs, wincing as the older wood creaked. Norm
ally I was proud of my house. I worked on it nonstop for almost five years, renting out the bottom to offset my mortgage while I put my blood, sweat, and every spare cent into remodeling the decrepit old place. But right now, every stupid imperfection was screaming at me. The uneven trim. The old cracks by the skylight. The squeaky seventh step.

  At the top, I flipped on the lights to reveal the bathroom and the two small bedrooms to the right that belonged to Sofia and Frankie. Then we walked down the hall to the master.

  “This is my room,” I announced as I turned the light on and stepped aside.

  Feeling a little bit naked, I leaned against the doorframe while Nina walked in. She moved slowly, with the same expression people have when they look at art. Observing the small, neat space like it was a masterpiece, not the no-nonsense bedroom of a middle-class bachelor.

  I didn’t have much, and what I did have was just like everything in my closet. Simple. Good quality. Clean and cared for. I didn’t understand people who treated their homes like crap. If my grandmother hadn’t beaten cleanliness into me, the Marines did it tenfold. I still made my bed with hospital corners.

  “The bed set.” Nina ran a hand over the gray duvet and white linens atop the simple platform.

  I pulled at my collar. Right now I was doing everything I could not to imagine throwing her onto it. Like I had done once before, somewhere else.

  “It was my great-uncle’s,” I said. “He went back to Rome a few years ago, so I refinished it.”

  Her mouth quirked to one side—not with amusement, I didn’t think. More with self-satisfaction. As if she’d known I would say that.

  “It’s very nice,” she said. “I’ve always liked Danish furniture, actually. I have quite a lot of it myself.”

  “Is that right?”

  Another ache thumped in my chest. I’d probably never see Nina’s apartment. Until now, I’d imagined it as some big lonely space in the sky, full of shitty gilt antiques or uncomfortable glass furniture.

  But of course, if her husband was gone all the time, it would be a place that Nina had made, wouldn’t it? That was what women like her did. They decorated. They hosted. They made and remade their homes (or hired designers to do it). I wondered if Nina was the kind of woman who really put the time in. If perhaps her home was the truest representation of her there could be.