RILEY
The awkward moment lingers like a foul odor before Gabriel stands abruptly. "Come on, let's go check on dinner."
He holds out his hand and I climb to my feet, still unsteady. Once indoors, we almost run into a man in a chef's coat.
"Sir, I was just coming to find you. Dinner's ready, and your father is already in the dining room."
"Thank you," Gabriel says, squeezing the man's upper arm.
We walk hand-in-hand down the long corridor to the formal, gothic-looking dining room. Inside, Gennaro is sitting at the head of the table.
Where Gabriel usually sits.
But my boyfriend — wait, fiancé — doesn't miss a beat. He slides into the seat next to his father, and I take the chair opposite him.
"My son, he is so sensitive, no?" Gennaro muses as he swirls amber liquid in his glass. "I merely tease but he has no sense of humor lately."
I resist the urge to leap to Gabriel's defense. Getting into a verbal sparring match will only make tensions worse. But the mocking, superior tone Gennaro uses when speaking of his only son makes my blood pressure rise.
I take a long pull of the wine that's already in a glass on the table instead. Gennaro's sharp gaze tracks my every move. I set down the glass carefully.
"Shall we?" I ask with forced brightness. After an interminable two hours I'm more than ready for this strained cocktail hour to end.
As soon as we're all settled, a server enters with champagne. I almost groan aloud. More booze? I need food, and fast. The server pours and I catch a glance at the bottle. It's one of the ultra-expensive brands.
Gennaro raises his champagne flute.
"To your engagement. May you have a long and prosperous union." His smile doesn't reach his razor-sharp eyes.
Unease skitters down my spine but I force myself to return the painfully formal toast. As I sip, servants sweep in bearing the first course on silver trays.
Between bites of creamy burrata capped with sweet figs and tart balsamic glaze, Gennaro continues his passive aggressive needling.
"Have you set a date yet? I assume you'll want a lavish affair that befits a Greco bride. Gabriel's mother had seven hundred guests at our wedding."
I nearly choke on a chunk of cheese and grab my water glass. Gabriel's mouth thins to a hard line. "We haven't discussed specifics. But Riley prefers understated elegance, and I agree. Something on the beach, amore? Perhaps here, or on the beach we were at the other day?"
For a flash, I imagine a simple wedding at the place where we picnicked. That would be so blissful. I smile and am about to respond when Gennaro snorts.
"Understated? No son of mine will have some backyard reception."
I shift uncomfortably as Gennaro argues against the idea of a small, intimate wedding. His booming voice echoes off the formal dining room's scarlet wallpapered walls and crystal chandelier.
"A Greco reception must impress! I will arrange for the country club ballroom and call my friend the Archbishop about using the cathedral downtown."
I meet Gabriel's pained gaze from across the gleaming tablescape laden with fine bone china and an excess of cutlery. He takes a fortifying sip of Brunello while I stab moodily at my truffle ravioli, irritation simmering.
Gennaro doesn't touch his own plate. He's too busy waving around his steak knife as he details his grandiose ideas, oblivious to my increasing drunkenness and hunger. I give up and begin eating.
"And you'll need bridesmaids, Riley, lots of them! All those chicks drive the wedding costs up. Come to think of it..." Gennaro raps the table with his knuckles. "Lisa. She should be in your bridal party."
"Abso-fucking-loutely not," Gabriel grinds out.
"Who's Lisa?" I ask.
"My new girlfriend," Gennaro says.
At the same time, Gabriel sneers. "It's a woman he met at the Pink Pony the night he got out of prison."
I practically choke on my champagne. The Pink Pony is a strip club in the seedy part of the city. I thought Gabriel was joking when he said his father was dating a stripper.
"Well, um..." I sputter.
Gennaro and Gabriel glare at each other. Ever the peacemaker, I try again. "We've got so many details to iron out. After Gabriel and I sit down and discuss everything, we'll chat with you, okay? We still need to tell my parents."
I imagine what Lisa the Stripper looks like, and then I create a scenario in my mind of Gabriel's father meeting my dad. A cringe flows through me.
We eat in relative silence and I'm grateful for the pause. It's like a truce, but with delicious ravioli.
But the calm is short lived. Gennaro sets down his fork and steeples his fingers. "So, Gabriel. When shall I expect tiny Greco feet pattering through this villa?"
He fixes me with a pointed stare, oblivious to Gabriel's clenched jaw and my wide eyes. The tiramisu arrives, cream dusted layers sweetening my tongue as I stall to form a coherent reply.
Gabriel breaks the strained silence first in a sharp tone lacking its usual musical notes.
"What Riley and I decide privately about family expansion is not open for discussion or debate."
Gennaro takes a huge mouthful of dessert and that's when I decide that I really don't like this man. "Family should discuss matters of lineage. As the elder of this family, I merely want to ensure continuation of our proud name."
His shrewd gaze focuses on me across the flickering candles. "You do plan to take the Greco name, I expect?"
Pinot noir sloshes over the lip of my glass as I gesture sharply. Surely Gabriel realizes I'm too drunk at this point to worry about the words coming out of my mouth.
"Not sure yet. I have career considerations."
The air becomes thick with tension. Gennaro looks aghast at my words. His fingers fiddle with his ostentatious gold cufflinks. The contrast of his old-world aesthetic with Gabriel's sleeker style punctuates the generational divide. I take another gulp of wine for liquid courage.
Gennaro tosses his linen napkin down. "As my daughter-in-law, your only career will be supporting my Gabriel. Why should you continue slaving for pennies at that newspaper? We could buy that damn newspaper and lay you off."
Gabriel closes his eyes, lines bracketing his sensual mouth. Gentle affection infuses his voice when he replies to his father. "Enough. Riley and I are equals. She will continue her journalism or pursue any dream she wants."
Why does Gennaro have to be like a boorish Dean Martin caricature from some old Las Vegas movie? I half expect him to growl "capisce!" and butt out a cigar. Gabriel must read the growing tension in my tight shoulders and white knuckles because he edges my tiramisu plate. Probably to soak up the booze roiling my stomach.
But Gennaro cuts us both off with a raised hand before stabbing into his tiramisu again, undeterred. "Some traditions stand, such as the first-born son you'll provide before next year. My father told your nonna the same thing on my wedding day."
That's it. The floodgates open as pinot fueled anger makes me abandon reticent politeness. How dare some mafia fossil dictate my reproductive choices?
"Now, listen," I slur, waving my hand in the air and smirking. "Just because I'm marrying..."
Gabriel jumps in first before I fully explode. "Don't speak to her that way. Riley's value isn't breeding more Grecos. We decide our future, period." His formidable scowl could melt steel but Gennaro looks merely amused by his son's rare defiance.
I picture flipping the elegant table in that moment but satisfying visions of cannolis smashing Gennaro in the face evaporate when Gabriel takes my trembling hand, grounding me.
I slump back in my chair, the effects of too much booze and too little food catching up fast. Gabriel's thumb strokes my wrist in silent solidarity while glasses of viscous neon-yellow Limoncello are placed before us.
Gennaro raises his tiny glass. "To family!"
The bittersweet liqueur burns going down. I suppress a grimace. But proper etiquette chains me here exchanging stilted small talk about the weather this summer over slices of pungent Gorgonzola.
My gaze keeps getting pulled to the antique gilded mirrors lining the dining room. Distorted reflections of crystal chandeliers glitter and stretch. Gabriel is a collection of disassembled parts: strong nose and chin hovering disembodied until I force my eyes to focus.
Gennaro's image multiplies too. One of him lecturing us is plenty. I set down cheese I can no longer choke down and press my palms to my temples. Gabriel's hand finds my knee under the table.
"I think Riley needs to get home and rest," he says firmly.
Gennaro tuts, swirling the dregs of brandy in his bulbous snifter. "It's barely nine o'clock! Youth today, no stamina." He sets his drink down with a definitive clink. "Very well. I shall say goodnight. We have much more to discuss later."
Ice ripples down my spine at his heavy emphasis on the final word. My foil wrapped senses rally enough to stand politely. Gabriel clasps my elbow to steady me. We endure Gennaro's bristly cheek kisses that reek of limoncello before he offers Gabriel a rough pat on the shoulder.
"Remember what I said earlier, figlio." Gennaro's eyes bore into his son. "The truth has a way of revealing itself, no matter how deep you try to bury things in the sand."
With that cryptic statement he whirls away, Italian loafers soundless on marble floors. Gabriel's grip tightens on me. I sway into his strength, his cologne familiar amidst the weird odor of desperation and tradition that Gennaro leaves behind.
"Let's get you out of here, blondie," Gabriel murmurs.
Outside the air hangs heavy and humid. I gulp lungfuls trying to clear my drunken, dark thoughts.
Drowning out Gennaro's arrogance all night took serious effort. Now his parting words echo hauntingly as Gabriel hands me into the waiting chauffeured car.
I slump against buttery leather while we pull away from the Greco estate. I grip Gabriel's arm as if it's a life preserver.
What did Gennaro mean about buried truths? My intuition prickles uncomfortably but the booze swishes my concerns away. I'm lucky the short drive home is uneventful considering how much I imbibed.
Gabriel watches me closely on the elevator ride up to my condo, steadying my occasional sways. Inside he insists on getting me water before tucking me beneath cool cotton sheets.
He brushes tangled hair off my forehead with a tenderness that makes me catch his hand and press a clumsy kiss to rough knuckles.
"Thank you for not exploding during that shit show of a dinner."
He kisses my forehead. "I should be thanking you."
"Hmm. And thanks for taking care of me now even though 'm a mess." My tongue feels sluggish.
Gabriel smooths his thumb over my bottom lip. "You're my heart, Riley. I'll always take care of you."
I try to shake off Gennaro's pointed words from my foggy mind. Gabriel and I vowed we'd be honest about everything.
Unease battles fuzzy exhaustion in my brain.
In the end I succumb to blackness. But his father's words haunt me even in dreams.