The Heart Chaser by Gina Azzi
Abbi
“What if they don’t like me?” I whisper frantically as we turn the corner onto Luca’s street.
“They’re going to love you,” he replies easily, like we’re going to grab a coffee and he’s not about to throw me to the wolves.
Not that his family are wolves, it’s more that I feel hopped up on nerves and adrenaline about meeting people I desperately want to impress, even knowing that they’ve all most likely seen me naked. Those damn photos.
“Yeah, what’s not to love,” I mutter, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Exactly,” my man says cheerfully.
I shoot him a look and he chuckles. He stops a few houses away from his father’s and plants his hands on my hips, steadying me. “Baby, look at me.”
I do and at the easy smile on his lips, I fight the urge to kiss him. It’s been two weeks since Luca brought me home from Hoboken and I’ve spent every night wrapped up in his arms, wondering how the hell I got so lucky.
“My family is dying to meet you. They have been since the moment my nieces and nephews told them about FaceTiming with you.”
I laugh.
“They’ve been rooting for you since the beginning because they know, as does everyone, that you make me so goddamn happy. Don’t worry about anything except enjoying yourself. Because while my family is loud and nosy and doesn’t understand a thing about personal space, they’re also loving and empathetic and will do everything they can to make you feel comfortable.”
I breathe out a shaky breath and nod. “You swear?”
“Promise it, Abs.” He places his hands on the sides of my face and looks into my eyes for a long beat. In their blue depths, I see the truth of his words and I lean into that, into him, as I lift my chin and he lowers his mouth. He kisses me deeply until I pull back. Then, he smacks my ass and gets me moving in the right direction again.
“I saw that!” a little kid shouts from a front porch and I cringe as Luca’s laughter rings out.
“You’re a little shit, Jack!” he hollers at his nephew.
“Uncle Luca’s kissing his girlfriend,” the boy yells into the open door and I hear the flurry of excitement before a swell of people push out onto the porch, completely unconcerned about the cold, damp weather.
Luca groans as I laugh.
“Don’t embarrass him, Jack,” a woman scolds.
“Ooh, she’s beautiful,” another woman comments.
“Gino, put a coat on,” a man bellows.
“Close the door!” someone hollers.
“Come in and get warm!” Another woman waves at us.
“Welcome to the crazy,” Luca murmurs in my ear but I hear the happiness in his voice.
I grin at his family, huddled on the porch, as we draw closer. “Hi!” I wave. “I’m Abbi.”
“Oh darling, we know who you are,” one of the women, I think Luca’s sister-in-law Nella says, and my stomach sinks.
“You’re the only woman who’s managed to wrangle my brother,” the other woman responds easily.
“And we want to know exactly how you did it,” the first woman laughs.
Luca swears as a bubble of laughter swells in my throat. “We’re going to need drinks for that,” I joke.
“Wine or vodka?” The man, Luca’s brother by the strong resemblance, pokes his head out the door.
“Bring both.” The third woman, Justine who I met on FaceTime, shoos him back inside.
This time, I do laugh. “It’s nice to meet you all.” I take the first step and am pulled into warm embraces.
“Girl, you have no idea,” Luca’s sister says.
* * *
“Stop!”I throw up my hand as Luca’s sister Justine shares an incredibly embarrassing story about a three-year-old Luca catching his penis in his zipper his first day of preschool. I’m laughing so hard, I can’t breathe. “That’s awful.”
“What’s awful is you guys telling Abbi this,” Luca scolds them but amusement colors his expression.
“Please.” Justine flicks her wrist. “She never would have made it this far if she wasn’t cut out for the real stories.”
“Real stories,” Luca scoffs.
“You guys are hilarious. Holidays at your house must have been so fun growing up,” I say, glancing around the group.
We’re packed into Luca’s father’s living room and while the room is bursting at the seams, it’s all warmth and love and family. I’m reveling in it, soaking up each moment like a cultural experience. I’ve never met a family like the Pandatellis before. They finish each other’s thoughts, have several conversations going at once that everyone is somehow engaged in, and don’t miss any of the little pranks the kids try to pull off.
Overall, I’m incredibly impressed and want to spend the rest of the weekend wrapped up in their infectious energy.
“It was the best,” Justine says softly, her eyes taking on a faraway glow. “We always put the tree there.” She points to a corner of the room.
“It never fits,” Luca’s brother Robbie explains, topping up my wine glass. “And some of the ornaments always break.”
“Remember Gino’s first Christmas when we unwrapped the stockings—” Nikki starts.
“And it said ‘Gina,’” Jack finishes, cackling.
Gino shoots him a sour look.
“Pop dresses up as Santa,” Laura whispers to me. “He thinks we don’t know it’s him but…” Her voice trails off as she gives me a knowing look, her gaze darting between Luca’s father and me.
I stifle my laughter and tip my head in understanding. No disguise in the world could conceal the sharpness in Mr. Pandatelli’s electric blue eyes.
While the rest of the family embraced me with open arms and a never-ending list of questions, Mr. Pandatelli hasn’t said much beyond a greeting. But I’ve felt his gaze on me for most of the evening, studying my reactions, listening to my words. He’s the only Pandatelli I can’t get a read on and it makes me nervous, since his stamp of approval seems the most important.
But when I glance at Luca, he’s as laid-back as ever. An easy grin coats his lips and his eyes dance with laughter at the shenanigans his nieces and nephews concoct.
“We’re all going to Luca’s game the second weekend in April. I think it’s the twelfth,” Nikki says. “You should come with us.”
Mentally, I pull up Luca’s game schedule. “Oh, they’re in Philadelphia that weekend.”
“Yeah,” Justine laughs.
“I’d love to,” I say, happy to be included in anything this family does.
“I’m going to heat up the sauce and meatballs. Start boiling the water for ravioli.” Jenni, Luca’s sweet stepmother, stands.
“I’ll help you,” Nikki offers.
“Me too.” Nella shoots to her feet.
“Come on, gang. Let’s go get cleaned up for supper.” Justine rises, gesturing to the cohort of cousins.
“Hey, Luca, I wanted to ask you about this sound my car’s been making,” Robbie says, gesturing toward the front door. “Mind taking a walk?”
Luca breathes out a sigh and gets to his feet. “You good?” he asks me.
I feel the weight of Mr. Pandatelli’s gaze. “I’m great,” I reply easily, my eyes closing as Luca brushes a kiss over my forehead.
Silence sweeps the living room and I know that this, leaving me with Luca’s father, is intentional. The front door closes.
“They’re subtle, my family,” Mr. Pandatelli says, his voice gravelly.
I laugh lightly, trying to relax in my chair.
Straighten your spine.
I shoot ramrod straight again, perched on the edge of my seat. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Pandatelli.”
He dips his head in acknowledgement.
A flurry of nerves skates up my arms. I’m way out of my wheelhouse here. Having never had a father figure in my life, I don’t know the protocol for this kind of conversation.
“How did you meet my son?” he asks finally, swirling his wine.
“At a bar,” I answer honestly, meeting his gaze. I have no clue what Luca’s father hopes to achieve from our chat, but I do know that he’ll pick up on any fib I try to feed him. “It was over the summer. I was at a bachelorette party.”
“You both were drinking?”
“Yes.”
He takes a sip of his wine. “And then?”
“And then, I went back to Hoboken and—”
“And I had a heart attack,” he surmises.
I clear my throat and nod.
Suddenly, his expression clears and a smile, so much like Luca’s, crosses his face. I inhale sharply as time plays a trick on me, offering a glimpse of the man Luca will grow into decades from now. “So, you and my son have been…interested in each other for nearly a year.”
“Yes,” I agree, my eyebrows pulling together. Has it really been almost a year since Luca and I met? And how much has changed in such a short amount of time…
“It’s been a hard year for you,” Mr. Pandatelli states.
“Yes.”
“And for Luca,” he adds.
I look up, meeting his gaze.
“My son has shouldered a lot of responsibility for this family for a long time. Too long.” Some of Luca’s words from the night we met, some of his actions as I’ve gotten to know him, flicker through my mind. “I relied on him a little too much.”
I bite my lip, unsure of what to say.
Luckily, Mr. Pandatelli continues. “He’s a good man. One who needs to start taking more time for himself, more time to build his future. You’re the first woman he’s ever brought home. And you’ll be the last.”
I gasp, his words shocking me.
“They like you, all of them.” He lifts his chin toward the kitchen where female laughter rings out.
“And you?” I ask, my nerves hijacking my body. For some reason, his response matters the most.
He pauses, his eyes boring into mine. “Do you like scotch, Abbi?” he asks after a moment.
“I do.”
Mr. Pandatelli smiles, his eyes warm. “Can you pour us some?” He flicks his wrist to the bar that sits in the corner of the room.
I stand on shaky legs and cross the room, wondering what kind of test this is and even more importantly, how the hell I’m faring? I pick up a bottle of scotch but Mr. Pandatelli tsks.
“Not that one. The Macallan. Inside the bar,” he says. “Three fingers.”
I follow his directions and pour us each a glass. When I pass him a tumbler, he places his fingers over mine and holds, his eyes warm. “Thank you for bringing back my son, Abbi.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I understand the meaning behind his words. Just like Luca’s love healed the broken parts of me, I’ve done the same for him.
“I love your son, Mr. Pandatelli.”
“I know. He’s head over heels for you, too,” he replies, releasing his hold and clinking his glass against mine. He lifts the glass to his lips as I sink into the chair beside him. “And I couldn’t be prouder,” he murmurs before taking a drink.
Relief courses through me as I sip the strong scotch, letting its heat settle my nerves.
In the next moment, Luca and Robbie reenter the living room, their conversation halting as they take Mr. Pandatelli and me in, sitting here, drinking Macallan.
Robbie clasps his brother on the back and Luca beams, giving me a look of pure love, mixed with a thread of heat.
“Robbie,” Mr. Pandatelli calls his son over.
But I can’t tear my eyes away from Luca.
“I love you,” he mouths to me.
“I love you more,” I murmur.
Then, we’re called to supper and I lose myself in the rambunctious, loud, loving energy of the Pandatelli family, knowing in my heart of hearts that I am finally home.