Anyone But You (11 page)

“Okay with it? I’m thrilled for you.” He made a move as if to punch me in the shoulder. I evaded him, and his fist hung in the air for a few seconds, targetless. “But don’t think that means I’m okay with you ditching your duties here to spend time with her.”

“Of course not!”

“Good, because we can’t afford to slow down one iota. No resting on our laurels. Everything we’ve worked for—”

“I know. I know.” I put my hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye so he’d know I was serious. “You can count on me. This place is my dream as much as it is yours, and we’ll always be in it together. I won’t let you down.”

“I believe you, Nick. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Because if you did, I’d give you a knuckle sandwich, like I did when we were kids.” He shook his fist with a laugh as he said this. I remembered the shiner he’d given me that fateful day, the day I’d met Stella. I wondered for a second if he knew more than he was letting on, that Estelle and Stella were one and the same. Nah. He wasn’t that good a liar.

J
UST AS
I
FEARED
, having changed from my party dress back into my tank top and cutoffs, I felt tragically Cinderella-like, wet-mopping what had been the dance floor. It was after midnight. I was no longer the birthday girl, so I didn’t presume to exempt myself from clean-up duty. Besides, given the hardened looks on my parents’ faces, it seemed unwise to be anything other than the obedient daughter. Mr. Beresdorfer’s parting remarks had cast a pall over the entire evening’s events, and though I was pretty sure my dad had been too distracted to notice me consorting with “the enemy,” for lack of a better term, it was all I could think about. What sort of girl kisses a boy without even knowing his name? Had that really been
me
? It all seemed so surreal. Stranger still, there was no telling if—or how—I would ever see him again. He was
Roman Monte
, after all. I still hadn’t fully digested that piece of information. As I mopped to the rhythm of these inner musings, Enzo and Frankie stripped the white linens off tables and replaced them with our traditional checkered tablecloths. Over at the dessert table, Mom and Aunt Val put plastic wrap over what little remained of the tiramisu,
torta della nonna
, and rum cake.

“Do you think Rich meant it?” I heard my aunt whisper under her breath to Mom.

“I don’t know. This is our worst fear realized. Ben is beside himself.”

“I’m so sorry the boys reacted the way they did, Nora. Where the Montes are concerned, they get a little trigger-happy.” My mom sighed, shaking her head as she collected the pie servers in her hand.

“Actually … I suspect this may be more about Rich’s son … and Gigi.”

I wanted to interrupt them, to somehow defend myself, but it was hard to find the words. Intuitively, I knew my encounter with Perry and Roman had triggered this debacle, and yet I had no regrets. Apologizing for what had happened would have been like seeking forgiveness for having blue eyes or begging someone’s pardon for having the audacity to breathe. The phrase “falling in love” suddenly made perfect sense to me. I hadn’t chosen it—I’d simply stumbled over a precipice, into a sublime chasm from which I knew there’d be no climbing back out (as if I would ever want to). Even still, replaying in my head my all-too-brief conversation with Roman—and that kiss—sent aftershocks through the surface of my skin, like seismic shivers. It had all transpired the way a dream unfolds, as if the universe had somehow decreed it. His name, at the time, had been entirely beside the point, inconsequential. Now I realized that the universe had only been playing a sick joke on me.

Across the room, Ty descended a stepladder. He chucked the balled-up curtains that had been part of the decor into a cardboard box in the corner, then carried the ladder to the stairwell out back, shooting me a furtive scowl as he passed. His brow was still furrowed—though a bit less severely—when he reemerged in the dining room. As I watched him stack the chafing dishes and Sterno cans on the buffet table, I told myself that he’d be over it soon. Sure, he held grudges with a white-knuckled grip, but never with me, his favorite.

I ordinarily would have wheedled Ty into emptying my dirty mop water, but I dared not try my luck tonight. Instead, I propped the mop against a table and hoisted the heavy plastic bucket by its flimsy wire handle. I shuffled carefully to the back door, sliding my flip-flops in short steps and bending my torso as a counterbalance to keep the gray sudsy water from sloshing over the sides of the pail.

Outside, hemmed in by brick walls and a steep flight of stairs that led up to the alley, I carefully poured the contents of the bucket down the drain in the back stairwell’s concrete floor. When the bucket was empty, I inhaled deeply, faintly registering the “orchard apple” scent of my drugstore shampoo and conditioner. (Inside, the restaurant always smelled like a mixture of garlic, candle flame, and Chianti.) The night air felt cool and refreshing here in this small, dank space, and I felt the goose bumps on my upper arms almost jump off my skin. Not wanting to go back inside and face my relatives again just yet, I closed the back door and leaned against it, simultaneously pulling my phone out of my back pocket. I needed to tell someone about my encounter with Roman and figured Bethany wouldn’t mind if I called her this late. Her voicemail picked up instead.

“Hey, Bethany—it’s me. Sorry the party ended on such a weird note after everything just—well, you know. When you get this message, call me back. I met a guy. The most amazing guy I’ve ever laid eyes on. I think I’m in—”
Beep!
Shoot. Her voicemail had cut me off.

“You think you’re in what?” Like a nightingale, the voice fluttered in the alley somewhere above my head. I peered up the stairwell and instinctively reached for the door handle.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

“For the record, I think you’re amazing, too. Not to mention beautiful.” He leaned over the brick wall at the top of the stairs, his face illuminated by the motion sensor light that shone from above him. He hadn’t left after all, and he’d overheard my confession, too. I would have been more embarrassed had I not been so completely disarmed by his frank, self-assured response.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to hide my confusion. Without thinking, I started to walk up the staircase toward him, but then Ty’s warnings began clanging like a cathedral bell in my brain. What did I
really
know about him, other than that he was a sworn enemy? I hesitated on the third step, my heart willing me to climb higher, my head warning me to be cautious.

“I’m not the sort of guy who would ditch a girl without saying goodbye,” he answered, “even if all her relatives want my head on a stake. I’m Roman, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured
that
one out. I’m Gigi. Well … technically, my name is Julietta, but everyone calls me Gigi. You know, if anyone finds you here ….”

“I don’t scare that easily,” he said, beckoning me with an outstretched arm. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re worth the risk.”

The thought of anyone hurting him made me feel strangely, fiercely protective. I took another step toward him and paused, hovering between two warring desires. Succumbing to Roman’s gravitational pull would undoubtedly cause a deep rift with my family. But, as much as they wanted to, neither my cousins nor my parents had any real right to dictate who I could and couldn’t be with. After all, this wasn’t the sixteenth century. And what had being a “good girl” gotten me so far? With that thought, for the moment at least, my heart won a swift and decisive victory over my head. I bolted up the stairs, and he grabbed my hand, the momentum of which sent me colliding into his chest.

“Wait. Come with me,” I said, leading him down the alley until we turned the corner onto a side street. He pulled me closer, and then suddenly our kiss from earlier that evening continued, as though our previous encounter hadn’t been unceremoniously interrupted. The warmth of his hand cradling my neck made my pulse quicken, and it took sheer will to stop for a breath of air. When I did, I felt dizzy.

“I didn’t know you were a—” he started.

“I can’t believe you’re a—” I said at the same instant. We both burst into spontaneous laughter, and I felt as bubbly as a bottle of Pellegrino before remembering that we were facing a very real problem.

“But seriously,” I said, unable to temper my smile, “I’m sort of supposed to hate you.”

“Likewise. But I’ve never been the type to do something just because I’m supposed to. And besides, I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” He reached down and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “God, this isn’t very practical.”

“You sound just like my great-granddad.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” I said, laughing. “As long as I don’t
look
like him, I guess?”

“
Hardly
. He’s ninety-three years old and has eyebrows like garden hedges.
Total
curmudgeon. You, on the other hand … I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

I blushed, grazing his cheek with my thumb and feeling the unyielding line of his cheekbone. He placed his hands on my hips, and my knees almost buckled. This was happening.
Again.
Inside, I felt a crazy combination of fragility and strength. I was frightened by the intensity of my feelings. Could I trust them; could I trust him? As if perceiving the direction my thoughts had veered, Roman silenced them with another kiss.

“Of all people,” I finally said, trying to keep a hold of my senses, “why do you have to be Roman Monte? Why couldn’t you just be ‘Joe Schmo?’”

“I’d change my name if I could. Only it wouldn’t change the situation. Montes and Caputos are like … I don’t know … toothpaste and orange juice. Each fine on their own merits, but not meant to intermingle.”

“That’s putting it mildly. But it seems like our families should have everything in common. So why all the bad blood?” He shrugged and lowered his forehead to lean it against mine.

“I don’t know. Looking at you, I just can’t fathom how—” Unduly tempted by the close proximity of his lips to mine, I interrupted him with another kiss. We were too swept up in the moment to hear the footsteps approaching, and were only startled apart by the sound of the lid opening on a nearby dumpster. About twenty yards away stood Chef, giant white garbage bags hanging from each fist.

“Cap’s dumpsters are full,” he informed me, seemingly unfazed at having caught me mid-makeout. “Your mother is wondering where you are. You should come back inside.”

“Okay. Just give me a minute.” Chef eyed me askance, but I responded by silently imploring him,
Cover for me. I’ll be right there!
Without a word, he tossed the garbage bags into the dumpster, banged the lid shut, and headed back toward Cap’s. When he was out of sight, Roman took my hands again, intertwining my fingers in his.

“Will he be returning with an angry, pitchfork-wielding mob?” he asked, nodding in the direction Chef had gone.

“No, he’s cool. But I should go. Things went from bad to worse after you left the party, and … well, it doesn’t matter.”

“When can I see you again?” Roman asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon?” I suggested. He reached into the back pocket of my cutoffs, grabbed my phone, and proceeded to input a string of numbers. A clanging guitar tune began emanating from his own phone but stopped after the second ring. He slid my phone back.

“Now I have your number. I’ll text you when and where we can meet.”

He put both hands gently behind my neck and pulled me in for one final kiss.

“I’ve got to go,” I finally said, reluctantly breaking away from him. I made it about halfway down the alleyway when I heard him call my name.

“Gigi! Wait!” He jogged over and stopped short, breathing hard.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” He stared absently at a mostly-deserted parking lot as if grasping for elusive words before returning his gaze to me. “I guess I just wanted to say that who you are doesn’t change anything for me.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” I half-whispered, the night breeze dancing across my face. The moment felt almost too intense. “We’ll find a way to make them understand.”
Or
die trying,
I told myself, remembering that my family and/or his might kill us for this.

Descending the stairs to Cap’s back door, it occurred to me that my mind was gone, abandoned in some cosmic lost and found box—the place where sanity ends up after it flies out the window. This was crazy. And I didn’t care. My party had ended on a sour note, but surely my parents were overreacting about that whole blow-up with Mr. Beresdorfer. Adults always seemed to accuse teenagers of acting like everything was life or death, yet it was surprising how often they did the same thing. As for the situation with Roman, it was admittedly tricky. But why couldn’t this be an opportunity to establish some sort of détente between our families?

I suggested as much to Chef about thirty minutes later. Urgently needing to vocalize the conflicted thoughts racing through my brain, I had offered to stay behind with him to help prep pizza dough for the next day. (Overnight fermentation of the yeast was the secret to Cap’s perfect crust.) Assured that I’d hitch a ride home with him once we’d finished up, my weary parents left through the front door, hauling a cardboard box containing unopened birthday gifts from various guests. Aunt Val and my cousins had already taken off, too, leaving me a chance to confide in the one person who always allowed me to speak my mind without an obligatory lecture factoring in.

“And you don’t think he and his goombas might have actually come here tonight trolling for trouble? That’s what Ty seems to think,” Chef commented after I ran through the details of my new romantic entanglement. I shook my head from my perch atop the bar stool that I’d dragged into the kitchen.

“Roman had no idea who I was. I’m sure of that. He’s nothing like what everyone here seems to think.”