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“Her answer is yes,” Zia tells him. “She can definitely take the night off to go with you.” She turns to me. “Grandma has the most beautiful gowns from when they still lived in the old country and you’ll definitely fit into them. I’ll do your hair. You’ll look like a princess.”
“Pfft, a princess,” I slur. “I don’t think so.”
“I think you will,” Hudson says, his face serious.
Oh my God, he does? What I wouldn’t give for him to lay a huge kiss on me right this moment.
My Nonno pipes in with, “She is a princess, every day. Just look at that beautiful face. Molto bella.”
“Aww, thanks, Nonno.”
“So, it’s settled then,” my mom says. “Allegra will go to the opera with you. You have a date.”
My father looks like his head is about to pop off his neck. “But you better pay close attention to what happens to Don Giovanni because you wouldn’t want to suffer the same fate.”
“Enzo, he’s not going to get killed by a ghost,” Ma says.
“Uh-oh, spoiler alert,” I mutter to Hudson, who stifles a laugh.
“Don’t worry, sir,” he tells my dad. “I promise to keep my hands to myself and to bring your daughter straight home when the opera ends.”
“We’re all aware that I’m thirty-five, not fifteen, right?” I ask.
“Well, that was quite the day,” Hudson says. We’re outside the house, both our arms loaded with containers of leftovers and bread from the bakery that my mom and Grandma insisted he take home on account of him being a man, and therefore incapable of feeding himself.
“Yeah, sorry about my family,” I tell him, swaying a little as we reach his SUV. “To be fair, I did try to warn you.”
“You did. You really did,” he answers with a sideways grin. “Say, that whole thing your dad does with the garlic and the razor blade. Is that?—”
"From Goodfellas? Yeah, he thinks it’s intimidating."
"Oh, it is.” Hudson opens the passenger door, then steps aside to let me set my things down first. “But less intimidating than him brandishing that massive knife while he talks about his daughter’s heart getting broken.”
I scrunch up my face. “Oh God, it’s all just so embarrassing, I want to crawl under a rock.”
“Why?” he asks, unloading his arms.
“Because you’re obviously not interested in me, which is good because we’re colleagues, sort of, in a strange way, and here he is accusing you of…” I trail off, unable to finish my sentence even though I’m half-cut right now.
“Wanting to pepper your dish?”
He is so gorgeous. Wow. “Yeah, that.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s just looking out for you, which I can appreciate.”
“Is that the kind of dad you’d be? Overly protective to the point of insanity?”
He chuckles, then says, “If I had a daughter, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be too far off. In fact, I’m already unreasonably mad about my hypothetical daughter getting hit on.”
Lord, he’s cute. I can’t even take how cute he is. Am I just gazing up at him with a stupid grin on my face? I should stop that. "Listen, about that whole silliness with you taking me to the opera…" Please take me to the opera. "Definitely don't feel like you need to take me. I'm sure by the time it rolls around you'll have met somebody more suitable."
He scrunches up his face in confusion. "What is that supposed to mean? More suitable."
"I don't know … like someone more in your league. A supermodel, or maybe a Swedish Olympic ski champion."
"That guy really did a number on you, didn’t he?" he says, his eyes hardening.
"What guy?"
