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Dani 18
The next several weeks flew by. Between my schoolwork and all the PR stuff I set up for the grand opening of The Red Olive, the name of Gianni’s new restaurant, not to mention all the incredible sex we were having, I could barely catch my breath. Any misguided thoughts I’d had about moving back home before graduation had long since been tossed. I still intended to move back home after graduation. I’d made up my mind on that one, and Gianni had come to accept it… at least I hoped he had. Still, I didn’t like to think about any of that and had decided to take everything one day at a time.
And so far, my days were so full, I barely had time to eat, let alone think of my future.
I rarely spent any nights or even days in my apartment, which Sarah wasn’t all too happy about. And unless I had a test that I had to study for and didn’t want any distractions, I spent most of my time either at school, at the restaurant, or in Gianni’s bed. We spent a lot of our spare time in his bed. Not that we had a lot of it, but whenever we did, we’d be in bed together, getting and giving pleasure… as if we’d been starved for it. As if all our lives had led us to these days and nights where the world slipped away, and nothing else mattered but our moments together.
Still, we both had obligations, many obligations that weighed on us. Whenever I was working on my thesis, or my final classes, I couldn’t be anywhere near him, or I couldn’t concentrate.
And believe me, Gianni was a never-ending distraction. I’d never thought a man could come as many times as Gianni could in one day, nor did I ever think I could manage to get off that often. It was incredible… we were incredible. Whenever we found ourselves alone for any length of time, we had sex. Even when we were alone for no more than fifteen minutes, one of us would get the other one off. If we were in an elevator together, his hand would be down my pants or under my dress, working its magic. And it wasn’t just him getting me off. There were times when I’d make him come when we were sitting in his new office, waiting for a vendor.
It was crazy. Foolish. Bonkers.
And devilishly hot and exciting.
It also coincided with the never-ending march to the grand opening of The Red Olive. Valentine’s Day was less than fifteen hours away, and to say we were in panic mode was an understatement. Never mind that his parents spent more time helping us to get everything set up than they worked at their own restaurant. At least one of them had been here every day since we’d started on this fast-paced journey.
Not that I minded in any way. They were a huge help. His dad Bruno and I had become good friends, and his brothers were all great to me. His mom Anita, who I’d learned wanted to be referred to as Mama Capra, and I… well… the jury was still out on that one. Especially since Gianni moved out into that apartment above the restaurant. He never spent one single night in his old bedroom anymore, and his mom had a difficult time dealing.
I knew she missed having her son around, particularly a son like Gianni who would do anything she asked. Ted and Frankie still lived at home, but they seemed to use it more for sleeping quarters, rather than their actual home.
“I think Gianni should come over tonight for dinner,” she said as we stood in the middle of the now decorated and ready-to-open restaurant. She didn’t much care for Gianni’s modern Italian look, but she’d promised not to wax on and on about it anymore.
Gianni had hired a professional designer from Harrisburg to use her magic on the interior, and she’d come through for him better than either of us had expected. I learned so much about the quality of the construction of restaurant furniture, the types of woods best suited for durability, and a five-year warranty as opposed to a two or three-year warranty. Gianni’s designer, along with his own knowledge of a successful restaurant, helped guide every decision to the special look he had envisioned for an upscale Italian restaurant.
The colors were mostly blond hardwoods, sandstone, deep golds, with red accents. The booths along the partially open kitchen were made up of rustic hardwood tables, with red, black, and sandstone-swirled, fabric-covered benches. There were even a few accent pillows tossed in for comfort. All the chairs on the square and the café-type tables were made from dark wood but had that same fabric on the seat cushion. Also, the tables all matched. The two walls remained clear of anything that would hide the beauty of the naked red bricks, although there were a few well-placed Italian frosted-glass large sconces.
The sizeable open room looked incredible, considering it all came together in less than six weeks. And despite what Gianni’s mom thought about it, the rest of his family loved it. Plus, all my advertising had paid off; the restaurant was not only booked for Valentine’s Day, our grand opening, but we were booked solid for almost two weeks afterwards. We even had a waiting list of fifteen, hoping to get a table sometime during those first two weeks.
Now all we had to do was deliver on the quality of the food and the service, and The Red Olive would be nothing short than a major hit.
We were capitalizing on Valentine’s Day, with red roses planned for every table, along with red napkins, white dishes trimmed in red, and small Italian dark-chocolate hearts wrapped in red foil, clustered at each place setting. There was the various desserts Ted had created, including a luscious red-velvet cake. He’d handed out samples to all of us, including the waitstaff, and everyone raved about it.
So far, on this visit, Mama Capra had been true to her word, and instead of causing any problems, she sorted out a few kitchen issues.
Of course, that could change at any moment, especially if Gianni told her we couldn’t make it for dinner. “You should come too if you’re not too busy with all that schoolwork you got. We got only a couple more hours before this restaurant opens. Sundays are usually a time for family, and we’ve been missing out on those because of all the hours we all put in here. This might be the last night we get to have a nice family dinner… in who knows how long. Running a restaurant is a twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week job, and I know how hard my Gianni works. Between all the time he spends with you and opening this restaurant, he ain’t got no time for his family. All I want is one nice dinner. His papa and me are gonna cook all his favorites.”
She didn’t outright insult me like she had several times before, but she’d come close by not openly inviting me as well. Of course, that could simply be an oversite on her part. I decided to see where this conversation went.
“I don’t know if he can take the time,” I told her, truthfully, while I searched for a local place where we might rent enough flatware for the restaurant for the next couple of weeks. The flatware Gianni ordered from Italy wouldn’t arrive until a week after opening. We only had a few more hours to secure an order, or we’d have to buy whatever we needed at the local big box store. Then the tablecloths that had arrived yesterday morning were the wrong size.
I’d taken care of that, but the glassware had shipped with several broken stems. I needed to handle that fiasco; still, we had enough for our opening.
With everything I had to do, and everything Gianni still needed to do, taking an entire night off seemed impossible. He usually ran on less than four hours of sleep as it was, and his mom wanted us to put all of this aside and stop in for a family dinner that could last all night long. Especially if there was music, and there was always some kind of music, either from a mandolin, acoustic guitar, or even an accordion. Her ace in the hole was using the sympathy card.The last family dinner for a long time,carried a lot of weight, even for me.
“Take the time for what?” Gianni asked as he walked over to us, looking haggard. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his entire demeanor seemed as if he’d taken some sort of drug to keep him moving on the slow track. I could see the heavy fatigue in his eyes.
On second thought, perhaps a family dinner would do him some good if he could stay awake for it.
He walked up to his mom, held her with one arm around her waist, and kissed each of her cheeks. A greeting I’d gotten used to from most of his family.
“Dinner,” she said, while trying to hold onto him. “A nice, relaxing family dinner.”
“When?” he asked.
“Tonight.”
He shook his head a bit. “Not possible, but I tell you what. You, Pops, Rocco, Frankie, and whoever else you want to invite, come by here tonight. Ted and I and the rest of the kitchen staff will cook for you. Our menu is superb, and I’d love for everyone to try some of it. We’ll keep it simple to three or four options. Our entire kitchen crew is prepared to go, so let’s do it. Last night, we cooked for the waitstaff, so tonight will be for family. One thing though… you’ll have to provide the flatware. We don’t have any right now.”
