Mr Handsome, Will You Procreate With Me?

3

After a few seconds, Salvatore sighs and says, “Will you at least let your Aunt Maria introduce you to one of the nice girls from the village? She’s been pestering me for weeks about this girl she knows from Mass.”

When he sees that I’m about to protest, he quickly says, “I swear I’ll shut the hell up about marriage and you taking my two sons, my only sons,” he emphasizes, “away to America.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my jaw.

“If you don’t agree to this, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m begging you. Have pity on an old man and just agree to meet with her. She’s twenty-five,” he says, like that’s supposed to make it better.

“Too young,” I say. “I’m forty-three, Uncle.”

He gives a soft laugh and looks at his sons. “Too young?”

Dario joins in and shakes his head. “It’s not like she’s eighteen, Dominic.”

Knowing there isn’t a chance in hell this is going to lead anywhere, I finally nod my head. “Fine. I’ll meet with her, but I’m holding you to your word. No more talk of marriage and no more lectures about America.”

My uncle smiles. “You’ve saved me from a lot of grief. Maria will be so happy when I tell her.”

“Can I at least get my father buried before this godawful setup?”

Salvatore puts his curled, stiff hand against his heart. “My brother’s death breaks my heart, Dominic, but I’ve had a long time to prepare for this. We all knew it was coming.”

He’s not wrong. My father lived a long life, even if it was filled with sadness and violence. His death wasn’t a shock to anyone. If anything, we’re all relieved it’s over. Antonio Alessi was more than ready to leave this world. I think he’d been wishing for it for years. I down the last of my drink, more than ready to get this over with and get back to America.

Two weeks later, my ass is being lead through the house by my very bossy and insistent aunt.

“Aunt Maria, don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. I can see the wedding plans taking place behind her warm, brown eyes, and that s**t needs to stop. I gently reach out and squeeze her bony shoulders. She’s as petite as Salvatore is large, but there’s a strength to my aunt that goes beyond her small frame.

“Nothing is going to come of this,” I tell her, trying to not sound like an ass.

She smiles up at me and gives my cheek a soft pat. “She could make you very happy, Dominic. She’s a sweet girl. Never married, helps look after her parents, beautiful.” She smiles even bigger. “Good birthing hips.”

“Jesus,” I groan and then raise my hands in apology for the blasphemy.

She points a finger at me. “You need a woman to look after you.”

Without giving me a chance to respond, she spins on her heels and marches to the front sitting room. When we walk in, there’s a young woman already sitting in one of the chairs that never gets any use aside from short visits like this one is most definitely going to be. The woman is blonde, tall and curvy, and looks scared to death when she sees me. Jumping up, she meets my eyes for all of one second before dropping them and fidgeting with the dress she’s wearing. She’s chosen black—a proper mourning dress that is both respectful and modest and absolutely boring as hell. She’s pretty, there’s no denying that, but I feel nothing when I look at her. Well, that’s not true. I feel irritated and bored and wishing I was already on my flight home.

“Dominic, I want you to meet Beatrice.”

Aunt Maria beams up at me and then looks at the woman.

“Beatrice, this is my nephew Dominic, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

I force a smile and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Beatrice.”

She holds her hand out, and I can see the slight tremor in it. Good god, she’d probably have a heart attack if I went in for a kiss, not that I have any intention of doing that.

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice is whisper-soft, and her hand in mine is limp and clammy. I let it go and have the sudden urge to shake her shoulders in annoyance. There’s something about her timidity that irritates the hell out of me. I know it’s fear because of who I am, but I don’t have a reputation for abusing women, and there’s no reason for her to be acting like this.

I look at my aunt and raise a brow at her. I feel like my work here is done, but her expression makes it clear this little meeting is far from over. Biting back the heavy sigh I want to give, I motion to the couch and say, “Please, sit down, Beatrice. Would you like something to drink?”

She looks at where she’d just been sitting and quickly sits back down again. “Um, a glass of water would be great. Thank you.”

Water isn’t going to cut it for me, so when my aunt looks over, waiting to see what I’ll take, I say, “A whiskey.” Before she walks away, I add, “A double.”

I see the slight shake of her head, but she doesn’t say anything before walking out to get our drinks. We have staff who could easily bring us whatever we want, but I know this is my aunt’s way of giving us some alone time so we can presumably fall in love. Fat f*****g chance of that happening.

Resigning myself to a few minutes of hell, I sit down and put my focus on the scared woman in front of me. “So where do you work?” I finally ask to break the awkward silence.

“I work at my family’s bakery.” Her eyes briefly meet mine. “I brought some pastries with me. Your aunt took them into the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m sure they’re delicious.” I pause, running my eyes over her, noticing how uncomfortable she is. “Tell me something, Beatrice. How did my aunt convince you to come here?”

Her eyes jump to mine, worry written all over her face.

“Relax,” I tell her as gently as I can manage. “I’m not mad. It’s just that you don’t look thrilled to be here.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Alessi,” she whispers.

I raise a hand to try and calm her down. “Call me Dominic and, again, I’m not mad. I just want you to tell me the truth. My aunt can be,” I stop and give a soft laugh, trying like hell to think of a nice word I can use before settling on “pushy.” I shrug my shoulders and settle back into the couch, resting one elbow on the arm rest. “She means well, but she’s determined to see me married, but the truth is I want nothing to do with it.”

I’m surprised when she meets my eyes and lets out a relieved breath. “You don’t?”

“No. I’m going back to America tomorrow. I’m sure you’re a very nice woman, but I’m not interested, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one.”

The corner of her mouth lifts up in a soft smile. “I was too scared to tell your aunt no. She’s been talking about you to me for weeks, but the truth is I’m in love with someone else. He’s a baker at our store, and we haven’t said anything to our families yet, and, well, you’re you, so I knew I couldn’t just say I wasn’t interested.”

When Beatrice speaks about the man she loves, she finally shows me a bit of backbone, and I can’t help but admire it.

“The man you love, what’s his name?”

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