Mafia Boss Needed a Date for His Family’s New Year’s Party — The Woman He Chose Left Everyone Speechless

Christian Maronei had faced down rival families, negotiated with dangerous men, and built an empire that spanned three states. But nothing, [clears throat] absolutely nothing, terrified him quite like his mother’s phone calls about family events. Christian, you’re bringing someone to New Year’s. Yes. Elena Marone’s voice was deceptively sweet.
The kind of sweet that meant there was no acceptable answer except yes. Mama, I’m busy. The Singapore deal. The Singapore deal can wait until January 2nd. New Year’s Eve is family. Everyone will be there. Your father, your sister, the cousins, the aunts. Even Zia Carla is flying in from Naples. Christian closed his eyes. Zia Carla. That meant at least four hours of questions about why he wasn’t [clears throat] married yet, why he worked too much, and whether he’d considered that nice Sophia Benedetti, whose father owned half of Providence.
I’ll be there, Mama, with a date. It wasn’t a question. Mama Christian Salvator Maronei, you are 39 years old. Every year you come alone. Every year the ants ask me why my handsome son has no one. Every year I have to make excuses. Her voice softened slightly. I’m not asking you to marry someone. I’m asking you to bring a nice girl to dinner so your Zia Carla stops trying to set you up with her hairdresser’s daughter.
Her hairdresser’s daughter is 52. Exactly. So bring someone. Anyone. Show the family you have a life outside of work. Fine, I’ll bring someone. Good. Someone appropriate. Pretty, polite, knows how to handle family. A pause. Not one of those women from the clubs. Real girlfriend material. Christian. He hung up and stared at his phone.
Girlfriend material. At a family New Year’s Eve party in 5 days. The problem was Christian Maronei didn’t have time for girlfriends. He had a shipping empire to run, legitimate on paper, considerably less so in practice. He had warehouses to manage, shipments to coordinate, deals to negotiate. Romance required time and attention he couldn’t spare, which meant he needed to find a date fast.
His assistant had a list of women who’d expressed interest. Daughters of business associates, socialites who understood the game, professional companions who knew how to play the part. He could make a call, arrange something, show up with someone appropriate. Except none of those women would survive a Marone family New Year’s Eve.
The Maronei family events weren’t elegant dinner parties with polite conversation. They were loud, chaotic, overwhelming affairs, where everyone talked over each other in rapid Italian, where the aunts interrogated anyone knew with the thoroughess of federal investigators, where his mother watched every interaction to assess whether this woman was worthy of her son.
A paid date would crack under the pressure in 20 minutes. He needed someone who could handle chaos. Someone who wasn’t intimidated by loud families. Someone who His office door opened and his sister Valentina walked in looking frazzled. I need a favor, she said without preamble. Hello to you, too. Marco’s parents want us in Florida for New Year’s. 3 days.
The kids can’t come. Marco’s mother is recovering from surgery. doesn’t need the chaos, but our regular sitter is with her family in Vermont, and I can’t find anyone else on 5 days notice. She dropped into the chair across from his desk. Can Mia stay at your place just for two nights? She’s already agreed, but my apartment is too small, and you have that huge house with actual bedrooms.
Christian blinked. Mia, the nanny, my children’s nanny for the past 8 months. Mia Sullivan. Valentina waved her hand. Keep up, Christian. He did know who Mia Sullivan was. Hard not to when he’d stopped by his sister’s apartment four times in the past 2 months and found the nanny every time. 26.
Reddish brown hair that caught the light. Freckles across her nose. Irish American background that meant she took exactly zero from his sister’s demanding children. >> [clears throat] >> She was also beautiful in a way that had made Christian very deliberately not think about her because she was his sister’s employee and therefore completely off limits.
You want her to stay at my house? He said slowly. Just two nights. She’ll watch Luca and Sophia at my place during the day, then sleep at yours. Your security is better anyway. Valentina leaned forward. Please, I’m desperate. Marco’s been planning this trip for months and I can’t cancel now. Why can’t she stay at your place? Because the heating is broken and the landlord can’t fix it until January 3rd.
It’s 40° in there at night. I can’t ask her to freeze for 2 days. Valentina’s expression shifted to calculating unless you have a problem with Mia. No problem. Good, because she’s great with the kids. They love her. And if I lose her because my brother is weird about having a woman in his house, I will never forgive you.
I’m not weird about having women in my house. You’re weird about everything. But Valentina was smiling. So she can stay? Fine. She can stay. Excellent. Valentina stood. She’ll be there New Year’s Eve around 10. Don’t be creepy. I’m never creepy. You’re always slightly creepy. It’s the whole mafia boss thing. She paused at the door.
By the way, mama called me. She’s very excited you’re bringing a date to New Year’s. Christian’s stomach dropped. How does she know that? Because she calls me after she calls you to verify information. She wanted to know if I knew who you were bringing. Valentina’s smile turned wicked. I told her I had no idea, but I was sure whoever it was would be lovely.
She’s already told Zia Carla, who has apparently told everyone in Naples, “No pressure.” She left before Christian could throw something at her. He sat at his desk staring at nothing, his mind racing. Mia Sullivan would be staying at his house for two nights over New Year’s. Mia Sullivan, who handled his sister’s chaos with humor and patience, who wasn’t intimidated by loud Italian families because she came from a large Irish one who’d probably survived worse than a maronei New Year’s Eve just dealing with Valentina’s kids on a daily
basis. Mia Sullivan, who would be in his house, available right when he needed a date to survive his family’s interrogation. It was insane. It was inappropriate. It was possibly the best idea he’d had in months. Christian pulled out his phone and called his sister. What now? Valentina answered.
Mia, is she seeing anyone? Silence. Then why is she? No. She broke up with some guy 6 months ago. Hasn’t dated since. Again, why? I need a date for New Year’s. She needs a place to stay. It could be mutually beneficial. More silence. Then Valentina started laughing. You want to take my nanny to mama’s New Year’s party? She can handle chaos.
She knows our family. She’s been around enough when she picks up the kids from my place. She’s never been to a full Marone family event. You have no idea what you’re asking. Then it’s a good thing I’m asking her, not you. Christian leaned back. Just tell me. Would she say yes? Valentina thought about it. Maybe if you ask right.
If you’re honest about what you’re asking for. Mia doesn’t play games, Christian. She’s straightforward, smart, and she doesn’t do well with manipulation. I’m not planning to manipulate her. You’re planning to ask your sister’s nanny to fake date you at a family party. That’s manipulation adjacent at minimum. It’s not fake. It’s practical.
I need a date. She’d be perfect. She’d eat you alive. Valentina corrected. But fine, ask her. If she says yes, I’ll even help her get ready. If she says no, you never bring this up again and you find someone else. Deal. Deal. That night, Christian sat in his home office trying to figure out how to ask a woman he barely knew to be his date for possibly the most stressful family event of the year. Direct was probably best.
Mia struck him as someone who appreciated honesty. At 9:30 p.m., his doorbell rang. Christian opened it to find Mia Sullivan standing there with a small suitcase, wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair in a messy bun. “Hi,” she said. I’m early. Valentina said 10:00, but I finished up at the apartment and thought I’d just come over rather than sit in Starbucks for half an hour. If that’s okay, it’s fine.
Come in. She stepped inside, looking around his foyer with interest. Your house is really nice, very different from Valentina’s shoe box apartment. I had more space requirements and significantly more money. But she said it with a smile that made it teasing instead of judgmental. “Where should I put my stuff?” “Upstairs, guest room on the left,” he gestured.
“I’ll show you.” The guest room was simple but comfortable. Queen bed, attached bathroom, windows overlooking the garden. Mia set her suitcase down and turned to face him. “So, house rules? Things I should know? Do you have specific breakfast preferences or can I just raid your kitchen in the morning? Raid the kitchen. No specific rules.
Just he stopped. This was the moment. Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you. Okay. She sat on the edge of the bed giving him her full attention. My family has a New Year’s Eve party. It’s a big deal. Everyone attends. It’s formal. There’s dinner and champagne at midnight. My mother has been asking me for weeks to bring a date.
Mia’s expression shifted to understanding and you don’t have one. I don’t have one. So, you want me to be your fake date to get your mother off your back? She said it matterof factly without judgment. I want you to be my real date to a family party that’s going to be loud, chaotic, and somewhat overwhelming. There’s nothing fake about it.
you’d really be attending as my date. Why me? Because you can handle chaos. You’ve survived 8 months with Valentina’s children. You know my family a little. And he might as well be honest. Because I think you could actually handle this where most women would run away crying after 20 minutes with my aunts. Your aunts are that bad? They’re not bad.
They’re Italian. loud, opinionated, extremely invested in my personal life. They ask invasive questions, make assumptions, and once they decide they like someone, they’re relentless about it. He moved closer. I’m not asking you to pretend to be in love with me. I’m asking you to show up, survive dinner, smile through the questions, and leave at the end of the night with my family thinking I’m dating someone appropriate.
What do I get out of it? Smart question. Christian respected that she was negotiating. $5,000. Mia’s eyebrows rose. You’re offering me five grand to be your date for one night? I’m offering you five grand to be my date for one night to a party where you’ll be interrogated by at least 15 family members.
where my mother will assess your suitability as daughter-in-law material within 30 seconds and where you’ll have to eat seven courses of Italian food while making polite conversation with people who only half speak English. He smiled slightly. It’s hazard pay. She laughed, actually laughed, bright and genuine.
When you put it that way, five grand seems reasonable. So, you’ll do it? I have conditions. Name them. One. You tell Valentina. I’m not keeping this from her. She’s my employer and I don’t lie to her. Done. I already talked to her. She thinks you’ll eat me alive. Another laugh. Smart woman. Condition two. This is one night.
No expectations before or after. We show up. We smile. We leave. Done. Agreed. Condition three. If your family is horrible to me, and I mean actually horrible, not just loud and invasive, I reserve the right to leave early and you still pay me the full amount. Fair, though. They won’t be horrible. Overwhelming? Yes. Horrible? No.
Christian held out his hand. Deal? Mia looked at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand. I must be crazy. probably. But okay, deal. She shook his hand. Her grip was firm, confident. When is this party? New Year’s Eve. 5 days. Jesus. Okay, I’m going to need details. Dress code, family dynamics, topics to avoid, anything that will help me not embarrass you.
You won’t embarrass me. You don’t know that. I once accidentally told a priest that mass was a bit long when I was 8. My mother nearly died of shame. Mia stood. But seriously, I need information. Give me the rundown on your family so I’m not walking in blind. They ended up in his kitchen with coffee and a notepad.
For the next hour, Christian explained his family. His mother, Elena, warm but protective, who would assess Mia immediately. his father, Salvator, quieter but equally intimidating in his own way. Valentina, whom Mia already knew. The aunts, Zia Carla from Naples, Zia Rosa, who ran a restaurant in Providence.
Zia Lucia, who had opinions about everything. The cousins, Marco, Tony, Giana, all around their age with their own opinions. The uncles, quiet men who let their wives do the talking but missed nothing. and Nona Maria, the matriarch, who at 92 still commanded absolute respect and could end any argument with a single word.
So essentially, Mia said, taking notes, I’m walking into a room with 25 Italian people who are all going to have opinions about me within 5 minutes, and I need to impress them without trying too hard because trying too hard is suspicious. Essentially, great, no pressure. But she was smiling. What about you? What do I need to know about you that won’t be obvious from watching you interact with your family? Like what? Like, are you close with them? Do you have sibling rivalry with Valentina? Do you have weird food preferences? Are you terrible
at small talk? She gestured. Stuff a girlfriend would know. The word girlfriend hit differently than it should have. Christian pushed past it. I’m close with my family, but I don’t see them as often as they’d like. Work takes priority. Valentina and I get along well. No major rivalry, though she thinks I’m too serious. I eat anything my mother cooks.
And I’m fine at small talk when I have to be. I just usually don’t have to be. Okay. And the business, legitimate shipping company. That’s all you need to know, right? Mia didn’t push. smart woman and us, our story. How did we meet? How long have we been dating? We met through Valentina. You’re her nanny. We ran into each other a few times, started talking, went to dinner.
We’ve been seeing each other for 2 months. It’s new, but serious enough that I wanted you to meet my family. 2 months is pretty soon for family introductions. Italian families don’t wait. If it’s serious, you bring her to meet everyone immediately so they can all provide opinions you didn’t ask for. Fair. She wrote it down.
Anything else I should know? My mother will ask if we’re serious. Don’t lie, but don’t be too specific. Something like we’re taking it one day at a time works. And if she asks about marriage, tell her we haven’t discussed it yet, which is true. He paused. Are you always this thorough? I’m a nanny to two children under eight who speak three languages and have more energy than a nuclear reactor.
Being thorough is how I survive. She closed the notebook. Okay, I think I have enough to not completely embarrass us both. What about the dress code? Formal cocktail dress, heels, black tie optional. I don’t own anything black tie optional. Then I’ll take care of it. Christian, no. The 5,000 is already too much.
The 5,000 is for your time. The dress is because I’m asking you to attend a formal event on 5 days notice. Consider it a work uniform. A work uniform that probably costs more than I make in a month. Probably, but necessary. He pulled out his phone. I’ll have my assistant send options. You pick what you like.
It’ll be delivered tomorrow. This is insane. This is how things work in my world. He met her eyes. I’m asking a lot of you, Mia. Let me at least make sure you have what you need to feel comfortable. She studied him for a long moment. You know what? Fine. Send the dresses. I’ll pick one. But nothing ridiculous. No diamonds, no designer logos, nothing that screams I’m trying too hard.
Understood. Good. She stood. I should probably get some sleep. Long day tomorrow with the kids. Right. Bathroom’s through there. Extra towels in the closet. If you need anything, I’m down the hall. Thanks. She paused at the door. Christian, this is going to be interesting, isn’t it? probably disastrous. Great.
My favorite kind of adventure, she grinned. See you tomorrow. After she left, Christian sat in his kitchen thinking about the fact that he’d just hired his sister’s nanny to be his date to the most important family event of the year. He’d either made the best decision of his life or was about to experience spectacular failure. Given his track record, it could go either way.
The next morning, Christian woke to the smell of coffee and something baking. He found Mia in his kitchen wearing the same clothes from last night, her hair still in its messy bun, pulling muffins out of his oven. Morning, she said cheerfully. I made coffee and found muffin mix in your pantry that was probably older than me, but it still worked.
Want one? You bake at 7:00 a.m. I wake up at 6:00. The kids don’t need me until 8:30. I got bored. She handed him a muffin and a cup of coffee. Your kitchen is really nice. Very well equipped for someone who doesn’t cook. My mother stocks it. That explains the industrial pasta maker. She leaned against the counter, cradling her own coffee.
So, I’ve been thinking about New Year’s Eve already having second thoughts. No, but I realized I don’t actually know what your family thinks about you dating. Like, are they desperate for you to settle down? Worried you’ll end up alone, annoyed you work too much. All of the above, helpful, but she was smiling. Okay, so they’re invested in your happiness, which means they’ll be evaluating me based on whether I seem to make you happy, which means we should probably seem to actually like each other.
We don’t like each other. We barely know each other. I’ve talked to you maybe five times total, always about picking up the kids or dropping them off. That’s not exactly a foundation for convincing people we’re dating. She had a point. So, what do you suggest? We spend the next few days actually getting to know each other.
Nothing weird, just conversation. Meals together when we’re both here. Maybe you could come by Valentina’s one day. Take me and the kids to lunch or something. Give us a chance to look like we’re comfortable with each other. You’re very practical about this. I’m practical about everything.
It’s how I survive working with kids. She sat down her coffee. Look, I said yes to this because $5,000 pays off my student loans and because I think it could actually be fun in a chaotic way. But if we’re doing this, let’s do it right. Let’s make sure your family actually believes we’re together. Christian studied her.
This woman who’d invaded his kitchen, made muffins at 7 a.m. and was now planning their fake relationship with the efficiency of a military operation. He liked her, actually liked her, not just found her useful or convenient or appropriate. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. Starting now.” “Starting now? What?” “Getting to know each other.
” He pulled out his phone. I’m clearing my schedule for today. You’re free after 8:30, right? I’m free all day. Valentina and Marco left early this morning. Good. We’re spending the day together. Lunch, museum, maybe. Actual conversation. By tonight, we’ll know enough about each other to convince my family we’re dating. Mia’s eyebrows rose.
You’re taking a day off work. I’m investing in the success of our arrangement. You’re a terrible liar. You just want to make sure this doesn’t blow up in your face at the party. That, too. He smiled. So, what do you say? Want to spend the day getting to know your fake boyfriend? She laughed.
My fake boyfriend who makes $5,000 deals at midnight and clears his schedule on a whim. This should be interesting. Interesting is one word for it. What’s another word? Potentially disastrous. Even better. Mia finished her coffee. Give me an hour to shower and change. Then we can start this adventure. And Christian? Yeah. If we’re doing this, I’m not calling you Mr. Maronei at your family party.
I’m calling you Christian. Maybe even Chris if I’m feeling brave. No one calls me Chris. Exactly. But a girlfriend would, so you’d better get used to it. She headed for the stairs. See you in an hour, Chris. Christian watched her go, feeling like he’d just lost control of the situation somewhere between the muffins and the museum suggestion.
But oddly, he didn’t mind. Mia Sullivan might have just agreed to be his date for practical reasons. But something told him the next 5 days were going to be significantly more complicated than a simple business arrangement, and possibly more interesting than anything he’d done in years. The next 3 days passed in a blur of what Christian could only describe as organized chaos.
Mia took her role as fake girlfriend seriously. Too seriously possibly. She’d created a shared document titled Operation Convince the Maroneies with sections for family background, shared memories, conversational talking points, and something called emergency exit strategies that made Christian laugh when he found it.
What? She’d said completely serious. If your Zia Carla starts asking about grandchildren, I need a polite way to redirect. Just tell her we’re taking it slow. That’s entry-level deflection. I need advanced tactics. She’d pointed to her screen. I have seven different responses depending on how aggressive the question is. Response seven involves fake choking on food to create a distraction.
You’re not going to fake choke at my family’s New Year’s Eve dinner. Not unless I have to, but it’s good to have options. They’d spent Tuesday afternoon at the museum, like Christian had suggested, where Mia had strong opinions about Renaissance art, too many chubby babies, and asked questions about his childhood that he’d never expected anyone to care about.
“So, you grew up in the North End?” she’d asked, studying a painting of Venice. “Until I was 12. Then we moved to the house in Brooklyn. Did you like it? The north end. Loved it. Everyone knew everyone. You couldn’t walk two blocks without running into family. My nana lived three houses down. We had Sunday dinners at her place until she moved in with my parents.
Do you miss it? No one had ever asked him that. Sometimes it was simpler then, less complicated. before the business got serious. He’d looked at her sharply, but there was no judgment in her expression, just curiosity. Before a lot of things got serious, he’d said Wednesday, Mia had insisted they go to lunch at a small Italian restaurant in the North End.
Exposure therapy, she’d called it. They needed to look comfortable in Italian restaurant settings since New Year’s Eve would be exactly that, just with more relatives. The owner had recognized Christian immediately, had made a fuss, had asked about his mother. Mia had handled it perfectly. Warm but not overfamiliar, letting Christian take the lead, but contributing enough to seem like she belonged.
You did that well, Christian had said after. Did what? Handled Gino. He’s known my family for 40 years. If you’d been too forward or too quiet, he would have told my mother within an hour. And what would he tell her now? That I brought a nice girl to lunch. That she has good manners. That I seem relaxed around her. He’d smiled slightly.
He’ll probably call her tonight. Great. No pressure. Thursday afternoon, the dresses arrived. Six of them, all different styles, all beautiful. All probably costing more than Mia’s monthly rent. Christian had been in a meeting when he heard her voice from upstairs. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. He’d found her in the guest room staring at the dresses laid out on the bed.
Problem? He’d asked. These are Valentino. This one’s Armani. Christian, this is insane. You said nothing ridiculous. These are ridiculously expensive. They’re appropriate for a formal family dinner. Try them on. Pick the one you like best. I can’t accept these. You’re not accepting them.
You’re borrowing one for one night. They all go back after. It was a lie. He’d already arranged for her to keep whichever one she chose. But she didn’t need to know that yet. She’d tried on all six over the next hour, appearing in the hallway for his opinion on each. The blue one was beautiful, but too formal.
The black one was classic, but too severe. The green one made her hair look incredible but didn’t feel right. It was the burgundy one that made Christian’s breath catch. Simple lines, elegant drape, sophisticated without trying too hard. It made her look older than 26, more polished, but still unmistakably herself.
This one, he’d said, “You sure?” Positive. That’s the one. She’d studied herself in the mirror. It does feel right. Not too much, not too little. Exactly. He’d moved closer. You look beautiful. She’d met his eyes in the mirror. Something shifting in her expression. Thank you for all of this. I know it’s technically business, but you’ve been nice about it. Consider it.
You’re doing me a massive favor. It’s the least I can do. Still, she turned to face him. I appreciate it. They’d stood there for a moment too long, something unspoken hanging between them before Mia had cleared her throat and stepped back. I should change. Don’t want to risk spilling something on this before the party. Right. Of course.
That night, Valentina had called to check in. So she’d said without preamble. How’s operation fake date going? It’s not fake. It’s practical. Right. And you spending 3 days straight with her is also practical. We’re establishing rapport. You’re falling for her. I’m doing no such thing. Christian, I’ve known you for 39 years.
I know what you sound like when you’re interested in someone. You’re interested in Mia. She’s doing me a favor, that’s all. Keep telling yourself that. Valentina had laughed. But for the record, I approve. Mia is great. She’s smart, funny, good with kids, and she doesn’t put up with You could do a lot worse.
This isn’t about doing better or worse. It’s about surviving Mama’s New Year’s Eve party. Whatever helps you sleep at night, big brother. Friday morning, New Year’s Eve. Christian woke to find Mia already in the kitchen stress baking. Good morning, she said slightly manic. I made canoli from scratch at 6:00 a.m.
because apparently stress makes me Italian. Christian looked at the kitchen counter, which was covered in perfectly formed canoli. You stress bake Italian desserts? My grandmother was Irish Italian. She taught me when I was 8. Apparently, muscle memory kicks in when I’m panicking. She gestured at the canoli. Do you think your mother would be insulted if I brought these or is that presumptuous? Should I not bring anything? What’s the protocol? Mia, breathe.
I’m breathing. I’m just breathing very fast while making canoli. He moved closer, took the pastry bag from her hands, set it down. You’re panicking. I’m absolutely panicking. I’m about to walk into a room full of people who are going to judge everything about me. How I look, how I talk, whether I know which fork to use.
And I’m supposed to convince them I’m dating you when 3 days ago I barely knew your favorite color. Blue, like the ocean. See, I didn’t know that. What else don’t I know? What if someone asks me something basic and I don’t know the answer and everyone realizes this is fake. Then we laugh and say we’re still getting to know each other.
We’ve only been dating 2 months. No one expects you to know everything. He touched her shoulder gently. And for the record, you know more about me after 3 days than most women I’ve dated for months. You know about the North End, about Nona Maria, about my family. You know how to handle my mother. You’re going to be fine.
What if I’m not? Then I’ll run interference. I’ll redirect. I’ll create distractions if needed. He smiled. I might even fake choke. That got a laugh. You read my emergency strategies document. All seven responses. Very thorough. I told you I’m always thorough. She took a breath. Steadier now. Okay, you’re right. I can do this.
I’ve survived worse. Like what? Last month, Luca and Sophia both got food poisoning at the same time. I cleaned up vomit for 6 hours straight while Valentina was stuck in traffic. If I can survive that, I can survive one dinner party. That’s the spirit. A low bar, but I’ll take it. She looked at the canoli.
Should I bring them? Absolutely. My mother will love that you made the effort. Shows respect for tradition. Okay, canoli it is. She started packing them carefully into a container. What time do we need to leave? Party starts at 7. We should arrive around 7:15. Fashionably late, but not disrespectfully so. Got it. That gives me She checked her watch.
11 hours to have a complete nervous breakdown and then pull myself together. Very efficient timeline. I’m nothing if not efficient. She closed the canoli container. Thank you for talking me down. I’m usually better at handling pressure. You’re handling it fine. This is a lot to ask of anyone. It’s a lot to ask of someone you’ve known for 3 days. 4 days technically.
Oh, well, in that case, completely reasonable. But she was smiling. I’m going to go shower and start the 11-hour panic. See you tonight. I’ll pick you up at 7:00. After she left, Christian stood in his kitchen surrounded by homemade canoli and thought about the fact that Mia Sullivan had stress baked Italian desserts at 6:00 a.m.
because she was nervous about meeting his family. As fake dates went, this one was getting complicated fast. That evening, Christian stood in his foyer adjusting his tie for the third time. He was wearing a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. His mother preferred the slightly casual look for family events.
His watch was subtle, his shoes polished, everything appropriate for a maronei New Year’s Eve. At exactly 7 p.m., he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mia appeared, and Christian forgot how to breathe. The burgundy dress fit perfectly, elegant and sophisticated. She’d left her hair down in soft waves, minimal jewelry, just enough makeup to highlight her features without changing them.
She looked beautiful, polished, and absolutely terrified. “Too much?” she asked, seeing his expression. “Perfect. You look perfect. You sure? I can change if Don’t change anything. You’re perfect exactly as you are. He moved closer. Ready? Absolutely not. But let’s do this anyway. She picked up the container of canoli. Emergency dessert contribution [clears throat] for when I inevitably say something awkward.
You’re not going to say anything awkward. You don’t know that. I know you. You’re going to be charming and wonderful and my family is going to love you. You’ve known me four days. Four very thorough days. He offered his arm. Come on. Time to face the Maroneies. The drive to his parents house in Brooklyn took 20 minutes.
20 minutes of Mia running through her mental checklist, muttering things like 2 months met through Valentina, taking it slow under her breath. You’re going to be fine, Christian said for the third time. You keep saying that because it’s true. They pulled up to his parents’ house. A large colonial that had been in the family for 30 years.
Every window glowed with light. Cars lined the circular driveway, and through the front windows, Christian could see people moving around. His family, all of them. Oh, God. Mia whispered. There are so many people. Breathe. We walk in. I introduce you to my parents first. Then we work the room. You stick with me.
I’ll handle the introductions. And if someone asks something, I can’t answer. You smile and tell them you’ll have to ask me later. Girlfriends don’t know everything. He squeezed her hand. Ready? No, but let’s go anyway. They walked to the front door together. Before Christian could knock, it swung open to reveal Valentina holding a glass of wine and grinning.
The fake couple arrives, she announced. Valentina, Christian hissed. Relax. No one heard me. Come in before you freeze. She pulled Mia into a hug. You look amazing. That dress is perfect. Thank you for helping me pick it. Thank Christian. He has surprisingly good taste for someone who wears the same three suits on rotation. Valentina took the canoli container.
You made these? Stress baking at 6:00 a.m. Respect. Okay. Mama is in the kitchen directing operations. Papa is in the living room with the uncles. Zia Carla already asked me three times when you’d arrive. The stage is set. Ready for your debut? As I’ll ever be. Christian kept his hand on the small of Mia’s back as they entered.
The house smelled like garlic, wine, and decades of family gatherings. Voices echoed from multiple rooms, Italian and English mixing together, laughter, the sound of children running somewhere upstairs. Christian. His father’s voice boomed from the living room. Finally, everyone, Christian is here. No turning back now.
They walked into the living room. massive space filled with maroneies in various states of cocktail hour. His father, Salvator, stood by the fireplace with his brothers. Cousins occupied the sofas. Children ran between adults with the fearlessness of family favorites. And in the center of it all, standing with perfect posture and sharp eyes, was his mother, Elena.
She saw him first, then her gaze shifted to Mia. The room went quiet, not complete silence. The children were still playing. Uncle Tony was still talking to Uncle Marco. But a noticeable shift. Everyone who mattered was suddenly watching, watching Christian, watching the woman on his arm, waiting to see who he’d brought home.
Elena Marone’s expression was carefully neutral as she crossed the room. She was 64, elegant in a navy dress, her dark hair showing silver streaks. She refused to dye. She’d been beautiful once and was still striking. The kind of woman who commanded attention without demanding it. Christian, she said, kissing both his cheeks in the traditional way.
You’re late. Fashionably late, Mama. Her eyes shifted to Mia. And you brought a friend. The word friend was loaded with meaning. Mama, this is Mia Sullivan. Mia, my mother, Elena Maronei. Mia extended her hand with a confidence Christian knew she didn’t feel. Mrs. Maronei, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having me.
Elena didn’t take her hand immediately. She studied Mia. Really studied her in that way mothers have of seeing everything in 3 seconds. Then finally, she took Mia’s hand. Mia, Irish name. Yes, ma’am. My grandmother was from Cork. And your family? They’re here in Boston. My parents are in Souy.
Three brothers, two sisters, big family, lots of noise. Mia smiled. I understand you have a similar situation. Elena’s expression shifted slightly. You could say that. And how do you know my son? [clears throat] I’m Valentina’s nanny. I’ve been working with Luca and Sophia for 8 months. Christian and I met when he’d stopped by to visit them. You’re the nanny.
Elena’s tone was impossible to read. Yes, ma’am. And now you’re dating my son. Yes, ma’am. The room was absolutely silent now. Even the children had stopped playing. Elena looked at Christian, then back at Mia, then at the canoli container Valentina was holding. Are those homemade? Elena asked. Yes, ma’am. I made them this morning.
I know it’s presumptuous to bring dessert when you’ve clearly prepared everything, but my grandmother always said, “Never arrive empty-handed to a family dinner.” Your grandmother was wise. Elena took the container, opened it, examined the canoli with the critical eye of someone who’d made thousands herself. These look very good.
Proper shells, not too sweet. My other grandmother was Sicilian. She was very particular about canoli. Sicilian grandmothers are particular about everything. Elena closed the container. These are beautiful. We’ll serve them with the other desserts. She turned to the room at large. Everyone, this is Mia Sullivan. She’s dating Christian.
Be nice or I’ll hear about it. And just like that, the tension broke. People moved forward to introduce themselves. Cousins wanted to shake hands. Aunts appeared to assess. Children asked if she’d brought toys, but Elellena pulled Christian aside before he could follow Mia into the chaos. The nanny, Christian? Her voice was quiet.
Valentina’s nanny. Yes. Does Valentina know? She knows. She approves. And this is serious. Not just she waved her hand. Whatever you usually do. It’s serious, mama. I wouldn’t bring her here if it wasn’t. Elena studied his face with those sharp mother eyes that had seen through every lie he’d ever told. You like her? It wasn’t a question.
Yes. Good. Ellena patted his cheek. Because she made canoli at 6:00 a.m. because she was nervous about meeting us. That’s someone who cares about making a good impression. someone who respects family. She smiled. Don’t screw this up. I won’t. Good. Now go rescue her before Zia Carla starts asking about wedding plans.
Christian found Mia surrounded by three aunts handling their rapidfire questions with impressive grace. And you’re from Souy? Zia Rosa was saying born and raised. Good neighborhood, tough neighborhood. Zia Carla nodded approvingly. You grow up tough in Souy. Definitely builds character. And you work with children.
Zia Luchia jumped in. You like children? I love children. Luca and Sophia are wonderful, but you want your own someday. There it was. The question Mia had prepared seven responses for. She smiled. Someday? Yes. When the time is right. The time is always right when you find the right person, Zia. Carla said, looking meaningfully at Christian.
We’re taking things one day at a time, Mia said smoothly, getting to know each other. No rush. No rush? Zia Carla looked scandalized. You’re 26. 26? Zia Rosa interrupted. Which is young. She has time. Not like our Christian who is almost 40. I’m 39, Christian interjected. Almost 40, Rosa repeated.
You should be thinking about these things. We are thinking about them, [clears throat] Mia said, and Christian felt her hand slip into his. Just not at a family party where everyone is listening. The aunts laughed. Actual laughter, warm and approving. I like her, Zia. Carla announced she has spine. Christian, this one has spine.
[clears throat] I noticed. Good. You need someone with spine. All the women you’ve brought before. Too soft. Too worried about saying the wrong thing. But this one, she gestured at Mia. This one will tell you when you’re being an idiot. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Mia said dryly. You’ll fit right in, Zarosa declared.
Come, let me introduce you to the cousins. They’ll want to know who finally caught Christian’s attention. As Mia was pulled away by the ants, Valentina appeared at Christian’s elbow. Well, she said, that went better than expected. The aunts love her. The ants love anyone who doesn’t cry during interrogation. But yes, they love her.
Mama, too, I think. You think mama’s still assessing, but the canoli helped. And the fact that Mia didn’t flinch when Zia Carla started asking about babies within 3 minutes of meeting her. Valentina sipped her wine. She’s holding her own. Color me impressed. She’s incredible. You’re falling for her.
I’m appreciating her ability to handle our family. Right. Keep lying to yourself. Valentina patted his shoulder. I’m going to go save her from cousin Marco. He’s already trying to explain his crypto investments. The next two hours passed in a blur of introductions, conversations, and food. So much food. Mia handled it all with grace.
Laughing at Uncle Tony’s terrible jokes. listening intently to Nona Maria’s stories about Sicily, answering the children’s questions about whether she knew any princesses. No, but she knew some very impressive kindergarteners. She fit impossibly, perfectly. She fit into his chaotic family like she’d always been there. At midnight, when the countdown started and champagne was distributed, Christian found himself standing next to Mia on the terrace watching fireworks over Boston.
“You survived,” he said quietly. “Barely, your Zia Carla asked me four separate times if I wanted children and suggested specific names.” “What names?” “Svatorei for a boy, Elena for a girl. She was very specific.” Christian laughed. She’s determined. She’s terrifying, but in a loving way. Mia turned to face him as the countdown reached 10.
[clears throat] Thank you for tonight, for introducing me to your family, for trusting me with this. Thank you for saying yes, for being perfect, for making homemade canoli at 6:00 a.m. 5 4 3 2 1 Happy New Year. around them. Everyone cheered. Fireworks exploded. People kissed. Cousins, spouses, parents, and children. Christian looked at Mia, saw her looking back at him, and made a decision.
For authenticity, he said quietly. “What?” He kissed her. It was supposed to be quick, for show, to complete the illusion for anyone watching. It wasn’t. Mia’s hand came up to his face and she kissed him back. Soft and sweet and real, more real than anything had felt in a very long time. When they pulled apart, she was blushing.
That was for authenticity, Christian repeated, but his voice was rough. Right. Authenticity, she smiled. Very convincing. Should we? Yeah, probably. They stood there for a moment, the noise of the party around them, the taste of champagne and possibility between them. Mia, Christian, there you are. Elena appeared, pulling them both inside.
Midnight toast. Everyone gather. The moment broke. But as Christian followed his mother inside, Mia’s hand still in his, he caught Valentina’s knowing smile across the room. This was supposed to be fake, but somewhere between the museum and the canoli and the kiss at midnight, it had become something else entirely.
And Christian had no idea what to do about it. The party continued for another 2 hours after midnight. More food, more wine, more stories. Christian’s cousins shared embarrassing childhood memories. The aunts debated the best way to make ragu. Children eventually crashed on various sofas, exhausted from running around.
Through it all, Christian was acutely aware of Mia beside him, laughing at his uncle’s jokes, asking Nona Maria to teach her a Sicilian phrase, fitting seamlessly into his family’s chaos. And that kiss, that kiss at midnight that was supposed to be for show, except no one had been watching when it happened.
They’d been alone on the terrace. There hadd been no audience, no need for authenticity, which meant it had been real. Around 2 a.m., people started leaving. Cousins gathered sleeping children. Aunts kissed cheeks and extracted promises to visit soon. Uncle Tony hugged Mia and told Christian he’d better not screw this up.
I like this one, he’d said loud enough for everyone to hear. She laughs at my jokes and doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. That’s because she is crazy, Valentina had said, helping Sophia into her coat. Anyone dating Christian has to be at least a little crazy. Hey, Christian had started. She’s not wrong, Mia had said, earning laughs from everyone nearby.
Finally, after the last cousin left, and only Elena and Salvator remained in the kitchen cleaning up, Christian and Mia said their goodbyes. Elena pulled Mia into a hug. A real hug. Warm and maternal. Thank you for coming tonight. You were wonderful. Thank you for having me, Mrs. Maronei. Your home is beautiful and your family is. Mia smiled.
Exactly as chaotic and wonderful as Christian described. Chaotic is our specialty. Elena held her at arms length. You’re good for him. I haven’t seen him this relaxed at a family event in years. He’s good for me, too. Elena’s eyes sharpened slightly, seeing something. Is he? Yes, ma’am. Good. Elena patted her cheek.
Come back soon for Sunday dinner. Bring your appetite and your patience. You’ll need both. In the car, driving back to Christian’s house, neither of them spoke for several minutes. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was loaded with everything they weren’t saying. Finally, Mia broke it. Your family is amazing. They’re overwhelming.
Overwhelmingly amazing. Your mother is incredible. She ran that entire party without breaking a sweat. And your dad is hilarious when he’s not pretending to be serious. And Nana Maria is basically everyone’s favorite person. She liked you. She doesn’t like everyone. How could you tell? She taught you a Sicilian phrase.
She only does that for people she wants to keep around. Christian glanced at her. You were perfect tonight. Better than perfect. My family loved you. Even Zia Carla. Especially Zia Carla. She told my mother, “You’re the best girl I’ve ever brought home.” Well, technically I’m the only girl you’ve brought home. home this year.
She meant ever. Apparently, everyone else was too. He made air quotes. Prissy. Mia laughed. That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received. They pulled into his driveway. Christian turned off the engine, but didn’t move to get out. Mia. Christian. They spoke at the same time, stopped, looked at each other. You first.
Mia said that kiss at midnight. I He stopped, started again. I said it was for authenticity, but no one was watching. Mia finished quietly. I know. So why did you Why did I kiss you back? She turned in her seat to face him. Because I wanted to because somewhere between stress baking canoli and meeting your Zia Carla, this stopped being fake for me. Or maybe it was never fake.
Maybe I was just using the arrangement as an excuse to spend time with you. Christian’s heart was hammering. Mia, let me finish, please. She took a breath. I know this was supposed to be business. $5,000 for one night. Get your family off your back. Everyone wins, but I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t feel something real here.
And I know that’s not part of the deal. I know it’s complicated because I work for your sister and because we barely know each other. But he kissed her properly this time. without the excuse of midnight or authenticity or anyone watching. Just because he wanted to. Because she was beautiful and brave and had stress-baked canoli at 6:00 a.m.
because she fit into his family better than anyone he’d ever met. Because somewhere in 4 days, Mia Sullivan had become more than a convenient date. She’d become someone he didn’t want to let go. When they pulled apart, both breathless, Mia laughed softly. So, I guess we’re on the same page. Very much the same page.
Good, because I was worried I’d have to fake choke to create a distraction. Emergency strategy 7. Emergency strategy 7. She touched his face gently. What do we do now? Now, we go inside. We talk. We figure out if this is real or if we’re both just caught up in the performance. It’s real, Mia said with certainty.
I don’t kiss people like that as part of a performance. Neither do I. So, we’re really doing this dating for real? If you want to. I want to. She smiled. Though, I should probably tell you, the $5,000 paycheck makes this potentially very unethical. Consider it a retroactive payment for 4 days of intensive girlfriend training.
That’s a terrible rationalization. I’m excellent at terrible rationalization. It’s part of my job description. She laughed and Christian felt something settle in his chest. Something that felt like rightness. They went inside, made tea, and sat in his living room talking until 4:00 a.m. [clears throat] about real things this time.
Not carefully curated facts for his family’s benefit, but actual truths. her childhood in Souy, his fears about the business, her dreams of eventually opening a child care center, his complicated relationship with his father’s legacy. Do you ever wish you’d done something different? Mia asked at one point. Something not connected to your family’s business.
Sometimes when I was younger, I wanted to be a teacher. History, maybe. Something quiet and respectable. That’s the most unexpected thing you could have said. Why? Because you’re a mafia boss who negotiates dangerous deals and owns shipping companies. Teacher seems impossibly far from that. Exactly why I wanted it.
He smiled slightly. But family expectations are powerful things. My father needed me. The business needed me. And somewhere along the way, teaching stopped being an option. Do you regret it? Most days, no. Some days he stopped. Some days I wonder what life would be like if I’d made different choices. You could still teach, volunteer somewhere, mentor kids in between running a criminal empire.
It’s only criminal if you get caught. But she was smiling. I’m serious though. You’d be good at it. You’re patient. You explain things well. And you actually listen when people talk. Those are teacher qualities. You think I’m patient? I’ve watched you with Luca and Sophia. You’re incredibly patient.
More patient than Valentina sometimes. Don’t tell her that. She’ll make me babysit more often. Would that be so terrible? Spending more time with me? Not terrible at all. He pulled her closer. I could get used to this having you here talking about real things instead of quarterly reports and shipping manifests. I could get used to it, too. She yawned.
Though I should probably go to bed before I fall asleep on your couch. Take the guest room. Stay the night. Christian, nothing untoward. Just stay. It’s late. You’re exhausted. and I don’t want you driving home at 4:00 a.m. He stood, offered his hand. Come on, I’ll show you where the extra pajamas are.
She took his hand, let him pull her up. Extra pajamas. Valentina leaves stuff here all the time. I’m sure something will fit. In the guest room, Christian found a set of clean pajamas in the closet. Mia changed in the bathroom while he waited, then emerged looking impossibly young in flannel pants and an oversized t-shirt. “I look ridiculous,” she said.
“You look comfortable.” He moved closer. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Tomorrow’s already today. It’s past 4. Then later today, after you’ve slept,” he kissed her forehead. “Good night, Mia. Good night, Christian. He forced himself to leave, to go to his own room, to not think about the fact that Mia Sullivan was sleeping down the hall in his house.
Except he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Around noon, Christian woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. He found Mia in his kitchen again, this time making breakfast with the confidence of someone who’ decided she belonged there. “Morning,” she said cheerfully. “I raided your fridge. Hope that’s okay.” more than okay.
He accepted the coffee she handed him. You’re in a good mood. I survived my first Maronei family event. I’m entitled to a good mood. She flipped a pancake expertly. Also, your mother texted me. Christian nearly dropped his coffee. What? She texted me at 9:00 a.m. asking if I’d like to come to Sunday dinner this weekend.
She said, and I quote, “Bring your appetite and don’t let Christian talk you out of it.” How does she have your number? I gave it to her last night. She asked if she could text me her ragu recipe. Mia plated pancakes and bacon. Your mother is very efficient. My mother is very invested in my personal life.
Well, she’s about to be disappointed when she finds out this whole thing was fake. Mia sat across from him. Unless, Unless we tell her it started as an arrangement but became real, Christian suggested. Would she believe that? She’s Italian. She believes in love at first sight, fate, and the power of good food to fix any problem.
She’ll believe whatever makes for a good story. And this is a good story. Man hires woman to be fake date, falls for her for real, they live happily ever after. That’s an excellent story. You’re very confident about the happily ever after part. I’m confident about wanting to try. He reached across the table, took her hand. I know it’s fast.
I know it’s crazy, but I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a very long time. Maybe ever. Me either. She squeezed his hand. So, what do we do? We date for real this time. No contract, no payment, just dating, getting to know each other, seeing where this goes. And your family, we tell them the truth that it started as a favor but became something real.
They’ll understand. Probably make a huge deal about it, but they’ll understand. And Valentina, we’ll say she knew all along and take credit for the entire thing. Mia laughed. She already does. She texted me this morning, too. Said, and I quote, “I’m an excellent matchmaker, and you’re welcome.
” See, she’s already claiming victory. Should we let her? Absolutely. Keeps her happy, and a happy Valentina is easier to deal with than a smug Valentina. They finished breakfast, cleaned the kitchen together, and settled on the couch with more coffee. Mia curled into his side like she’d done it a thousand times before. I should probably go home at some point, she said without making any move to leave.
You could stay, Christian. Not like that. Just stay for the day. We’ll watch movies, order takeout, be lazy. When’s the last time you had a day with no obligations? 8 months ago, before I started working for Valentina? Then take today, stay with me. We’ll do absolutely nothing productive. That sounds perfect.
They spent the day exactly as Christian had suggested. Movies, takeout, comfortable silence interrupted by conversation that ranged from silly to serious. Mia told him about her childhood in Souy, about her siblings and their various disasters. Christian talked about the pressure of family expectations, about wanting to be good enough for a legacy he’d never asked for.
Around 6:00 p.m., Mia’s phone rang. Valentina naturally, “Hey,” Mia answered. “What’s up?” Christian could hear his sister’s voice through the phone. Rapid fire questions about where Mia was, whether everything was okay, why she hadn’t answered texts. “I’m at Christian’s. We’re watching movies. Everything’s fine.” A pause.
“Yes, really.” No, nothing weird. We’re just hanging out. More rapid fire. Valentina [clears throat] Val, breathe. Yes, the party went well. Yes, your family is lovely. Yes, I’m coming back to work Monday. Yes, I’ll tell you everything then. Goodbye. She hung up, looking amused. Your sister is very invested in your love life.
My entire family is invested in my love life. It’s exhausting. [clears throat] It’s sweet. They want you to be happy. I am happy. He pulled her closer. Right now, in this moment, I’m happy. Me, too. That evening, Elena Maronei called her son. [clears throat] Christian answered with some trepidation. His mother had a way of knowing things she shouldn’t.
Christian, she said without preamble. I like Mia. I know, Mama. She said you texted her. I invited her to Sunday dinner. You’ll bring her? Yes. If she wants to come, yes, she’ll want to come. I can tell. A pause. Christian, I’m going to ask you something, and I want an honest answer. Okay.
Is this real, you and Mia, or is this another business arrangement? His mother’s ability to read situations was terrifying. What makes you think it might be an arrangement? Because you needed a date very suddenly. Because Mia is convenient. She knows Valentina. She’s good with family. She fits the profile of what you think we want. Because Elena sighed.
Because I’m your mother and I know when you’re being strategic about something. Christian closed his eyes. It started as an arrangement. I knew it. But it became real. Somewhere between asking her and last night, it became something I didn’t expect. Something I want to keep. Does she know this? Yes, we talked about it. We’re dating for real now.
The arrangement is over. Good. Elena’s voice softened. Because that girl is special, Christian. She made canoli at 6:00 in the morning because she was nervous about meeting us. She handled your Zia Carla with grace. She listened to Nona Maria’s stories like they were the most important things she’d ever heard. That’s not someone playing a part.
That’s someone who cares. I know. So don’t screw it up. You keep saying that because you have a talent for over complicating things when they should be simple. You like her. She likes you. Your family approves. What more do you need? Time maybe we barely know each other. Your father and I knew each other three weeks before we got engaged.
Time is not the important factor. Connection is. She paused. Bring her Sunday. Let her see what Sunday dinners are like when we’re not on our best behavior. If she survives that, she’s a keeper. After hanging up, Christian found Mia in the kitchen stress baking again. “What are you making now?” He asked. Biscotti.
Your mother mentioned she likes biscotti, so I’m making biscotti for Sunday dinner if we’re going, which I assume we are because your mother is terrifyingly persuasive. We’re going. He moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist. My mother knows. Mia tensed. Knows what? That it started as an arrangement? She asked directly. I told her the truth.
that it started practical but became real and she’s okay with that. She called you special and told me not to screw it up. So, yes, she’s okay with it. Your mother is full of surprises. My mother is full of wisdom disguised as directness. He kissed her temple. She’s right though.
You are special and I’m going to do everything I can not to screw this up. Good plan. Mia leaned back against him. Because I’m already invested in this, in you, in your chaotic family and your mother’s texts and your sister’s smuggness, all of it. Even Zia Carla asking about baby names, especially that. It’s horrifying and endearing at the same time.
That’s the Maronei family in a nutshell. They stood there in his kitchen, Mia stressbaking biscotti, Christian holding her, both of them knowing this was the beginning of something that would probably be complicated and definitely be wonderful. “Hey, Christian,” Mia said after a moment. “Yeah, thank you for asking me, for trusting me with your family, for turning something practical into something real.
Thank you for saying yes. For making cannoli at 6:00 a.m. for not running away when Zia Carla started planning our wedding. She did what? She has a venue picked out. St. Leonard’s naturally. She told my mother after you left. We’ve been dating. Really dating for less than 24 hours. Italian families move fast apparently.
But Mia was smiling. I should probably be terrified. Are you? Strangely, no. Your family is overwhelming, but in the best way. Like being swept up in a wave. You just have to go with it. That’s the most accurate description I’ve ever heard. Sunday dinner came and Mia survived it. Then the next Sunday and the one after that.
Within a month, she was a fixture at Maronei family events. expected, welcomed, teased like any other member. Valentina took full credit. Naturally, I matched you. I’m a matchmaking genius. You hired her as a nanny, Christian pointed out. Exactly. Strategic placement. I knew she’d be perfect for you. You did not. I absolutely did.
Why do you think I kept asking you to pick up the kids? She probably hadn’t, but Christian let her have the victory. It kept her happy, and a happy Valentina was good for everyone. 3 months later, Christian found himself back in his mother’s kitchen, helping prepare Sunday dinner while Mia was upstairs reading to Luca and Sophia.
You’re going to ask her soon, Elena [clears throat] said. Not a question. How do you know? Because you look at her the way your father looked at me 35 years ago, like she’s the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. That’s very poetic, Mama. I’m Italian. We’re good at poetry. She handed him vegetables to chop.
When? Next month. I’m taking her to the Cape for a weekend. Quiet, private, just us. Good. She’ll want privacy for that moment. She’s not a public proposal person. How do you know? Because I pay attention. That girl is confident in chaos, but private about emotion. She’ll want the proposal to be just you and her. Elena smiled. You chose well, Christian.
Not just for us, but for you. I got lucky. You hired her as a fake date and fell in love with her. That’s not luck. That’s fate. You believe in fate? I’m Italian Catholic. I believe in everything. She kissed his cheek. Bring her home happy. That’s all I ask. Upstairs, Mia finished the story and found both kids asleep, curled up on either side of her.
She extracted herself carefully, pulled blankets over them, and found Christian waiting in the hallway. “They’re out,” she whispered. “You have that effect. Calming chaos. years of practice. She took his hand. Come on, your mom needs help with dinner. As they walked downstairs together, Christian thought about fate, about practical arrangements that became love stories, about a woman who stress baked canoli and fit into his family like she’d always belonged there.
The ring was already bought, hidden in his safe, waiting for the right moment. But the right moment, Christian was learning, wasn’t about perfect timing or grand gestures. It was about finding someone who made canoli at 6:00 a.m. because she was nervous about meeting your family. Someone who handled interrogation from Italian ants with grace and humor.
Someone who looked at your complicated life and chose to stay anyway. The right moment was whenever you found that person. And Christian Maronei, who’d started this looking for a convenient date to a family party, had found so much more. He’d found home, not in a place, but in a person. And he wasn’t letting