I pillage my underwear draw to get to the bottom, where the unloved but super pretty matching sets live. I grab a lace lilac number with embroidered florals, and hold it out. Oooooh, I forgot about you! I toss it in my open suitcase and search for more. I almost have to send in a specialist search team to rescue some of these unused pieces, when I finally hit the jackpot. Pulling out a delicate French lace one-piece negligée that I impulsively bought once when I was feeling down, I quickly spread it across my waist to check it will still fit, and also throw that in my bag.
Pacer comes back in just as I finish packing the last of my toiletries. “You look beautiful.” He wraps his arms around me.
“Are you sure this will be alright to meet your Mum?” I wave my hands up and down my outfit.
God, I sound desperate to impress, which I am, but I don’t need him knowing that.
His smirk is playful. “You don’t have anything to worry about. My family will love you. My Uncle and cousins have already been gossiping to Mum and my sister Lucia about you.”
“No pressure.” My smile feels as meek as my hopes.
Pacer, on the other hand, looks amused by the situation. “Come on. Everything’s being sorted. My Uncle is preparing all the meat at the restaurant as we speak. We have to go past to pick up the antipasto platters and vino before we head out to Ma’s.”
“Whereabouts does your Mum live?” I’m curious to know.
“She’s over in Hunter’s Hill,” he says with a smile, “so we had better get over to Zio’s so we can get there before the lunchtime traffic hits. If you wait down in the garage, I’ll drive down the back lane and pick you up in the Porsche.” Pacer takes my weekend bag in one hand and my hand in the other, and leads me down the stairs.
How quickly I’ve adapted to being led by a man. It was only three weeks ago that I was captain of my own ship, running my own course. Now I’m on a direction that’s so unknown, it’s exhilarating.
***
Of course Pacer’s Mum lives in Hunter’s Hill. It’s one of the only highly affluent suburbs that’s not on the eastern side of the city. It’s old money over here, and despite how they achieved their wealth, Pacer’s family has been renowned in the city for as long as my own. We pull into the circular drive, and the house is just as I imagined it—large and Italian. Across the front of the house, columns stretch up high and cream-coloured pots sit on top of pillars with sprouting green ferns.
“My Dad built it for Ma back in 95. She’ll never leave here,” Pacer says, pulling the car’s hand-brake.
I lean across to the back seat and grab the pretty bouquet that I bought for his Mum. Even though Pacer insisted that it was unnecessary to bring something, I have never, and will never arrive at a house without a gift for the host. It’s just how I was raised.
Pacer leans to the back, getting out the three huge platters his Uncle prepared for the gathering.
“We’ll come back for the cases of wine.” He closes the door with his leg.
I follow him up the terracotta steps and through the open front door. Music plays through the house. It’s classic Dean Martin, of course.
“Hey Ma, where are you? Do I have to tell you a thousand times, you need to keep this door closed.” He shakes his head.
The inside of the house is even more Italian than the outside. Cream marble covers the sprawling floor. Gold accents the wrought iron of the staircase in front of us. Crystal hangs above us in chandeliers, and deep reds cover the fabric of the chairs that take up the corners of the foyer. It’s enough to make Scarface himself insanely jealous.
“Ah Paciano. Nella cucina,” I hear her call out in the distance.
“By the way, Ma will try and break into native tongue as much as possible so I’ll have to keep reminding her that you don’t speak Italian.” He stops and turns to me. “Or do you?”
There’s that eyebrow control again.
I shake my head. “Not unless pronouncing the menu at your Uncle’s restaurant is considered being a linguist, then no, sadly. But I’ll do my best to keep up.”
He gives me a sneaky peck on the lips, and I continue following nervously behind him. A tall glamorous woman with thick dark hair that rivals Elizabeth Taylor’s and eyes that outshine Sofia Loren’s fusses around the enormous kitchen island. The collar on her light blue shirt is popped up, with a red and white striped apron covering her expensive-looking clothes. She’s not at all what I imagined. I was half expecting a little Italian mumma, complete with a headscarf. How wrong I was!
She wipes the sauce from her hands and holds her arms out wide, bypassing Pacer and making her way straight to me. “Oh come here, caro.” She hugs me tight and kisses me on either cheek. “Let’s have a look at you.” She holds me out in front of her. “I prayed for my Paciano. I prayed, and prayed. Every day. For you to come … and here you are.”
I catch Pacer rolling his eyes behind his Mum and I chuckle.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Fratelli. I bought these for you.” I hold the bouquet of blooms for her.
She takes them. “Thank you, bella. Now please, call me Ma. None of this Mrs Fratelli.” She tsks.
There’s an instant familiarity I feel around her. She puts the flowers in a vase and directs Pacer to put the platters on the table outside. I stay in the kitchen and offer my help, even though I don’t have a clue what I’m doing in the kitchen. But it’s a nice change to watch Mrs Fratelli in the kitchen.
“Sure, how about you help by opening the vino,” she says with a wink. “Glasses are just back out in the bar near the balcony.”
Just as I wander back out to get some glasses, two high-pitched squeals pierce through the air, followed by the pushing and shoving of a boy and a girl, no older than five. They continue shoving one another as they rumble past in a flurry.
“Nonna!” they shriek in unison.
A woman with silky dark hair flowing all the way down to her bum balances a baby girl on her hip as she yells after the toddlers in Italian. The both of us stand, staring at one another for a moment before she smiles wide.
“Chelsea. Hi! I’m Lucia, Pacer’s sister.” She holds her free arm out for me and I hug her.
“So great to meet you.” I kiss her on either cheek, and can’t help but be drawn to the big brown eyes of her daughter. “And who is this little angel?”
“This is my little Camilla.” She holds her out to me with one hip. “Do you mind holding her for a moment while I grab the food from the car?”
“Sure,” I say as I take the little darling in my arms.
She’s a solid little cutie and looks perfect in her little white fur jacket. She stares at me through her gorgeous long dark eyelashes while I stand slightly bewildered by the bustling family already. Lucia comes back through to the kitchen with a box overflowing with bread and vegetables.
She smiles at me as she passes. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the twins that you saw race through to see Ma.”
I nod. Speech has already failed me, and this is just the beginning. Walking back through to the kitchen, I find Pacer with the little girl twin in a football grip, while he holds the wildly swinging boy twin back by his head. Pacer catches me with baby Camilla in my arms and we both stare at each other for a moment. This is weird. I feel the smile rising, but it quickly vanishes once the boy twin stomps on Pacer’s foot, causing him to yell out in pain.