Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
PAYTON
W as it my imagination or was Lennie about to kiss me? Oh, baby, I was more than ready to lock lips with this man.
No, Payton. You've already fucked up by marrying him. Now you're going to kiss him and make him even more confused?
Him? What about me? And I was staying overnight in his house?
The real kicker was that I liked Lennie. More than liked. I'd been attracted to him from the moment we met, but now? Give me water, stat, because I was fucking thirsty.
And I really liked his family, too. Despite my nerves from our fake wedding shenanigans, I was comfortable with them right away. And his parents didn't seem fazed by the fact that their new son-in-law was a proud femboy. It made my guarded heart want for things. Things like a real husband.
He's real, all right. But he's not mine.
"Did you hear me?" Bella yelled.
"We heard you!" Lennie shouted back. "We'll be down in a minute!"
Poor Len. He was going to need another week off to recuperate from the stress of this fiasco. Still, his mom looked so upset when we first arrived that I didn't have the heart to tell her the wedding was a sham. And now I was overwhelmed with guilt. I'd gotten him into this silly situation and things were getting worse.
"Another relative?" I asked.
"Who the fuck knows? It could be one of my aunts, or my cousins. Or my Nonna. Shit, she's gonna be pissed too."
"How big is your family?"
Lennie laughed, and it was so good to see him smile again.
"Big."
Reluctantly, I let go of his shoulders. Why was it so difficult to do that?
"I'll go down first and see who it is," he offered and gave my waist a final squeeze before letting go. "The spare room is at the end of the hallway, and the bathroom is on the right."
I nodded and swallowed down my protest. I didn't want him to let go of me at all.
But I ignored the desire to step back into his arms—and to steal another look around his bedroom—and wandered into the hallway while Lennie headed back downstairs.
It was so bright up here with the skylights. I located the bathroom, and it was as nicely decorated as the rest of the house, with dark green walls, gold accents, and a roomy shower. I didn't know what I'd expected his place to look like, but Lennie, as always, surprised me.
After washing up, I realized that I'd left my handbag downstairs. Oh well. I didn't care about fixing my makeup at this point. My curls were looking more like bedhead, too. The stylist in me screamed to fix it, but the jet-lagged version said fuck it.
But it was my eyes that had me taking a second look in the mirror. I hardly recognized the soft expression in them. Oh no. No, no, no. I couldn't allow this to happen. Not now. Not him.
"Payton, what have you done?" I asked myself out loud.
A sudden knock at the door startled me.
I placed a hand on my chest. "I'll be right out."
When I opened the door, Lennie was standing in the hallway, his hand on the doorjamb.
"Couldn't stay away from me, eh, handsome?" I quipped.
Thank fuck, my flirty attitude hadn't vanished.
You can do this. Keep it light and then tomorrow, get the hell out of here and don't look back.
Lennie ignored my comment. "My Nonna's here."
"Your…grandmother?"
"Yep. Get ready." Lennie shook his head. "Oh, and Zoe texted me."
"The band's PR rep? Why?"
"The wedding posts went viral and now she's fielding calls and messages from the media. She's asked us to stop by her office tomorrow first thing."
"This is insane," I replied. "Why would people care about our wedding?"
"Because we both work for the band. And Brodie commented on your post, then Holloway, and of course the fans went nuts, and now the whole thing is taking on a life of its own. Congrats, you're now a celebrity in your own right."
Lennie crossed his arms.
"It'll die down," I reassured him.
"You keep saying that and yet every hour brings something else."
"There's nothing we can do except roll with it. It's a month. Four weeks. And then we quietly announce that the marriage didn't work out and we move on."
Lennie bit his lower lip and nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. I?—"
"What?" I asked, moving closer.
"I don't take marriage lightly. It's not a joke to me. And now, I've turned it into one. I'm lying to my family. And you deserve better."
"I wouldn't call what we did a joke. I was feeling lonely, and you comforted me. A little too well, unfortunately. Did we mess up? Yes. But it's not the worst thing to happen. And I'd rather be fake married to you than anyone else."
"You're just saying that—" He moved to turn away.
I grabbed Lennie's arm. "I'm not. I know I tease a lot, but I'm serious about this. And it's because I like you—and your family—so much, that I'm finding it hard to tell them the truth."
He put his hand over mine. And I didn't want him to let go.
"Then let's not keep Nonna waiting," Lennie replied. "But fair warning, she's not the easiest person to win over. I love her, but she can be a hard-ass. Just ask my dad. And my mom, and my sister?—"
"You mean, she's just like you?" I chuckled. "If I can win you over, I think I can deal with your grandmother."
"Hey!" Lennie grumbled.
We headed for the stairs and the closer we got to the main floor, the stronger the aromas of garlic, onion, and tomato. I had a feeling dinner was going to spoil me. Then I heard boisterous laughter and chatter—my kind of party. Lennie was worried for nothing.
"In the kitchen," Lennie whispered in my ear.
We wandered into his spacious kitchen, with a large island and windows that looked out over the backyard. Lennie's mom was making a salad, his dad was pouring wine, and his sister was setting the table in the corner of the room.
Then I noticed a frail-looking woman, standing at the stove, no more than five-feet-five, with short white hair. She was dressed in a black skirt and sweater, and vigorously stirred a large pot.
"Nonna, I'd like you to meet my…husband, Payton," Lennie announced. "Payton, my Nonna, Bianca Rizzoli."
Nonna put the spoon aside, turned around, and gave me a slow once over that told me this woman was not to be messed with. She looked fragile at first glance, but her eyes were sharp as hell and when they met mine, I took a step back. And bumped into my husband. I mean, Lennie. I was acting ridiculous.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rizzoli." I gave her my best smile. "May I call you Bianca?"
"Come here," she demanded in a raspy voice.
Okay, then, so much for trying the polite approach. I stepped closer to her and when I was within reach, she grabbed hold of my hand in hers, the grip so tight I nearly squeaked.
"You're different," she declared as she stared up at me, her blue eyes bright.
I almost said something sarcastic in response, but I nodded instead. Given the generation gap, I mentally braced myself for what might be coming next.
"But beautiful. Very beautiful," she continued. "Unique. No wonder my Leonardo married you so hastily."
My stomach unclenched a fraction.
"Well, you see—" I started.
Nonna waved her other hand in the air. "Done is done. My daughter-in-law will get over it. In time. You're part of the family now. You cook?"
"Uh, sometimes. There's only me though, so?—"
"You help me, yes? I'm making minestrone Milanese and polenta," she paused. "Leonardo, get your husband an apron. Ora! Sbrigati!"
I'd never seen Lennie move so fast. I held back a laugh, but it was a near thing. Nonna, of course, caught my grin.
"What about the lasagna?" I asked.
"That's only part of the meal. And if you want to keep your husband happy, you need to feed him. A lot."
"That sounds kind of?—"
"And Leonardo's a good cook, too," she added. "He will do the same for you. You take care of each other, capisce?"
"Yes, Bianca." I nodded, smiling at her.
"You call me Nonna," she insisted, gripping my hand tightly again.
I felt wonderful and horrible at the same time. Deceiving these lovely people who welcomed me as their own. Suddenly, Lennie was standing beside me, offering me an apron. He placed it gently over my head and then tied it around my waist.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He gave my waist a squeeze, and I stared into his eyes for a lot longer than I should've.
"You have time for the sex later," Nonna boldly announced. "First, we cook."
"Nonna!" Lennie placed a hand over his head.
"What? I speak only the truth," Nonna muttered.
"She's right." I winked at Lennie. "Food first."