Holiday Hoax (Windy City Holidates #3)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

MIA

“I have someone I want to set you up with,” Mom says as she stirs a pot of sauce on the stove. “And taste this, it needs something.” She shoves a steaming wooden spoonful of marinara sauce at my lips.

I take a taste because there’s no telling her to back off. “Needs more salt.”

“Can’t use more salt. Dr. Carver put your father on a low sodium diet.” She turns back to the stove. “I’ll just add more garlic.”

“How did his appointment go this week?” I lean a hip against the counter while she stirs.

“Still thinking they might have to put another stint in, but that wouldn’t be until after the holidays. If I can keep him out of the sweets. I had to hide the Halloween candy in the cabinet above the washer.” She points at me with the wooden spoon. “Don’t you dare tell him that.”

I raise my hands, knowing full well I don’t want to be on the bad side of Theresa Mattia. She’s five-foot-nothing of absolute ferocity. I could sweet talk my dad out of anything growing up, but one disproving glance from Mom, and I’d fold like tissue paper. We all would.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She hums, unconvinced. “Do you remember Barb and Jerry from church? They have a son who went through confirmation with Nico. Name is Bradley.”

“I think so.” I remember a guy with red hair and freckles, but that’s about it.

“He just moved back to Chicago. Lives in River North and works at a market.”

“He works in marketing,” Dad yells from the living room. “Not at a market.”

“Whatever.” She waves a hand in the air. “The point is he’s single. You’re single. He’s in the city. You’re in the city. You’re both Catholic.”

Luckily for me, a stampede of little feet come running into the house. “Nonno! Nonna!” My nieces and nephews yell with delight as they launch their little bodies at my parents. My chest warms with affection as they shower my parents with love.

“Mia!” They yell in unison as they notice me. I’m overrun by the four of them, knocked to the floor as they dogpile me.

“Not in my kitchen,” Mom yells, nudging me with her foot.

“Get off me you little heathens.” I tickle all but the littlest one. “Except you, I’m keeping you.” He giggles as I pretend to chomp on his shoulder while I stand up holding him.

“Go wash up for dinner, I just started the pasta,” Mom calls over her shoulder.

I sit down at the table next to my sister while Joey snuggles in my lap and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “How are you doing?”

“Working my ass off,” she says with a tired smile. “You?”

“Same, minus keeping four tiny humans alive.”

“Don’t forget the full-grown man-child I have, he’s the neediest of them all.”

“Who’s needy?” Paul asks as he walks into the kitchen.

“Look in a mirror.” Maria smiles at her husband lovingly.

He gasps and grabs Joey from my lap. “Did you hear that, Joe? Mama thinks I’m needy.”

“Marie, do you remember the boy Bradley from Nico’s confirmation class?” Mom asks.

“No.” She cuts her gaze my way questioningly.

“I’m trying to fix your sister up with him.”

“I think you should let the girl live a little,” Dad says as he walks into the kitchen. “She doesn’t need to worry about getting married when she’s only twenty-six.”

“I can’t go on a date with him anyway. I’m too busy.”

“Busy with what?” Mom turns from the stove.

“Work. Friends.”

She mumbles something in Italian under her breath which makes Dad chuckle.

“Has anyone heard from Nico?” Maria asks, changing the subject to Mom’s favorite child.

“He and Stella will be back at the beginning of November.” Nico and I are the closest, even though there are six years between us instead of three like my older siblings. They always tease me about being an oopsie baby.

It used to bother me, but I’ve grown into my place as the caretaker of my parents. Maria and Paul live an hour away, and Nico’s always traveling. Alessia, my other older sister, lives in Florida with her husband and their two kids. They just bought a house with a guest house, so Mom and Dad are planning on spending most of December with them. It’ll be weird for me to be alone for the holidays, but I’ll survive.

The rest of dinner is spent catching up on all the activities the kids have coming up. Luckily for me that means Mom backs off on trying to set me up with Bradley the marketing guy. I didn’t want to say that I was seeing someone because I’m technically not, but my parents wouldn’t understand that. Mom and Dad definitely wouldn’t approve of it being Ian, not because they have anything against him, they just don’t like his parents.

I do wonder how both Ian and Stella grew up to be such good people when their parents, mostly their mom, are so terrible. Granted they both went to boarding schools and, from what I understand, had several nannies before then. Maybe that helped.

Their background couldn’t have been more different from ours. Living in a three-bedroom ranch as a family of six was hard. Sometimes money would be so tight we’d have cacio e pepe multiple times a week. It never mattered though, because, at the end of the day, we always had clean clothes, full bellies, and so much love.

At the end of the day, I squeeze into the center of the third row in my sister’s minivan for the drive to the train station. That way I can skip taking the bus there from my parent’s house. I give all the kids kisses and hug my sister and brother-in-law, waving as they pull out of the parking lot. The station is nearly empty, most people aren’t going into the city from the suburbs on a Sunday night. I use the time to plan out my week, opening the calendar app on my phone.

Tomorrow night with Ian should be interesting. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see his home. If it truly is a blank slate, I could have some real fun decorating it. Not to mention the way spending time with him is just effortless fun. I never would have thought we’d get along as well as we do.

It’s not surprising that Ian lives in one of the most exclusive buildings in Chicago, but even knowing that, I wasn’t expecting him to tell me he had a private entrance and elevator to his penthouse. Talk about swanky. With the push of a button, I’m being lifted to the sixth floor.

The doors slide open, and I’m treated to a stunning view of Lake Michigan through double-height windows. The floors are white marble with subtle silver veining providing movement and interest. The walls are white. The trim is white. Even the floating stairs leading up to the second level are white.

“Hi.” Ian walks around the corner in a pair of jeans and a plain long-sleeve navy shirt. He’s wearing wire-rim glasses, and his hair is artfully mused, like he’s been running his hands through it.

“Hello.” I pull my gaze from him, trying to ignore the spark of attraction I always feel when I look at him. I mean, who wouldn’t feel like that when he looks like a damn model all the time? “I see what you mean about it being a blank space. Not that it’s not absolutely stunning.”

He gives me a chagrined smile. “I know. Decorating isn’t my strong suit.”

“That must be cleanliness.” I swear I could probably lick these floors and be perfectly fine.

“Yeah, between my tidiness and Marta, everything stays clean.”

“Marta?” He’s never mentioned her before.

“Yes, my housekeeper.” He helps me pull off my coat and hangs it up in a coat closet. “Want the tour?”

“Absolutely.”

“Follow me.”

He leads me into the living room, which is all glass on one side, has a large fireplace with more marble surrounding it, and a large sectional. Everything is white or cream-colored. No warmth, no life. Just sterile enough to make me think I could easily be in an institution.

The kitchen actually has more warmth, with light bamboo cabinetry extending all the way to the ceiling. I immediately zero in on a place behind the dining table where a large painting would fit perfectly. Something with a lot of warmth and color to liven up the area. I even have an artist in mind, especially knowing the colors that speak to Ian.

Next is the hallway, his office, a few guest rooms, and a media room, which is the only place in the apartment with any color and it’s all black. I take notes as we go, jotting down ideas as I look over the space. All of his furniture is gorgeous and arranged functionally but also beautifully.

“Did you use a designer?”

“Yes.” He peeks down at my notepad. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, not at all. Everything is well put together, which could easily be your doing. You’re always so well dressed, even when it’s casual.” I gesture at his body to drive home my point. “I am surprised they didn't add any art or wall decor, though.”

“That was my direction. I figured the views were enough.”

“No doubt about it, the views are amazing, but the starkness of the white walls leaves something to be desired. It feels a bit institutional.”

“A straitjacket?” he jokes.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe just some grippy socks.”

He laughs as he opens the door at the end of the hall, but as soon as I follow him inside the room, my jaw drops. The view from the primary suite is stunning. Windows gleam from floor to ceiling on two sides of the room highlighting the view of the lake on one side and the city on the other.

“I’d never get out of bed,” I say reverently. And to be very clear, the bed is a masterpiece as well, with a padded headboard extending two thirds of the way up the wall. There’s no footboard, it would only impede the view, which would be criminal.

“I don’t on Sunday mornings.” He walks around the bed and sits back against the headboard, his long, denim-clad legs crossing over one another. “I stay in bed and read until noon, unless I have something scheduled.” He pats the bed beside him in invitation.

Something about slipping my shoes off and sitting down with him feels intimate. His feet are bare and bizarrely attractive with long toes and neatly trimmed nails. His shoulder nudges mine, and he clears his throat.

“Are you staring at my feet?”

“Yeah. Just thinking that you could probably sell photos of yours if things in the family business ever go south.”

He lifts his foot and looks at it. “You think?”

“I do. You’re irritatingly attractive.” It’s an offhand comment I don’t think too much about as I start studying the space around us. “There’s really only the space on either side of the headboard for any art in here.”

“Wait a minute.” He holds a hand up, and I swear I feel his ego swell in the ensuing seconds. “You think I’m attractive?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” I brush him off, not wanting to go down this road.

“It’s not going to my head. I just would have thought I was too old for you.”

“Celebrity men older than you date women younger than me all the time. I personally find George Clooney and Harrison Ford to be extremely handsome. Jeff Goldblum, for that matter, too.”

“Jeff Goldblum?” His brows rise nearly to his hairline. “I’m hotter than Jeff Goldblum.”

“I plead the fifth.” I mime zipping my lips and throwing away the key. There’s no way this conversation goes anywhere productive if we keep talking about it. He doesn’t need to realize just how attractive I find him. “Back to the art. I love these pendant lights on either side of the bed. What if I found some unique glass work to create a piece instead of using the ones you have now?”

“That could work. Nothing too out of the box for here though. I want to keep the ambiance peaceful.”

“I can do that. When do you want to stop by the gallery?” I finish jotting down a few dimensions and ideas on the pad and then flip the cover closed.

He pulls out his phone and flips through his schedule. “I don’t have any late meetings on Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Six?”

“That works. We can grab dinner after.”

“Perfect.”

“Mr. Jameson?” Marta calls from the hall.

“Yes.” He stands from the bed as she walks into the room.

“I put dinner out for you and your date.”

“Oh, I’m not his date.” My cheeks warm as I stand.

“Date or no, you still eat the food I cook.” She looks at me the same way my nonna would have. Her attention turns to Ian. “It’s sausage and roasted root vegetables, very hardy.”

His eyes sparkle as he turns back to me. “You definitely want to stay for this. Plus, it beats ramen or peanut butter and jelly.”

The scent of herbs and spices reaches my nose as we walk down the hallway away from the bedroom. It does smell good, and if I’m not mistaken, I smell freshly baked bread as well. The sun has sunken beneath the horizon, so it is time to eat, I might as well have the delicious food being offered.

“It does smell infinitely better than microwaved ramen, that’s for sure. I’ll stay.”