He pulls out and we make our way onto Pacific Coast Highway going south, and a few miles later he pulls into a restaurant valet and two men approach our car and pull open our doors.
“Good evening, Mr. Alesci,” the one on his side says.
“Ma’am,” the one on my side says.
I barely manage a, “Thank you,” as I exit the car and wait at the curb, while Mateo talks into the other valet’s ear and hands him some cash. He pats him on the back and walks over to me, taking my hand.
“Ready?” he asks, weaving us through a crowd of people waiting to get inside.
“What’s going on here?”
“Just don’t look up.”
Of course I look up. And see the name of the restaurant above the door. “Alesci’s Laguna Beach?”
“Whatever you do, don’t show fear.”
“Mateo—”
But an older woman interrupts me. She places her hands on his cheeks and spills out something in Italian. He blushes. I laugh. And then he’s talking in Italian a mile a minute as the woman takes me in and gives me a very suspicious look.
“Mom—”
Jesus Christ. You have got to be kidding me. Mateo’s mother is tall and thin, wearing a designer suit and diamonds everywhere I look. Her hair is a rich mahogany brown, her makeup is perfect, her shoes probably cost more than, well, everything I own, plus a few thousand dollars more, and she smells like a very expensive bottle of perfume.
“—this is Shannon.”
“Shannon?” she says, like she’s never heard the name before in her life. I’m not Italian and no amount of wishing will change that.
“We’re just here to eat dinner. I called ahead and Vinnie set us a table upstairs.”
I might get a mother’s evil eye from that statement. “Um,” I say, way, way out of my comfort zone. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Alesci.”
She gives me another once-over but Mateo has me by the hand and he’s practically dragging me to the back of the restaurant. We climb the stairs, which are narrow, so there is nothing to do but keep hold of his hand as he leads me, and then find ourselves out on a private patio where there are about half a dozen empty tables and only one is set for dinner.
Mateo pulls my chair out and I sit, watching him as he takes the seat across from me.
“What the hell did you just do?” I ask.
“What?” he says innocently.
“Tell me that didn’t just happen.”
“You met my mother, so what?”
“I’m ten fucking years younger than you, Mateo,” I whisper-yell. I might be having a panic attack. “This is not cool.”
“Why not?” The waiter comes up the stairs and Mateo holds up two fingers. “Vino and lasagna bolognese.” The waiter nods and goes back down.
“Oh, my God, did you just order me wine? Your mother is going to kill me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, leaning over the table to kiss me on the cheek. “She loves me too much to kill you, Shannon.”
I just shake my head at him. “I cannot believe you brought me here.”
“Why?”
“Mateo, you’re twenty-eight. I’m eighteen.”
“Eighteen is the key number. She’ll be fine. Just relax. Besides, what kind of date would it be if I didn’t keep you on your toes?”
I’m just about to answer when an older man comes up and squeezes Mateo’s shoulder, babbling in Italian.
I just smile and nod. This is a nightmare.
“Be right back,” Mateo says, getting up. “I have to go say hi to my aunt.” His fingertips brush my shoulder as he walks past me and then he disappears down the stairs.
“Great,” I mutter, wringing my hands in my lap.
“Shannon.”
I turn around and yup, right on cue, there’s the mom coming to check me out. I have a moment of rage that Mateo fell for it, and then roll my eyes, because yeah, like that was what happened. He left me up here on purpose so she could come grill me.
“Um, hi!” I try to say it brightly. “Mrs. Alesci. You have a very nice restaurant.”
“May I?” she asks, waving her hand at Mateo’s chair.
“Well…” I laugh nervously. “I suppose that’s why Mateo left so suddenly, so of course.”
She smiles sweetly at me, folding her hands on the table. “Just one question.”
“Eighteen,” I blurt.
She laughs, gets back up and walks away. I watch her retreat down the stairs, but just as quickly she turns and starts walking back up.
Shit. I take a deep breath and stand, read to bolt downstairs if she starts smacking me. I once dated an Italian guy back in Ohio and I can say from experience, these mamas do not fuck around when it comes to their sons.
But she walks towards me smiling, holding her hands out and reaching for mine. She squeezes them both at the same time, then leans in to kiss me on both cheeks. “I’m Mateo’s mother, Gigi Alesci, and you may call me Gigi. I’m so happy to meet you, Shannon.”
Oh, my God, the weirdness runs in the family. “I know, I just met you down—”