Except, apparently, Ava Sims.
By the time they’d gotten to his parents’ house, Luc was grinding his teeth, and Anthony was in all-out charm mode (which Luc hadn’t even known was a thing), and Ava was practically simpering.
To punish her, he’d nearly left her in Anthony’s oh-so-doting care for the evening. That would show her.
But then Luc had seen it. He’d seen her, with the sassy layers stripped away.
It happened when Anthony opened the front door, and just as Luc was inhaling the familiar aromas of his mother’s cooking, he caught Ava’s expression out of the corner of his eye.
She hesitated, her bright, ever-present smile slipping, and she’d looked lost and completely unsure of herself.
Her description of her family flitted through his mind. After meeting Miranda, Luc had been hoping the bad vibes with her sister had been a fluke.
But the tension in her shoulders when she’d talked about her family looked decades old.
In other words, the Sunday dinner that had always felt like coming home to him was completely foreign to her.
Luc mentally sighed. He wanted to leave her to the sharks.
To let her sink or swim as she went about interviewing his family, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, stalking his baby pictures to see if he fixed the wings of baby birds, or something she could use for her stupid hero story.
Her finger fiddled with the sleeve of her cardigan, as a loud burst of laughter came from the kitchen. White teeth nibbled nervously on the corner of her bottom lip, and Luc broke.
Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out a hand to her.
Ava blinked in surprise, staring in confusion at his outstretched hand. When her eyes lifted to his, they were confused and wary.
“Come on, Sims, it’s just a bit of kindness,” he said, intentionally keeping his voice light. “You’re about to be sucked into the Moretti vortex.”
“Is the rest of your family as cranky as you?”
Luc frowned. “You still think I’m cranky?”
“I think if there was a boarding school for personality makeovers, you’d probably get a scholarship.”
He let out a little laugh before wiggling his fingers. “Sweetheart, I’ll have you know that I’m the charming one of my family.”
She frowned. “Anthony was lovely.”
“I assure you. He’s not. Vincent’s worse, my sister’s a pain in the ass, my mom will probably ask to measure your hips and utter the word womb at some point during the evening, and my father was the New York Police Commissioner for twenty-seven years, which pretty much says it all.”
“And what are you?”
“Your savior for the evening.”
“Well all right then.” She slipped her hand in his, and the sensation of her fingers against his was oddly calming.
He ignored it, tugging her down the hall toward the kitchen, which had always been the heart of his parents’ household.
Luc meant to release Ava’s hand before entering the kitchen. No need to give anyone—especially Ava—the wrong impression.
But somehow his fingers didn’t release when he meant them to, and when they walked into the kitchen, the usual fighting, laughing, and yelling tapered off so there was only Nonna at the counter muttering about how her daughter-in-law “still couldn’t cut tomatoes for the life of her.”
Ava quickly tugged her hand away, but not before his entire family had seen exactly what was going on. It was times like this that being part of a family of cops sucked. They missed nothing.
And while his mother’s experience in law enforcement had been as a dispatcher, she was a mom. Her observation skills put her cop husband and sons to shame.
At least when it came to her flock.
“Bambino,” his mom said, giving him a beaming smile before holding her arms to the sides.
“Ma.” He moved toward her, kissing both cheeks.