I give his curly head a pat, only to find my fingers mesmerized by his cloud-soft hair.
See? Babies aren’t so bad, Lydia says to me as Howie grabs fistfuls of skirt in his chubby hands.
My stomach growls four times before Father and Jane are announced and enter the ballroom. (Heaven forbid Jane simply enter a room on her special day.) But at least they’re here, and we can eat.
“How many people are you feeding off that plate, sis?” Tim asks as we settle into our seats after our turn through the buffet line.
I stick my tongue out at him, and beneath the shelter of the tablecloth, I again slip off my pinchy shoes. I shovel food into my mouth between chats with those who stop by to say a “brief hello” and fawn over Howie.
I’ve just swallowed a large bite of dinner roll when I sense someone standing beside me, and a rumbly male voice says, “You must be the famous Piper Sail.”
I look up and blink into the dark eyes of a tall, imposing Italian man. He’s not overweight, just solid. Broad shoulders, a thick chest, and powerful legs. With a scowl, he’d be intimidating, but his smile is full and his eyes indicate a man of good humor.
I dab my mouth with a cream-colored napkin. “I don’t know that I’m exactly famous, but I haven’t yet met another Piper Sail.”
“You’re famous at my house, anyway.” The man sticks out his hand, which is massive, like a baseball mitt. “Giovanni Cassano. Mariano’s father. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sail.”
Oh. Oh. “I . . . Yes, you too, sir.”
His grip on my hand is surprisingly gentle. “My son speaks very highly of you.”
And I have no idea how to respond to that. “Thank you. He does of you too.” I think he does, anyway. Mariano doesn’t seem to like talking about his family. “Is he here yet?”
“I expect him at any minute. He wasn’t supposed to be long at the office today, but . . .” Giovanni shrugs his shoulders.
“Mr. Cassano.” I startle at the sound of Tim’s voice. He rises from the table, his hand outstretched. “Great to see you, sir. So glad you could make it.”
“Glad to have been invited. I finally get the chance to meet your lovely wife.”
How does my brother know Giovanni Cassano? A memory tickles at me, like a song you know, yet can’t quite recall the exact tune. Is it Tim whom I’ve heard talk about the Cassano family? Or Nick? I think, maybe, I’ve heard Nick saying—
“Piper.” Giovanni nods toward the entrance. “Someone finally broke free from his desk.”
In the doorway, Mariano cuts a dashing figure in his silk top hat and cutaway coat. His gaze scans the crowd, and his mouth spreads into a smile when he spots me walking toward him.
In my stocking feet—whoops.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“It’s funny, but you look just like this guy I used to know.”
“Way back last week, you mean?”
“Mm-hmm.”
His fingers clasp mine, but with a ballroom full of people—including both our fathers—neither of us move closer. Gray smudges beneath his eyes give away how taxing his week has been.
“You need a good meal, detective.”
He squeezes my hand. “I need time with my girl, Miss Sail.”
My stomach seems to fold in on itself. “Maybe we could make both happen at once.”
The band leader announces that Mr. and Mrs. Sail are going to enjoy their first dance—Jane’s new name grates on my ears—and the band strikes up, “You Made Me Love You.”
All eyes in the room lock on Jane and my father, who dances like you might guess a lawyer in his late forties would. Mariano’s arm curls around my waist, and his mouth whispers against my ear. “Think they’d play ‘It Had to Be You’ if I ask ’em real nice?”
I grin with the memory of the Parmesan-scented evening at Vernon Park, the winking stars in the sky, and the warmth of Mariano’s mouth on mine. “If not, I’ll sic Jane on them.”
His chuckle is a warm rumble against me.
I happen to catch Alana’s eye—not everyone is tuned in to Father and Jane, apparently—and I return her smile, hoping she sees that, like she had hoped on the front porch hours ago, I’m getting through the day just fine.
“Lydia getting into the car certainly implies that she knew the driver.” Mariano twirls me out and then back against him. “That’s the most disturbing thing to me. I can’t get over it. You’re sure David Barrow was telling the truth about the car?”
“Pretty sure. But you’ve spoken to the Finnegans?”
Mariano nods. “Jail and the cinema, remember? Rock solid.”
My peach skirts swish against my legs as we waltz. “But what about beyond the brothers. Did you check out men who work for them? Because I could do some dig—”
“No.” Mariano’s hand presses into my back, and my heart hiccups in my chest at our closeness. “Please, no. After the week I’ve had and everything I’ve seen with this current case, I just really want to know that you’re safe.”
We’ve stopped dancing.