Laurann Dohner: Something Wicked This Way Comes, Volume 2

Robyn looked at herself from all angles in the full-length mirror. She smoothed out her dress and then played with her hair. Should she wear it up or down? She frowned, trying to decide what would look best with her little red dress and matching heels. In the end, she opted to loosely pin her hair up and let a few tendrils of curls fall to frame her face.

She smiled into the mirror. She looked pretty good, if she did say so herself.

“He’s gonna love you, sis. You look gorgeous.”

Wide-eyed, Robyn whirled around. “Nicky! I didn’t hear you come in.” She affectionately bopped him on the head. “You scared the piss out of me.”

“I don’t see nothing runnin’ down your legs.”

She frowned. “That’s gross.”

He grinned. “Grossing you out is my brotherly duty.”

“Pfft! Not tonight. My nerves are already on edge.”

Her brother’s expression grew serious. His conversation flipped into Italian. “What’s going on? You change your mind about Jake? I can make up an excuse for you if you want me to.”

She waved that away. “No, no, I haven’t changed my mind about him. It’s…you know…our family.” She sighed. “They can be so embarrassing.”

Nicky chuckled, his speech reverting back to English. “Yeah but they are our family. Better to rip that Band-Aid off now on your first date and get it over with.”

“Second date. We met for coffee at Cha Chas already.”

“Oh yeah. How’d that go?”

She sighed, recalling it as if it were yesterday. Then again, it had been yesterday. “Wonderful,” she breathed out, probably sounding too nostalgic. “We talked for hours. I’ve never had that instant connection with anyone before, not even with Paulie. It’s a little scary,” Robyn admitted.

“I’d say that’s a good thing, seeing as how Paulie turned out to be a piece of shit.”

Robyn snorted at that as she took a seat on the edge of her bed. “You got me there. Still,” she sighed, “Jake will probably run for the hills after he meets the family, Nicky.” She grinned. “I know I would.”

Nicky winked. “I don’t know. Uncle Vito can be pretty funny.”

Robyn snorted at that. “If you call making farting sounds under your armpit after you’ve had one too many bottles of Chianti ‘funny’, then yeah, he’s a real riot.”

Robyn buried her face in her hands while Uncle Vito farted out the national anthem under his armpit. She should have known better than to let Jake meet her family this soon. Armpit farting aside, a man accustomed to a family of two probably found their sheer numbers overwhelming.

Every time the DiMarcos had a family get-together, they locked down their entire building on Mulberry Street, left the doors to everybody’s apartments wide open and made their way from one family member’s place to the next, eating, drinking, laughing and dancing. Ordinarily Robyn lived for these nights, but then, ordinarily she wasn’t hoping to impress a non-Italian man who didn’t have his own version of Uncle Vito back at home.

“Eat something, Robby,” her mother chided. “Your Jake is enjoying himself. Don’t worry so much.”

“Maaaa,” Robyn whined, raising her head. “Can you please ask your brother to behave?”

“Bah!” Maria DiMarco waved that away. “Vito is harmless. Besides, he’s like a Band-Aid. Better to rip it off now than—”

“Nicky already gave me the Band-Aid speech.”

“There you go. Besides, it looks like your Jake is laughing.”

Her Jake. She wanted him to be her Jake. She just hoped tonight didn’t irreparably damage her chances.

Robyn sighed and decided to make the best of the situation. She was hungry and there was no turning back now. Besides, she thought, bemused as her gaze zeroed in on Jake, he really was laughing. She shook her head. The appreciation of rude noises was apparently a source of male amusement regardless of their roots.

“Your father is really taking to him,” Maria whispered. “I was a little worried he wouldn’t when you told us he wasn’t Italian.”

“So was I,” Robyn confided. “I guess being the former quarterback of Pop’s precious Bloods was close enough to Italian for him.”

Maria chuckled. “It would seem so.” She affectionately grabbed Robyn’s chin, forcing her to look up. “Come, baby. Enjoy yourself! I made all your favorite foods and I’d like to see you eat them.”

Robyn smiled. “I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too, bambina . Now have some fun!”

Robyn nodded. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and decided to behave like her usual, gregarious self. Jake would either love it or hate it. She decided it would be his loss if he hated it.

Jake watched, mesmerized, as Robyn danced to traditional Italian music with her father and cousins. Nicky had explained that the dance was called Tarantellaÿ Napoletana and that it originated in Naples, the birthplace of the DiMarco family. It was beautiful— she was beautiful, and breathtaking.

He had fallen in lust at first sight with Robyn. He hadn’t expected something deeper to come from carnal attraction, but he’d be a damn liar if he said his thoughts hadn’t already strayed that way a time or ten. He loved everything about her. Her smile, her laughter, her conversation and her family. And then there was the small matter of her not exactly small body…

Fuck! There goes my dick again.

“My sister has always been a good dancer,” Nicky said with pride.

Jake shifted in his seat. He’d been so lost in thoughts of Robyn that he’d forgotten her brother was seated right next to him. “Yeah,” he hoarsely agreed. “She’s amazing.”

Jake cleared his throat and looked away from Robyn. He was pretty sure a change in scenery was the only thing that would help his dick go down. “Something ironic,” Jake said, glancing at Nicky. “She has the same name as my favorite suspense writer.”

Nicky grinned. “You want to know something more ironic?”

“What’s that?”

“My sister is your favorite suspense writer.”

It took a lot to startle Jake. Dominic DiMarco had managed to do just that. “Robyn is…she’s that Robyn?!”

“The one and only.”

“I thought those books were written by a dude!”

Nicky shrugged. “She never lets her picture get put on the jacket covers. Sexism, she says.”

“Sexism?”

“She told me female suspense writers aren’t backed by their publishers as seriously as male ones, so if they don’t have ambiguous names they usually take male pseudonyms. Robyn happened to have a name that could go either way.”

“Why don’t they back them?”

“Don’t know. Maybe they think suspense fans won’t read a woman’s work. Kinda like how romance fans probably won’t read a novel written by Bob Jones.”

“But she’s famous enough now that it wouldn’t matter.”

Nicky winked. “True. Robby doesn’t try to conceal it so much these days, but she does like her anonymity.”

Jake understood that particular desire all too well. Now that he was retired he wanted to fall off society’s radar and lead a normal life. Get married, have kids—that kind of stuff. He hoped the transition from football hero to average Joe wouldn’t be long in coming. It wasn’t like he was a movie star or rock singer.

Nicky continued talking, but his voice was drowned out by the music and Jake’s thoughts. Now Jake understood why Robyn had been inordinately fascinated yesterday by what he’d had to say about his favorite writer’s books—they were her books! He should have been angry that she’d semi-deceived him, but he wasn’t. She’d wanted him to like the real her, not the writer her. The same as he’d wanted Robyn to like the real him.