Defending Pacer - Hamilton T. J. - Страница 35
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I continue setting out the rest of the cutlery. The table is set for eighteen. That’s one big family. I’ve had big dinner parties at Dolorous, but when it comes to family gatherings, we’re lucky to have five of us in attendance.
“Just for the record, I’ve never seen my brother this happy before.” She winks.
Did I just pass my first Fratelli cross-examination?
***
My mouth is sore from smiling and my head feels fuzzy from the full glass of red wine that keeps appearing in front of me. When an Italian tells you that it’s going to be an intense day, you really do have something to be nervous about. The discussions in Italian are loud and passionate, the food seems to be endless and the clinking of glasses is the soundtrack to it all—along with the crooning Dean Martin who continuously sings in the background.
I haven’t ever felt so welcomed into a family as I do here. Pacer’s two Aunts have asked me about all the details of Pacer and I meeting. I’m sure they read it all in the newspapers, but I’m happy to relive every moment again. His Uncle was so excited to see me a second time, but insulted that I haven’t been back to his restaurant since I was there over a week ago, and I’ve even managed to stir a handful of words out of his quiet nephew, Rico. Pacer has remained at the helm of the BBQ all day, pausing only when we catch sight of each other through the crowded gathering. My heart’s rhythm skips every time. I’ve always wondered what a true sense of family felt like, and today feels like no greater definition.
Pacer’s cousin Franco sits down beside me. He’s a taller and rougher version of his father, Carlo.
“So how’s Pacer’s case looking? He tells me you think he’ll get off all these charges?” It’s the first work-related conversation I’ve had all day.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m pretty confident it will all be cleared up soon.”
It reminds me about Jackson Reed. I need to find a way to get to him. I watch Franco for a moment, and decide that I’ll touch the subject to see if he’s willing to offer more information on the man than his cousin.
“There’s a couple of things that have popped up, and I’m not sure how to approach it with Pacer.” I watch Franco’s eyes. They flick to Pacer, who is occupied by the BBQ and his Uncle. “It’s about Jackson Reed.”
He shifts in his seat and grabs the bottle of red wine in front of him. Topping my glass up and pouring his own, he turns his attention back to me.
“Tell me more,” he says as he sips the wine.
“All the investigations on Pacer have documents missing. I don’t know why, or what significance they have to the investigations. I just find it strange that they’ve vanished … into thin air.”
“And what do you think Reed has to do with that?”
Looking towards Pacer, I catch him frowning at me with Franco, but I grin to conceal the seriousness of our conversation.
“I’ve managed to trace who was in contact with the paperwork last, which alone took a lot of digging. But what I found was those detectives in charge worked directly with Reed during Pacer’s trials.”
“Interesting,” Franco coolly replies.
Something tells me he knew all of this already.
“Why did Reed have this information removed? Was it to keep information on Pacer? Information that could put him in prison? Why?” The questions fire off in succession.
“These are things that you need to discuss with Pacer. But let me warn you, Pacer was dead against you being involved in any of this.” He takes a gulp from his wine to finish it, and gets out of his seat. “It sounds to me like you know quite a lot already.”
Franco has confirmed everything I already thought. There is more to Pacer and Jackson than just a crook and a QC. There is something between them that I need to find out.
A female singer blasts from the house’s speakers and Pacer’s Mum comes out, arms waving as she yells something in Italian. All the women clap and grab their disgruntled men for an impromptu dance on the terrace. Pacer grins and takes my hand, leading me to the coupled dancers, swaying in their embraces.
He guides me in a gentle dance together. “This is nice,” he says and kisses my forehead.
I nod. “It’s more than nice.”
“No, I mean it’s nice to not be dancing with one of my nieces or Aunts for once.”
It makes me laugh and he pulls me tighter to him. For the first time since the boatshed, I finally feel as if we’re alone, even though we’re amongst the bodies cocooning us.
With the last light of the day hanging over the city buildings in the distance, the whole scene is really quite romantic. I watch the happy faces of the couples dancing. Uncle Carlo and Pacer’s other Uncle, Mario, spin their wives around the terrace like seasoned pros. Even Lucia looks happy with her husband as they dance, little Camilla holding on between them. Giorgie dances proudly with his Nonna, and Rico swings the arms of his younger siblings. There is plenty of love floating amongst the group. Pacer’s body is nice and warm. It heats up all the right parts.
“How about we sway through the crowd … to an empty space.” The moment he speaks Bowie to me I go to water.
Is this guy serious? Guys I know don’t speak Bowie.
I grin like a fool. He touches my face and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. I kiss him as we sway to the Italian love song, both of us unconcerned about who’s with us.
Clapping erupts around us and I hear ‘amore’ being called out. My eyes catch Pacer’s and we grin, our stretched lips now straining to meet each other. The crowd of family breaks out in song together. All I understand of the Italian song is ‘amore’ but the tune is a familiar Italian classic. With Pacer’s forehead pressed against mine, I close my eyes and take in the overwhelming emotions in the air.
***
“This has been a really wonderful day. Thank you so much for inviting me into your family like this.” I hug Pacer’s Mum tight. It’s such a loving embrace, again a stark contrast to what my own family is like.
“Don’t let Paciano keep you away from here for long, eh?” she says and grins. “You are welcome to come here any time. Maybe we can have a girl’s day, cooking and drinking. I can make a good Italian wife out of you, yet,” she playfully teases.
“Now. Paciano.” She grabs hold of Pacer’s cheeks and pinches them as she finishes off the sentence in Italian. He listens and grins, laughing when she gets really excited about something. When he speaks back to her in Italian, my puss pulses. There’s nothing sexier than listening to him speak in another language. He could be abusing me in Italian and I swear I’d still be turned on.
“Come on, Chels. Let’s get out of here before Ma has us married with kids.”
“Ah. Kids! Mio figlio.” She kisses his cheeks adoringly.
We wave goodbye to the family who look intoxicated from both the wine and the company today. Pacer takes my hand and leads me towards the boathouse, not the front of the house as I was anticipating. He grins, knowing how stumped I am.
“We’re taking the boat home.” He winks.
I knew it. He’s a boat guy.
A stunning classic wooden speedboat, the type Gorge Clooney would cruise Venice in, waits alongside the jetty. My bag and a basket full of food and wine sit on the cream leather bench at the rear, all ready to go. I hold Pacer’s hand, and he helps me to step down into the boat. I sit in the front next to the driver’s seat. Pacer unties the boat from the jetty and pushes it out, jumping in as we drift away. The family gathering looks even more romantic from the water. Strings of warm party lights hang above the company of people below at the long table. The full table of glassware and discarded bottles is the sign that a good party was had. Franco lights up sparklers for his own four children and the twins. They run down to the water’s edge and wave them at us as Pacer starts the engine, the boat now rumbling on the water.
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