A Bouquet of Love (10 page)

“Man with the case?” She turned and saw him, then grinned. “Oh, perfect timing! I've been waiting on him.” Bella rose and waved. “Gordy!”

The man grabbed his case and rushed our way. “Bella!” He kissed her on each cheek, then reached to open the case.

I pinched my eyes shut and braced myself for shots to ring out. This wasn't exactly how I'd planned to meet my Maker.

Turned out the dark case held a musical instrument—a saxophone. Gordy, I learned, directed a swing band, a band that Gabi had hired to perform at her wedding.

Go figure. The limo didn't belong to a mobster. It transported band members to and from gigs.

I felt like a fool.

On the other hand, at least I wouldn't die one. Not today, anyway. And not at Parma John's, under the watchful eye of my father's mortal enemies.

You might be Greek if there were more than twenty-eight people in your bridal party.

T
urned out Gordy was quite the character. He kept us in stitches, and not the kind you get at a hospital. I found myself caught up in conversation just as our pizza arrived. Gooey blobs of melted cheese graced the thick red sauce and tantalizing crust, but what really drew me in was the scent—no, the sight . . . no, the scent—of the pepperoni. Oozing little rivers of greasy goodness all over the cheese and red sauce, the yummy-looking circles practically begged me to reach out and grab one of them for a taste. So I did. In fact, I downed the first piece so quickly that Alex gave me an admiring nod.

“Guess you were hungry.” He took a bite and a contented look settled over him.

“Guess I was.” It might not be the Zorba, but I hadn't had anything this tasty in ages. After I finished my second piece, a quick glance at the clock sent me into a tailspin. Had I really been gone from the flower shop for nearly an hour? Ack. I had to make a clean getaway from this place and get back to work.

I worked out a plan in my mind, a way to protect me should anyone across the street be watching. “Do you mind if we stop off at the bakery on the way out?” I asked Alex. “I need to look at something.”

“Don't mind a bit. That's my usual exit route too.” He waggled a brow and then laughed. “Wait till you taste Scarlet's cheesecake.”

Sounded tempting. So did making it out of Parma John's alive.

Bella insisted on covering our lunch tab. We thanked her and rose to say our goodbyes to the Rossi crew. Uncle Laz caught us just as I headed into the bakery. “Before you go, you must tell me your name once again. My memory . . . it's not so good. I want to name the new Greek pizza after you.”

Oh. Help. I'd never wanted to lie so badly in my life.

“Well,” I finally managed, “my name is so boring. Why don't you call it something that people will recognize—maybe something like the Venus de Milo?”

I knew that Babbas would laugh his head off at that name. He would think it amateurish. And he would never, ever suspect that I had played a role in naming the pizza.

“Venus de Milo.” Laz shrugged. “Might work. I'll run it by
the family.” He offered me a gracious smile. “And speaking of family, you're a member of the Rossi clan now, whether you realize it or not. There's no turning back now.”

Oh please, God, don't let Babbas
show up for my funeral wearing those spandex tights.

I swallowed hard and fought the temptation to say, “Well, I might need a new family after this.” Instead, I managed a pleasant and calm, “Well, thank you, Mr. Rossi.”

“None of that Mr. Rossi stuff. It's Uncle Laz to you.” He threw his arms around me in a bear hug, his cane swinging through the air and nearly clipping Alex in the head.

Through the plate-glass window I saw my father in front of our shop, wearing his superhero costume. Yikes. He appeared to be looking for something. Or someone. Maybe me. He glanced directly at us, and I ducked through the opening into the bakery, then turned back toward the men.

Laz gave me a strange look, but not half as strange as the look from Alex, who followed along behind me. “Did you decide what you want from the bakery?”

“Oh. Um, yes.” I paused, my thoughts tumbling. “My mother's birthday is coming up.”
Next
January.
“I'm going to buy her a cake.”

“That's nice. Well, you've come to the right place. Scarlet makes the best cakes in town. She even won a decorating competition on TV. I think you two will get along great.”

“I met her at church yesterday, actually,” I said. “She seems really nice.”

“Oh, you went to her church? What did you think?”

“I liked it a lot.”
Hope my dad doesn't get us excommunicated.

“I've been there quite a few times myself. Scarlet is sweet,
and the hardest worker I know,” Alex said. “She's also tough as nails, but I guess you'd have to be, to be married to Armando.”

Married to Armando? Which one was Armando again? I couldn't remember.

I made my way across the crowded bakery to the glass counter, where I gazed down at the panorama of sugary delicacies. Oy vey. This might be the death of me.

Scarlet greeted me with a smile. “Well, hello, stranger. Didn't take you long to stop by. I'm tickled you're here.”

She went on and on about how great it was to see me, but I couldn't get past the fact that Alex had called her Armando's wife. In that moment, as she stood across from me chattering on without a care in the world, it hit me.

Armando. Bella's brother.

I swallowed hard and faced Scarlet head-on. “Scarlet, your last name is Rossi?”

“Well, sure.” She reached into the glass case and straightened a tray of M&M cookies. “Still consider myself a honeymooner, though, so I forget my own last name at times. You know how it is when you first get married. You have to remind yourself of the new name.” She beamed. “But I'm so happy to be a Rossi now.”

Of course she was. They were all happy to be Rossis.

I slapped myself on the forehead. “You're a Rossi. Bella's a Rossi. Marcella's a Rossi. You're all Rossis.” A little sigh followed. “And you're all great.”

“Well, thank you.” Scarlet giggled. “Technically I'm only a Rossi by marriage, but if that makes me great in your eyes, I'll take it.”

Yeah, you're pretty great, and you're
a Rossi. Which definitely means my chances of keeping you
as a friend are going
down by the minute. So
long, new friend. After Babbas finds out your last name,
we won't be visiting your father's church anymore.

She rambled on about the goings-on at the church's youth group—something about how she needed to bake more M&M cookies for some big event—but seemed to have lost Alex to the sweets. He pressed his index finger to the glass case in front of the turtle cheesecake and released a contented sigh.

“Which one are you going to get?” Alex turned back to me.

“Which what?”

“Which cake? For your mother?” Tiny creases formed between Alex's brows.

“My mother. Right. Her birthday.”
Next January.

“This one's nice.” He pointed at an expensive number, all frilled out in cream cheese frosting. “That's the one I would get for my mother.”

“That's the one you bought for yourself last week, goober.” Scarlet laughed. She looked at me, an amused expression on her face. “I've never known a guy who has a sweet tooth like Alex. He's worse than any woman I've ever known.”

“Keep on humiliating me like that and I'll just start buying my sweets across the street.” He pointed at Super-Gyros and my breath caught in my throat.

“Oh yeah?” Scarlet's brow wrinkled in concern. “They sell baked goods over there?”

“Only the best baklava I've ever had in my life,” Alex said. “But I wouldn't worry if I were you. They only had a million customers buying it right and left when I was there on Saturday.”

Scarlet's brows elevated. “Be serious. Do you think I should add baklava to my lineup?”

“You make the best sweets on the island,” Alex said, “but I don't think you want to give these people a run for their money when it comes to baklava. They're Greek.”

“Ah.” She sighed. “Well, I guess I'll stick to what I know.”

The bakery filled with customers, and I took another look at the time. No way. I'd been gone an hour and ten minutes? Marcella would have my head. If the man in the superhero cape didn't kill me on the way out of here.

“I need to go. Now.” Taking hold of Alex's muscular arm distracted me from making a quick getaway.

“You gonna get the cake for your mom later then?” he asked.

“Yeah. I've got plenty of time.”
Several months, in fact.

He led the way out of the bakery door onto the street, and I hid behind him as my sister came out of Super-Gyros to clear the tables on the sidewalk.

“Just keep walking,” I said to Alex. “I'll explain in a minute.”

He headed away from Parma John's in the direction of the florist shop. When we reached the first street corner, I breathed what must've been a visible sigh of relief.

“I knew it.” Alex snapped his fingers. “You're on the run from the law, aren't you?”

“No.” I laughed nervously. “But I am on the run. You've got that part right.”

“From . . . ?” He took a seat at the trolley stop and gestured for me to join him.

“My father.”

“Your father?” Alex's expression tightened. “Is he abusive?”

“No, nothing like that.” With a wave of my hand I dismissed that idea right away. Babbas was tough, no doubt about it. But never abusive. Oh, he occasionally ranted about
giving the little ones a swift kick in the rear every now and again, but he didn't mean it.

“So why are you on the run from him?”

“It's kind of funny, really.” I gave what I hoped would be a convincing smile. “My father would kill me if he knew I was at Parma John's, having pizza.”

“Because you're allergic to pizza too?”

“No. Because he really doesn't like to see me cavorting with the enemy.”

“Cavorting with the enemy?” Alex asked. “Now I'm really intrigued.”

“Here's the problem,” I whispered. “The whole island is filled with Rossis.”

“That's a problem?”

“Well, not from my vantage point, but my father . . . he, well—”

“Doesn't like the Rossis? Is that it?”

“Yeah, but there's a little more to it than that.”

He thinks they're
evil and wants to see them destroyed.

I'd just opened my mouth to explain when the trolley came to a stop in front of us. Alex reached for my hand and helped me on board. We found ourselves smack-dab in the middle of a tourist group from Japan—approximately thirty people, all snapping photographs of the buildings along the Strand, and all speaking Japanese. Loudly.

With so many people on board, we couldn't even locate seats, so we had to stand on the platform in the back along with three other chattering tourists. Before I had the opportunity to explain about my father, we were back at the florist shop, which was flooded with customers. Marcella gave me a
“thank God you're here” look, and I sprinted to the counter to help her. Hopefully she would forgive me later.

And Alex . . . hopefully he would forgive me too. No doubt he thought I was a nutcase.

He grabbed a large stack of flower buckets from the back room and gave me a little goodbye wave, which I returned with a smile. I didn't even have the chance to thank him for the lunch invitation before he was out the door. Hopefully I could make it up to him, and soon. If anyone deserved an explanation for my wacky behavior, he did.

You know you're Greek when you say “Opa!” every time someone drops or breaks something.

T
he next couple of days were spent going back and forth between the flower shop and the family restaurant. Thank goodness Babbas hadn't seen me going into Parma John's. For now I was off the hook.

Well, sort of. He kept me hopping during the hours I worked at Super-Gyros. Marcella kept me hopping too. Seemed more and more she needed time off, which left me manning the flower shop. I didn't really mind. In fact, I rather enjoyed helping customers make decisions.

On Thursday morning I worked harder than ever putting together six bridesmaid bouquets. The little poppies in the
bouquets reminded me of
The Wizard of Oz
, so I hummed “Somewhere over the Rainbow” as I worked. While I was in the middle of putting them together, Bella came in to place an order for one of her brides. She and Marcella worked on the order while I pieced together the bouquets, which looked lovelier by the moment.

When I finished, I placed them in the walk-in refrigerator in the back, then came back out to the front of the shop, still in a happy-go-lucky mood.

Both ladies turned to face me as I entered the room.

“So what's this fascination with Judy Garland?” Bella asked.

I shrugged. “I've always been a fan. Love the music. Love the movies. Love the flower connection.”

“Flower connection?” Marcella's eyes narrowed.

“I get it,” Bella said. “That whole poppies scene in
The Wizard of Oz
, right?”

“Well, that, and the fact that she had her own flower shop,” I explained.

“What?” Marcella still looked perplexed.

“It's true.” I started tidying up the worktable, clearing it of broken flower petals. “Judy Garland opened her own florist shop on Wilshire Boulevard when she was just fifteen years old. The money she made was put into a trust that she wasn't able to touch until she got older.”

“No way. Judy Garland, the movie star, was a florist?” Bella shook her head. “What, did she sing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow' as she put together wedding bouquets?”

“Probably. I know that she balanced her work at the shop with her work at MGM studios. She waited on customers, filled orders, all sorts of things. There's a really cool picture of
her online, one where she's pinning a boutonniere on Jimmy Stewart's lapel.” I wrinkled my nose. “No, it wasn't Jimmy Stewart. It was that other guy, the one with a similar name.” I paused a moment and then snapped my fingers. “Jimmy Durante. That's his name.”

“Are you making this up, Cassia?” Marcella asked.

“No, it's totally true. At the same time she was filming
The Wizard of Oz
, she would work at the studio during the day and hit the flower shop for a couple of hours in the evening. The whole thing was her mom's idea—sort of an investment—but she couldn't touch the money till she turned eighteen. Still, it gave her an interest outside of showbiz.”

“So what you're saying is Judy Garland worked in a family business.” Bella chuckled. “Then I have more in common with her than I knew.” This led to a discussion about how crazy her life was, working with family members. I wanted to chime in and say “Me too!” but couldn't, for obvious reasons.

A call from Aunt Rosa sent Bella scurrying back to Club Wed. After she left, Marcella gave me a few hours off as a thank-you for my hard work. “Go,” she said. “Be with your family.”

Of course, she still hadn't met my parents and siblings—or even asked about them—but that didn't seem to matter to her. I wouldn't call the woman self-absorbed, but she seemed too engrossed in her own family to wonder much about mine.

I walked back down the Strand, smiling as the trolley went by. Memories of being with Alex flooded over me. What I wouldn't give to have a second chance with him. He'd been noticeably absent from the island over the past few days, though. Weird.

When I reached Super-Gyros, I noticed the whole family standing out on the sidewalk, staring across the street.

“What's happening?” I whispered to Eva.

She pointed at Nick Rossi, Marcella's husband, who was hanging a new sign outside Parma John's advertising the new pizza, the Venus de Milo. I eased myself behind Eva just as Uncle Laz walked out of Parma John's and glanced our way. Yikes.

“What's this?” My mother's voice was tinged with concern.

Babbas went off on a tangent—in Greek—about how the enemy had come to our doorstep to roost, whatever that meant. If he knew the real enemy here—me—he would send me packing in a hurry. I had to find some way around this without making things worse. But what could I do, hiding behind my sister?

As soon as Nick got the sign hung, my father pointed at it and snorted. “Look at that. No imagination at all. So what if they have a Greek pizza? They're calling it the Venus de Milo.” He snorted again. “The Venus de Milo. That's priceless. Do they realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Venus de Milo was beautiful,” Gina chimed in. “Wasn't she?”

“Beautiful, yes,” Babbas responded. “Tasty, no. It's a stupid name for a pizza.”

“But we don't say
stupid
, Babbas.” Gina's little nose wrinkled.

“You're right, baby girl.” Mama gave Babbas a warning look. He didn't seem to notice, because the next several phrases—all muttered under his breath—included the word
stupid
and a few more that Gina shouldn't hear.

We all stood in silence after that, watching as passersby responded to the sign.

“See?” Babbas chuckled. “No one's even paying any atten—” He stopped as a group of tourists in Hawaiian shirts pointed at the sign and then walked inside Parma John's. “Hmm.”

“Don't worry, Niko,” Mama said. She slipped her arm around my father's waist. “They wouldn't know a Greek pizza if it jumped up and bit them. And besides, we've got the best tzatziki sauce on the island. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone?” Eva looked around our near-empty sandwich shop. I nudged her with my elbow to shut her up. I must've nudged a bit too hard because she stumbled to the right, which left me completely visible to the other side of the street. I crouched down behind a nearby table and pretended to pick up some crumbs, but I was just a second too late, because Uncle Laz caught a glimpse of me and waved. Well, waved for a second, then furrowed his brow, his hand falling to his side.

Please, God, don't let
Eva sing “Somewhere over the Rainbow” at my funeral. Her
pitch is awful.

“See, Niko?” Mama nudged my father. “Those Rossis aren't so bad. That nice man is waving at us.” She waved back, but my father pulled her hand down.

“How many times do I have to ask you not to cavort with the enemy, Helena?” He pursed his lips and gave Laz a solid stare.

“Cavort?” Gina tugged on Babbas's waistband. “What's
cavort
?”

“It means your mother is dancing with the devil right now,” my father said. He turned and headed back into Super-Gyros.

Little Gina's eyes grew wide as she stared at our mother.

I did my best to inch my way inside without Uncle Laz seeing me, but I felt sure he'd taken notice of me once again. Great. Now I couldn't go into Parma John's for fear of my father seeing me, and I couldn't go into Super-Gyros for fear of Uncle Laz seeing me. Just one more reason to come clean with my dad and tell him the whole sordid tale. Surely he would understand. Maybe he would laugh and realize the only solution was to make peace with our new neighbors.

Just as soon as the lunch crowd cleared I approached him. “Babbas, I want to talk to you. It's important.”

“Important enough to interrupt me when I'm roasting the lamb?”

“Yes.” I sucked in a deep breath and plowed ahead. “I think we need to come up with a new solution for the issue with the pizza place.”

“Issue?” He turned from the lamb and waved the tongs. “It's more than an issue. It's a matter of pride. Culture. Heritage!”

Next thing I knew, Yia Yia had joined us and was telling a story about the Old Country. About how good Greeks always supported their own. Never betrayed the family. Great. Just what I needed to hear.

Now fully convinced my father would not be swayed to fall in love with the Rossis, I turned to Mama. I found her finishing up a phone call. She set her cell phone on the counter and looked at me. “Well, that's interesting news.”

“What?”

“Your cousin Athena and her husband are coming to the island for a visit in a couple of weeks. She seemed perfectly happy with the idea of coming. I'm so relieved.”

“That's wonderful.” I hadn't seen my cousin for two years.
We'd grown up spending a lot of time together, but the years had drawn us apart. I envied her life, to be honest. Her job as head writer for
Stars Collide
, one of Hollywood's hottest sitcoms, seemed like a dream gig to me.

My mother leaned in to whisper when a customer walked by. “Something's stirring with Athena. She's up to something.”

“Do you think she's pregnant?” I asked.

“I don't know. I got the feeling it had something to do with the sitcom. Or the network. Or something like that. There's a reason she's coming to Galveston, and I don't think it's just to visit with us or talk to your father about filming a commercial.”

“Really?” That certainly piqued my interest.

“Wouldn't that be awesome? Maybe she'll bring you-know-who with her someday!” Mama let out a girlish squeal, which scared the customer, causing her to drop a block of packaged cheese.

Babbas gave us a warning look. Better get back to work. Not that we had a lot to do, with so few customers in the place. Maybe the dinner crowd would pick up. I reached for a rag and some window cleaner and started cleaning the large plate-glass windows in the front of our store. This gave me the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on things across the street.

I noticed that Bella's brother and uncle had gone back inside, but the Venus de Milo banner hung proudly over the restaurant, along with all of the details of the Greek pizza Parma John's now offered. Talk about feeling torn—I was half proud that Laz liked my pizza idea and half mortified that I'd given away a family secret. Hopefully Yia Yia would
never find out. She would definitely think I'd betrayed the family, and a good Greek girl never did that.

I eased out to the sidewalk and started cleaning the glass on the outside. With my back to Parma John's, I should be safe.

The familiar sound of the trolley passing by caught my attention and I turned. It stopped at the corner, just yards away. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Alex seated inside . . . staring right at me. His brow wrinkled, but seconds later he waved at me and called my name.

Ack! Now what?

Mama must've heard him. She came outside and watched for a moment, her face lighting in a smile. “That young man is calling for you, Cassia. Do you know him?”

“Oh, I, well . . . Yes. I met him at the flower shop.”

“He seems to be waving.” Mama waved back and shouted, “Hello there!”

Alex got off the trolley and came bounding our way. I could read the curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me. “Hey, Cassia. I thought it was you. You . . . work here?”

What could I say, really? The boy had caught me red-handed with a bottle of Windex in one hand and a rag in the other.

“Work here?” Mama chortled. “That's funny. She lives here. The whole family does. Welcome to Super-Gyros! I'm Helena Pappas.”

This, of course, garnered a wide-eyed stare from Alex. All I could do at this point was shrug and fix my gaze on the sidewalk. Anything to avoid the obvious. Only, someone needed to make introductions. A good Greek girl didn't stand like a statue staring at the ground, even in rough circumstances like this.

Mama beamed when I told her Alex's last name, then she grabbed his hand. “You're Greek?”

“My father is. My mother is from Splendora.”

I still had no idea what that meant but didn't ask for details.

“Well then, you've come to the right place.” Mama gave him a pat on the back. “How would you like a nice gyro?”

“Oh, I had one on Saturday. It was great. Best ever.” He rubbed his belly and a satisfied look came over him.

“I must tell Niko you said that! Oh, what glorious news. Cassia has a new
friend
!” Mama took off in Babbas's direction.

Alex and I lingered behind for a moment. He gave me a pointed look, and I could read the confusion in those gorgeous eyes. “This is your family's restaurant? But you never said anything about it when we went to—”

“Come inside.” I took his arm and pulled him toward the open door, then whispered, “Please. Don't. Say. Anything. About. Parma. John's.”

He nodded and stepped inside the store, then stopped cold. His eyes drifted shut and he stood there, breathing in and out. “Oh. Wow.” Alex continued this deep-breathing routine, a delirious look on his face.

Babbas walked toward us, his unibrow securely in place as he stared at Alex. “Everything all right over here?”

Alex's eyes popped open. “Oh yes, sir,” he drawled. “I'm just loving the way it smells in here. I'd forgotten how great it was.”

“Niko, this is Alex . . . Cassia's
friend
.” Mama giggled and then added, “He's Greek.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Alex extended his hand, but my father just grunted.

“Cassia's friend, eh?” Babbas crossed his arms at his chest and squared his shoulders, then muttered, “We'll see about that” under his breath. “Name's Alex, you say?” My father
stressed the name, but not in an admiring way. “I have a brother named Alex.”