Michael grabbed onto his wife and pulled her away. “La mia piccola tigre, please leave the poor boy alone. He does not want to strip to his underwear for your camera.”

“Why not? He’d make a ton of money. The photographs I can do would be extraordinary.”

“Are you really serious? Is that something you think I could do?”

Michael groaned. “Here we go.”

Maggie practically hopped up and down, ignoring her husband. “I’m working with a new Italian designer, and you’re exactly what he’s looking for. He needs edge. I’ll call him in the morning and set up an interview while I’m here.”

Wolfe straightened his posture. “Cool. yeah, I’m up for it. Thanks.”

“you’re not taking my best assistant away, are you?”

Sawyer called out.

Maggie smiled sweetly. “Let’s see how much Victorio wants to pay him first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Mi dispiace, Sawyer. My wife cannot control herself when she sees someone to photograph.”

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “I’m not cooking for you tomorrow.”

“Thank goodness.”

Julietta laughed at their easy camaraderie and the sexual spark that still shot like wildfire around them. As if underneath the teasing and insults lay pure combustion just ready to explode in private. Carina wrapped Wolfe in easy conversation that was such a part of her generous heart, and Julietta took a moment to immerse herself in the crazy chaos of family. She missed Venezia and Dominick, who would have completed the entire circle, but V had to dress a celebrity client for a movie premiere, and Dominick had decided to accompany her to London and stay for the week. Julietta made a note to call her so they could at least Skype.

The hours passed as they drank bottles of Chianti, played with the children, and hurried back and forth into the kitchen with platters of appetizers. Thick tomato with buffalo mozzarella, fruity olive oil and fresh basil on Italian bread. Plump mushrooms with lumps of crab, salty prosciutto wrapped around sweet, juicy melon. She kept a close eye on Wolfe, who at first didn’t eat, obviously nervous about being accosted by numerous family members he didn’t know. He seemed to loosen up as the evening progressed, and as his appetite increased, she noted Mama Conte made sure to keep bowls of food near him at all times. Sawyer also seemed to relax, enjoying conversations with Max and Carina and finally meeting Max’s mother, who beamed with pride at her son’s accomplishments and her new daughter-in-law she’d always loved as her own.

Maggie beckoned Julietta from the door and she crossed the room. “What’s the matter?”

Maggie’s cinnamon-colored hair shimmered under the chandelier. Green eyes spoke volumes of worry. “I’m not cranking pasta by hand again, Julietta. It takes me forever, it always sucks, and I’ve completed the tradition. It’s your turn.”

Julietta bit her lip. “I make pasta all the time, Maggie.

Anyway, I see Alexa in there. She’s got it covered.”

Maggie lowered her voice in a hiss. “your mom thinks I don’t cook enough and wants me to practice. I already com-mitted to the apple cake; I do that much better than pasta.

Alexa is nuts, she loves this stuff—look at her in there.”

Alexa beamed and listened to directions from Mama Conte, elbow-deep in dough as she kneaded mercilessly.

“Besides, Mama said you can take my place because you haven’t served your husband yet.”

Panic fluttered and Julietta’s stomach sank fast and low. The Conte tradition of cooking by hand for each new spouse in the family was unwritten, unspoken, but a known passage of intimacy. Feeding your husband with your own hand was a way to connect on a deeper level and nourish a connection beyond the physical. Not that Sawyer would know, of course. He’d have no idea if she slid a plate in front of him, but Julietta didn’t think she could handle it.

It had been two full weeks since their wedding night and the fragile bond formed then seemed to bloom brighter with each day. They never analyzed their new relationship.

each night, Sawyer took her into bed, made love to her in every way imaginable, and held her through sleep. Purity was taking form with the speed of light, the construction complete and all the details finalized for the unveiling in three months. yes, she cooked for both him and Wolfe when they weren’t working overtime, but it was quick and effi-cient. They formed their own routine as a family, but none of them looked deeper than that.

“Umm, I don’t think this is a good time. I’m worried about Wolfe, and I need to help watch Lily and—”

“I’ll do it; just get in there.” Maggie ripped off her apron, pushed her into the kitchen, and took off.

Porca vacca.

“Where is Margherita?”

Julietta sighed and tied the apron around her waist.

“Took off. you know she’s like a sly fox when it comes to getting out of cooking.”

Her mother cackled in delight. “I will make her do apple cake and biscotti. She will regret it. I need you. Here is your station.”

Alexa grinned. “This is the most awesome thing I ever did. From now on, I’m making fresh pasta in the house. But I think I may get one of those machines, Mama Conte. I’m not as adept as you. My fingers are getting tired.”

“Push through. Machines do help, but it is the strength and gracefulness of the body that flows into the food and bestows good energy.”

Alexa dug in with gusto, and Julietta enjoyed her positive energy flowing around them and relaxing her a bit. She fell into the motions used since childhood: dusting, whisk-ing egg, sprinkling out flour, kneading, and pouring into a dough form that depended on a fresh mix of ingredients and the basic talent of the pasta maker. The movements soothed her, and an odd need to excel at making the food she would feed her husband beat inside her, an ancient instinct rising up from the ashes of years of tradition. The room fell away, and Julietta lost herself in the task, pulling and stretching the dough to a fine, thin layer like gossamer without breakage. She heard the muttered frustration of Alexa as her noodles broke one after the other, but Julietta never broke her concentration. Piece after perfect piece was pulled and laid out to dry over the racks.

She pulled a fresh loaf of bread from the oven and sliced. Carina floated in, and eventually Maggie came back.

They prepared, set the table, laughed, and drank wine dur-ing various tasks while thick pots of gravy bubbled up and the smell of garlic and lemons tinged the air. Wooden bowls were placed at each setting, and the men filed in with groans of approval. The scrape of chairs against the floor rose to her ears. Steam billowed, and Julietta made sure her pasta was cooked perfectly al dente, not pausing to wonder why it was so important.

High chairs also clustered around the table with tiny bowls of pasta and sippy cups in front of them. The twins seemed fascinated by the scene before them, and Lily chatted with Maggie nonstop, giggling at her father’s occasional tug on her wild curls so like her mother’s.

Alexa placed her bowl in front of Nick. “Try it.”

He looked up. “Did you make this?”

“yes. Tell me what you think.”

He picked up his fork and took a bite. She watched his face in sheer anticipation. Nick broke into a broad grin and shook his head. “Amazing. This is the best pasta I ever had in my life.” She beamed with pride and joy and leaned over to place a kiss on his mouth. “you get a reward for that later.”

His brow arched. “Is Maggie babysitting?”

His sister snorted. “Dream on. you’re babysitting for us.”

Carina sighed. “Would you two just stop? Max and I will take the kids for you, if you want some alone time.”

Max choked. “No, we won’t. I didn’t agree to that.” He grunted at the obvious kick under the table.

Julietta stood with her bowl in her hands. Her hands slipped on the edges, and she chastised herself for being so ridiculous. He wouldn’t know. No one would. It was a silly tradition anyway and meant nothing. She set the bowl in front of him. “Here you go. Buon appetito. ”

The sudden chatter dimmed. All gazes focused on Sawyer, who stared down at his plate and then back up in pure confusion. Damn them all. Why were they making it meaningful? “Umm, is something wrong?” Sawyer asked.

Her mother gave her the look. The look that prodded her to speak and had forced her to do many things she didn’t want to do over the years. Julietta pressed her lips together. Mama Conte snorted at her daughter’s stubbornness and took the reins. “My daughter has made your plate by her own hands. She has done this with the honor of serv-ing you, her husband, for your pleasure.”

Heat struck her cheekbones. This was such an archaic tradition. Sawyer was probably dying from being the focus of everyone’s attention with no idea how to react. Her nerves fluttered. “It’s nothing.” She forced a laugh. “Just eat.”

She slid into the seat beside him and laid her napkin on her lap. When he didn’t say anything, she lifted her lids to sneak a peek.

He stared down at the pasta in sheer amazement. As if gazing at pure gold, he shifted his glance back and forth, staring with a strange vulnerability and need that called out to her. “you made this for me?” he asked.

Julietta gave a jerky nod.

In silence, he picked up his fork and twisted the noodles around the utensil. Placed it in his mouth with a reverence that stole her breath and her heart. She watched his every movement, his profile a portrait of angelic grace, even with his scar. Sawyer swallowed, then slowly placed his utensil down. In front of all witnesses, he reached over and took her hand in his. The warm strength of his grip settled her nerves and caused a pure joy to flood every crevice of her body.