Sauce making, I’m learning, is a labor of love.
“No.” Maria takes the knife from me and pushes me aside with her hip. The cutting board is covered in discarded bits of tomato, green stems or bruised spots. Most are fresh but frozen tomatoes sit in stainless steel strainers lining the table.
When I asked about making sauce in the middle of late spring, because obviously tomatoes aren’t in season, Maria gave me a pitying look. One that made Lex laugh louder than I had ever heard.
“You freeze the tomatoes from summer and use some fresher ones. That way you don’t kill yourself at the end of summer to process all of them.” She waved her slender finger in my face as if imparting some sort of wisdom to me. Maybe she was. I don’t garden, I sure as hell have never made sauce before. “I don’t have weeks dedicated to making sauce. So, we break it up.”
That was two bottles of wine ago, and now, she’s humming a tune I don’t recognize. My white shirt—Lex’s shite dress shirt that he took from our closet—is splattered in red spots, while sweat lines my brow. Messy hair falls into my face and I huff out in aggravation.
When he mentioned sauce night, I thought he was joking.
Now, here I am, days later, covered in tomato guts.
Lex is just as messy, covered in spilled sauce, and glistening with sweat. His dark jeans hug his thighs and ass just right, but he’s still wearing gloves.
I’m growing curious about them. He didn’t remove them all the times we’ve been intimate. He ignored my attempt at conversation when we first met, weeks ago. What is he hiding?
“See? Watch,” Maria says to my left and I try to pay attention, but my gaze drifts to the crowd gathered. A large crowd, with a bonfire in the center and tiny propane gas grills all around as pots of sauce boil to the top.
“Pay attention,” Maria snaps at me. I jolt, unused to her tone. This is the longest she’s spoken to me since I arrived, weeks ago. “You need to cut the tomatoes just right, or the sauce will not be very good.”
They look exactly as how I’ve been cutting them.
By the third cursing, she takes me off the cutting line with a few other cousins and moves me to crushing the tomatoes. She hands me an apron and winks. “You’ll need it.”
My shirt is already ruined so I doubt it’ll help much.
There are only two others working on processing the chucks of vegetables and it’s weirdly soothing. The push of tomatoes, the cranking of the press. It’s repetitive and dull but helps to settle my mind.
Settle it because inside I’m a freaking mess.
The night with Lex was one of the best and the sex was out of this world. But I made a mistake, I agreed to stay.
Where was the Sloane who wanted freedom and choice and not be sold off like cattle? She was rolling over in her grave at my willingness to follow Lex. At the willingness to stay here, married.
I can’t deny it, though—it was totally worth it.
Now, watching him around his family, seeing his easy laughter, his perfect clothes mussed and stained, it twists my heart. He’s handsome, of course, but he’s relaxed. Normal. The family atmosphere brings something out in him that causes my heart to crack open with warmth. The first drips of adoration, maybe even more.
This is my husband, behind the mask in the world he runs. This is who he is at his core, doting and bright, and for the first time it strikes me. He’s my husband. This is who I’ve been given to, who I’ve married and strangely, I’m proud to see this side. This kind, jovial side that the other family member flock to, to soak up his attention.
Adoration, pride, and happiness churn like a maelstrom in my gut, causing my hands to slip on the press.
This whole situation is weird and confusing. I should be fighting tooth and nail for a divorce, to rip apart this family and walk away in a pair of designer Jimmy Choo shoes. Instead, I’m pushing crushed tomatoes through for a second time and sending it down the line with a little smile on my face.
Making sauce is a family tradition, one Lex wanted me to participate in.
Because I’m family. This is my family now.
I’ve never had this kind of tradition, never had this kind of connection to my relatives. There’s gentle ribbing, reminiscing, inside jokes and love, filling the garden with a shimmering kind of peace that I want to hold on to.
I want freedom but this… this is also nice.
Lex sits down next to me, holding a glass of red wine, full lips smiling softly as he takes in my mess. The wine is homemade, brought by another family member.
Another family tradition, making wine in the fall, another excuse to spend time together. Another event they expect me to be a part of because I’m family.
Heat surges through my middle, turning the two glasses of wine I’ve already had up my throat, colliding with my confusion and joy.
“I’ll let you have this, as long as you don’t throw it at my head.” He teases.
I can’t help but glare. “No promises.”
He tsks, sipping from it much to my displeasure, not sharing with me. “Pity. Zio Frankie would be very pissed if his prized moonshine is thrown all over the yard.”
I grab the glass to spite him, a few drops sloshing over the side. “Fuck off, Lex.”
Stepping into my space, he twirls a lock of loose hair over his gloved finger, seeds still stuck to it. “I’d much rather fuck off with you, little menace. You’d feel much better than my fist.”
“Get a room, you two,” Dom winces, disgust highlighting his face. “There are kids present.”
Dom moves near us, dropping more tomatoes on to the folding table with a thump. Lex laughs, ignoring his cousin’s glare.
“Ah, crushing the tomatoes, cousin? Maria took you off cutting too, eh.”
Dom grumbles something under his breath.
“She said I wasn’t doing it right,” I reply, sipping the sweetened wine. It’s light for a red, tasting like plum and chocolate.
“No one does it right for Maria. This,” he points to a very small scar under his lip that I didn’t notice until now, hidden behind his stubble, “was my first attempt at using a knife when cutting tomatoes with her. I was nine. Somehow, the knife flew through the air. Cut me and took a good chunk out of Maria’s hair. After that, she took that job away from me permanently.”
“A mafia man who can’t handle a knife.” I scoff, seeing a small grin spilt his face at my teasing. Fuck, I didn’t want to tease my husband but it’s becoming second nature now. I like being the cause of his smile. “How scandalous.”
“And a mafia daughter who can use it to draw blood.” He winks, tapping the side of his neck. Pride warms my heart at seeing my mark, permanently etched into his skin. “How very basic.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to my job, trying to put distance between us. Without prompting, he adds more to the top, pushing through the red chucks as I crank the lever. We work in silence together, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.
I like this, this feeling of belonging, of a family. I’ve never had it before.
“Is this like a high holiday for you people?” I glance from Lex to Dom.
“It’s a tradition,” Lex answers, draining my glass. The gloves leave marks on the sides, smudged with tomato juice. “We all come together, talk, laugh. Life and business tend to sour things, so these nights are a way to remember we’re a family first.” He keeps pushing the mess through, forearms straining under his shirt. My thoughts drift to finally seeing him naked between my legs.
One night, and I’m a heaving mess for him.
“When the sauce is done, we divide it up. Maria uses it for Sunday dinners.” He cuts me a look. One that ends all arguments. “You’re going this Sunday. Maria’s orders. It’s weird for the second’s wife not to be in attendance at a family meal.”
Dom laughs on the other side of the family. “Mama doesn’t take no for an answer, so might as well agree now, Red.”
Rolling my eyes at the nickname, I don’t miss how Lex glares at his cousin. “So, Sunday dinners are a thing, then.”
Lex smirks, wiping his gloves off on the rag beside me. His hand falls to my hip, touching me like he’s done it for decades. “Absolutely. Maria’s way of checking in on us. We’ll be there, a few other aunts and cousins when they can make it. Dom.” He glances to him, but he’s intently crushing the tomatoes. “Maria used to say this was a way to remember we’re family first. A business second.”
A wonderful sentiment. Too bad I’m pretty sure Maria was the only one who thought that way.
“Did your family have Sunday dinners, Sloane?” he asks innocently, pulling me closer.
I’m ready to ignore his question, clam up and hide away. It’s painful to talk about my family, to remember Pops’ yelling, Maeve’s silence, Collins’ medical emergency, Briar running away. How alone I felt in that big house to the point that I was suffocating and needed to do anything, take anything, to feel alive. To feel seen.
I don’t want to share, to bring up those old memories. To taint this easy truce we’ve seemed to develop.
“No,” I say quickly. “We didn’t really do traditions.”
“Ah.” He nods, face lightening with understanding. “Holidays? Family celebrations?”
I shake my head. “Nope. We didn’t really do the family thing.”
If I thought he was capable of it, I’d say he looks almost sympathetic.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because…” He licks a drop of red from his lips and I’m drawn to the slip of tongue. I know how wicked that thing is. “This is your family now, Sloane. We’re your family. Our traditions are yours and you’ll always belong.”
“If we’re still married by the end of the year, sure,” I retort, dropping a few more tomatoes into the press. There I am—typical Sloane trying to put up walls, remind him that I’m leaving, that this is all a farce. Because I can’t let myself think that I actually have a family, that Lex actually wants me to stay.
A gloved hand grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
Copper orbs, with flecks of dark brown glare into my face and my pulse jumps in anticipation.
“Remember, little menace,” he breathes into my face, smelling like wine, sauce, and smoke. “You agreed to stay. I own you, every fucking bit of you. Your soul is mine, your heart is mine. We’ll still be married by the end of the year because I’m not letting you go.”
“You seem so sure,” I say, hands curling into the top of his pants to hold still.
“Oh, I am. You’re not going anywhere. I won’t allow it.”
Dom makes a gagging noise, taking his half of the tomatoes away. His interruption breaks our connection, Lex’s hand falling to loosely hold my face.
“Christmas eve.” I sigh, enjoying his touch. “Collins and I would stay up late, watching old Christmas movies, drinking hot chocolate and playing board games. As we got older it became about watching the Hallmark movies. That’s the only holiday tradition we really have.”
He scans my face, reading every emotion written plainly there. I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions. “That’s it?”
I shrug. “My mother died when I was young, Pops was always off taking care of the clan with Maeve, and when Collins got sick, everything just stopped.”
His forehead crinkles. “But she recovered.”
I nod, understanding his confusion. “Well, yeah, but by that point Pops had his new faux bittie.” He tilts his head, trying to understand. “His fake wife. I don’t even know her name, never bothered to learn it. She never interacted with us, just kind of showed up one day and never left. By then, he didn’t really care about us kids. He had the new girl on his arm, the clan was taking off. So we were kind of left to our own devices.”
Holding up my hand, stained red and sticky from tomatoes, Lex brushes lips to my knuckles.
“Believe it or not, Sloane, but you’ll never be left to your own devices again. Never.”
