“Not long, but the first time I saw Markos I knew he was the one...”
Tatiyana covered his hands with her own, sending heat surging through his body.
“I love sensitive, romantic men, and your brother’s quite the charmer. And hot, too, right ladies?”
The women cheered, the men chuckled and Markos smiled so wide his jaw ached. He couldn’t have asked for a better dinner companion. None of the women he knew could hold a candle to Tatiyana, and he was glad to have her at his side.
“Where’s Dante?” Rafael asked, popping an oyster into his mouth. “I spoke to him on Sunday, and he said you guys were traveling together, so I expected to see him tonight.”
Finishing his appetizer, Markos took a swig of his soda and set aside his empty plate. “He changed his mind. Jordana’s parents are in town, and he wants to spend time with them.”
“I’m confused. I thought Dante was single.” Sharleen Nicholas, Emilio’s wife, wore a puzzled expression on her face. “Who’s Jordana?”
“His temporary wife,” Emilio explained. “He married her in a courthouse ceremony back in June, in the hopes of winning full custody of Matteo, and it worked.”
Markos shook his head. “Jordana’s not his temporary wife. She’s his soul mate.”
A hush fell over the table as Markos spoke. He assured his family members the aspiring actress was a thoughtful, compassionate woman, not a gold digger with dollar signs in her eyes. “I had dinner with them last week, and it’s obvious they’re in love. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, finished each other’s sentences and Jordana laughed at all of Dante’s jokes, even the corny ones.” Markos chuckled, recalling how much fun he’d had with the couple. “Dante quit his job at the Brokerage Group so he could be a better father and husband, and I think that’s commendable.”
Nicco whistled. “You’re right. It is.”
“I’m happy for him,” Immanuel said, reaching for his water glass. “He’s been interested in Jordana for months, and Matteo adores her, too.”
Markos agreed. “You’re right, he does, and Matteo’s not the only one. Lourdes likes her a lot, and credits Jordana with helping her finally get clean. If Jordana gets her way, and I’m confident she will, they’ll be one, big, happy family in no time.”
“That’s great,” Rafael replied. “I’ll call Dante later to congratulate him.”
The waitstaff arrived, carrying silver trays topped with entrées, drinks and cocktails. Over dinner, they discussed the charity golf tournament that had brought them to town, and the celebrities the women were excited to meet. He wasn’t interested in the conversation; he was interested in Tatiyana. She fit in well with his family, and every time she cracked up, he did, too.
“I can’t believe I’m having dinner with a baseball star, a celebrated news anchor, a race car legend and the owner of my favorite Italian restaurant. What a treat! Someone pinch me!”
Everyone laughed, and Markos knew inviting her to dinner had been a wise move.
“Tatiyana, what do you do for a living?” Jariah Morretti, Nicco’s wife, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “You must be in the entertainment industry because you’re a firecracker.”
“I wish! I’m not a star, but I love reality TV.”
“Me, too!” Sharleen eagerly nodded. “Did you see the season finale of Dating in the City last night? I almost died when Nelson Hamilton dumped Penelope at her sister’s wedding. Twenty-four hours later, and I’m still pissed...”
The men groaned, objecting loudly to the topic, but Paris silenced them with a menacing look. “Don’t make fun. Dating’s changed drastically in the last ten years, and if not for smart, thought-provoking reality shows like, The Love Test, and Relationships 101, my friends and I would still be in the dark about men.”
Everyone spoke at once, but Rafael’s voice cut through the noise.
“Baby, that’s ridiculous,” he argued, draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “You don’t need a television show to learn about men. Just ask me. I’m the only man you need.”
Giggling, Paris cupped her husband’s face in her hands and gave him a peck on the lips.
The waitstaff returned, carrying several bottles of champagne, and Tatiyana dropped her utensils on her gold plate. “Champagne? You’re my kind of people!”
“What are we celebrating?” Markos asked, settling back into his arm chair.
Sharleen beamed. “Emilio’s ESPN Athlete of the Year award.”
“Another one? That’s the third award of your career.” Markos gave his brother a one-arm hug, then ruffled his hair. “I’m proud of you, little bro. Good job.”
Clasping Sharleen’s hand, Emilio raised it to his mouth and kissed it. “Baby, you deserve this award as much as I do, if not more,” he said quietly. “If not for you, I’d still be sitting in my living room, watching home videos of Lucca, drowning in grief and despair.”
“As usual, you’re giving me way too much credit. You’re the talent, baby, not me.”
“Sharleen, could you be a little less supportive?” Angela wore a sheepish expression on her face. “I want my man to win that coveted award, too, but Emilio’s impossible to beat.”
“Keep hope alive, sister-in-law! There’s always next year.”
Laughing, Dionne Fontaine-Morretti, Immanuel’s wife, filled each flute to the brim. The couple had eloped to Hawaii two weeks earlier, shocking their friends and family, and Tatiyana had enjoyed hearing about their wild, romantic weekend in Maui.
“To Emilio!” Nicco raised his glass in the air. “May this award catapult you to greater heights, and cement your place in Formula One history. Saluti!”
Cheering, everyone around the table clinked glasses.
“What do you guys want to do now?” Angela asked. “I’ve had a rough week at the news station, and if anyone deserves to party tonight it’s me.”
“Let’s go to the sports bar,” Immanuel proposed, checking the time on his gold wristwatch. “The World Rugby Championship is on, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Bor-ing,” the women sang in unison.
“Markos, are you ready to go?” Tatiyana asked, tucking her purse under her forearm.
Dionne frowned. “Why are you whispering, and where are you guys sneaking off to?”
“Applause Nightclub,” she explained. “It’s old-school night, and all of my favorite acts are performing, including Divas.”
Angela whooped for joy. “Count me in!”
“Me, too.” Jariah slipped on her Pashmina shawl and hopped to her feet. “I’m game.”
“I’m going!” Dionne said. “I love R&B music, and I’m the biggest Divas fan ever.”
Immanuel kissed her forehead. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to the concert.”
Markos was convinced his ears were deceiving him. His brother, a security specialist with a stellar résumé, who they jokingly called Sharpshooter, wouldn’t be caught dead in a noisy, smoky club. Immanuel didn’t dance, preferred classical music to hip-hop and often joked he’d been born in the wrong decade. Leaning toward his brother, he kept his voice low, asking, “What happened to the rugby match? I thought you wanted to cheer on the Italian team.”
“It’s no biggie. I’ll catch the highlights when we get back tonight.”
“But