Page 20 of The Mafia Bachelor

I look away and find my dad studying the ceiling diligently. Mam watches with cool indifference.

There are a few pop song dances, some modern dance. Another attempt at Irish dancing.

Then Avery steps onto the stage, and my interest snaps. I lean forwards. She’s wearing jeans and a white top that risks showing a sliver of navel.

I am very curious to see what she’s going to do.

Then the opening bars of a familiar pop song ring out, and a surprised bark of laughter escapes me.

The Macarena.

She commits. The full, original dance, with the simple choreography and the hip rolls with arms outstretched. A glance behind me reveals that the other girls are giggling and dancing along seated. And I’m grinning from ear to ear. The content or meaning or history of the song doesn’t matter. As Avery dances, it’s pure playful vibes.

We’ve all clapped, and the girls have cheered for each other, but when the music ends, there are hollers and Avery grins back at me as she sashays off the stage.

There are a couple more performances, but when they’re done, I stand and hold out my hand to Avery.

My mother has the roses ready, but I just beckon my girl. “Come to dinner with me.”

And when she takes my hand, smiling shyly, I lead her away.

We go to an Italian restaurant that’s a cliché of dark wood, red-and-white tablecloths, candles in bottles, and not a piece of pineapple in sight. It’s even approved by the Italian contingent of the London Mafia Syndicate.

It would be devastatingly romantic, and my heart definitely thinks it is, except that my parents are listening in from the table next to us.

So it’s all small talk while we order and eat nibbles, until we have pizzas, and I’m fed up of light conversation.

“Tell me things, Avery Morgan. Tell me about yourself.” I want to pick up some hints on what would bring her joy.

She snorts. “You don’t want to know about me.”

“Try me.”

Scrunching her nose, she takes a bite of pizza, and flicks her gaze to my parents. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have us being filmed too. Avery is right. We need to be careful.

“This is our opportunity to get to know each other, ask questions. Tell me about your job, or your family.”

“Not my family.” She gives an awkward huff of a laugh. “And I don’t have much to say about my job. I’ve only just finished my law degree.”

It’s a neat evasion of the fact I’m her employer, and I nod approvingly. “Law then. Did you like it?”

She takes another bite of pizza, and then a long gulp of her drink. “I did law because it was closest to what I really wanted to do.”

“Which was,” I prompt.

“History.” She gives an embarrassed little shrug. “I know that’s totally nerdy.”

“How is history like law?”

“Well, quite a lot.” She leans forwards, food forgotten. “All the laws are really old. From as far back as the 1200s to 1900s.”

“The 1900s, just think,” I say dryly.

“Even the newest ones were a long time ago. Like from 2000.”

I splutter at that. When did not being young anymore sneak up on me? “The year 2000 isn’t that long ago.”

She tilts her head and gives me a pitying look. “I’m sorry to tell you, it’s⁠—”