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I peer over at Julian, slack jawed.

“I figured we’d stay on theme of following in my parents’ date-night traditions.” He kills the engine. “They came here frequently.”

“Pizza sounds amazing.” I open my door, stepping out, and the sun is setting in the background.

I love that he brought me to a place that meant so much to his family.

Julian’s opening the door into his life for me.

I’m his wife now, and he’s my husband.

Even if he said the opposite before, this is a true marriage.

We will make it one.

I’ll also make date night a regular for us too.

Traditions are made to be passed down, and we’ll do that.

Julian rests his hand on the base of my back while leading me toward the entrance. The sweet aroma of pizza hits me as soon as the door opens.

It’s a Thursday, and the place is packed.

Nearly all the booths are taken, and the tables in the middle are full. People are laughing, eating, and drinking.

“Oh my freaking God!” a teenage girl’s voice says. “Julian? Is that you?”

My attention slides to the hostess stand as a girl skips around it. Her black hair is in two French braids, and she’s wearing a black shirt with the pizzeria’s logo.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she says when she reaches us.

“Hi, Betty,” Julian says, a trace of unease on his face.

She grins, not catching on to his apprehension, and hugs him. He taps her back a few times, and she pulls away.

“This is my cousin,” Julian introduces to me.

Betty immediately hugs me.

“This is my wife, Genesis,” Julian continues when Betty pulls back.

Betty gasps.

I nearly do the same, shocked he told her that.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Genesis! Let me get you guys a booth.” She turns to grab menus but stops. “Do you need menus?”

Julian shakes his head.

“Perfect.” She waves us forward. “Nothing has changed on it.”

As I walk past, a few heads turn in our direction.

Since we’re on the outskirts of the city, more in a small town, not as many gape as they see Julian. His Mafia-related reputation hasn’t followed him here.

Framed photos and newspaper stories are hung on the brick walls. Red-and-white checkered cloths cover the tables but not the booths though.

“Here ya go!” Betty says. “Aunt Marta’s favorite booth.”