by Gina Azzi
“I’m here.” Claudia rushes in the gioielleria, a cold breeze trailing her through the open door. Her cheeks are bright red, whether from the cold or her excitement, I’m not sure. “Oh my God. It’s beautiful,” she exclaims, wasting no time plucking the ring from my fingers. She holds the ring up in the light, turning it from side to side, studying it. “It’s perfect for her.”
I sigh in relief. “You really think so?”
She nods, wrapping her hand around my upper arm and resting her head against my shoulder. “She’s perfect for you. And she’s going to love it. I’m really proud of you, Enzo.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer for a side-hug. “Thank you for coming,” I tell her sincerely. “Your opinion means a lot.”
She looks up at me, eyes wide in disbelief.
“I’m serious.”
Claudia smiles. “I’m glad. Trust me, this is the ring.”
I nod, turning toward Maria. “I’ll take it.”
“Excellent. Platinum band?”
“Of course.”
Maria nods. “What size?”
Ah shit.
I must look confused because Claudia laughs. “Size six,” she says.
What? “How’d you know that?”
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “I knew you’d need my help.”
I laugh, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You can repay me by taking me to lunch.”
“Va bene,” I agree, opening my wallet and pulling out a debit card. I stare at it for a moment before handing it to Maria. It’s from my own private savings account, the one I saved all my tips and wages from the crappy summer jobs Papa forced me to work over the years. I’ve never dipped into it. To be honest, I forgot it even existed. But this purchase, this new beginning, has to be done right. It’s important to me to buy Mia’s ring with money that I earned, not my family’s. And even though it’s a fraction of the price I would have imagined spending on an engagement ring, it feels right to be buying it on my own.
* * *
“So, Sandro?” I ask Claudia at lunch, raising my eyebrows. We’re sitting at a restaurant we used to frequent as kids. My grandmother loved their pasta e fagioli. For some reason, Claudia and I ended up walking here after leaving the gioielleria.
“Sandro,” Claudia says simply, blowing on the hot soup before eating a spoonful. “This is amazing.”
“Don’t change the subject.” I scowl.
She laughs. “Sorry, I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have. Or he should have.” How did I not know my best friend was into my sister? Doesn’t that break the number one rule of being best friends? Don’t date my fucking sister. I should be pissed, should be furious, but the happy smile on Claudia’s face has me checking my anger. She really likes him. “How long?”
“The flirtation has been there for a while. Years,” she admits honestly, meeting my gaze. “I think he was always too scared to make a move, didn’t want anything to affect your friendship.” She shrugs. “But that night at the Liguria home, that’s when things really escalated.”
“No details.” I raise my hand to stop her from continuing her train of thought. The last image I want in my head is Sandro banging Claudia. Fucking hell.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. He was a perfect gentleman.”
My mouth drops open. “Come on, are you kidding me?” Sandro? A gentleman? I laugh loudly. “That’s like calling Berlusconi a fucking saint.”
She laughs with me, shaking her head. “I’m serious. He treats me really well, Enzo, and I really like him. I think he may be the one.”
What the actual fuck? “You’re serious?” I study her face, waiting for her to burst out laughing and call me a stronzo for falling for this shit, but her eyes are clear and shine with excitement. She’s glowing with a happiness, a lightness, she hasn’t had in a long time. She’s telling me the truth.
She nods. “I’m falling in love with him.”
I take a deep breath. Sandro better feel the same fucking way or I’ll—
“And he feels the same way,” she adds, interrupting my train of thought.
“He better treat your right. Always.”
She nods. “He will. I don’t think he would have let things go this far, us being together and everything, if he didn’t have the right intentions. He’s your best friend, Lorenzo. I don’t think he would let a fling between us jeopardize that.”
I swallow a spoonful of soup, thinking over Claudia’s point. That makes sense. But still … Sandro? A gentleman?
“Give him a chance. This is important to me.”
I sigh. “Okay, Claudia. As long as you’re happy.”
She smiles gratefully. “I really am. He makes me happy—the same way Mia makes you happy.”
Well that shuts me right up.
* * *
Although Claudia’s happiness is a massive reassurance, I still can’t let things go without saying something to Sandro. I walk into one of his favorite bars, knowing he will be here since AS Roma is playing tonight.
His eyebrows shoot up when he spots me. He stands up from the barstool he’s leaning against quickly. “Enzo.”
“My fucking sister?” I ask, banging my fist on the bar. “Two Peroni,” I tell the bartender over my shoulder before fixing Sandro with a glare.
“I know.” He holds his hands up, palms outward in surrender. “I should have told you.”
“That would have been a good fucking place to start.”
He scowls. “Watch it, Enzo. This thing, all of it, is between Claudia and me. And while I admit I should have told you when I started to have feelings for her, when I wanted to act on them, I don’t need your fucking permission. Or your approval.”
I raise my eyebrows, grateful for the beer the bartender sets down in front of me. I take a long sip. He’s serious. I can tell by the tension in his jaw, the slight tick of a vein above his left eyebrow. Fucking hell. “You treat her right?”
“Like a fucking princess.” He takes a pull of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine.
“It’s for real?” I ask. And I know that he knows what I’m really asking: could you marry her?
“I love her,” he says simply.
I choke on the beer I’m drinking. What? “You love her? You barely know her!”
“Right, because you know Mia so fucking well I hear that you’re planning on making her Mrs. Barca,” he challenges.
He’s got me there. And while I know he’s trying to put me on the defensive, I don’t get distracted. “You tell her yet?” I ask, steering the conversation back on track.
He sighs, shaking his head. “You think it’s too soon?”
At the sincerity in his voice, my anger subsides. I can tell he really cares about Claudia. He’s telling me the truth. And as much as I want to throttle him for not coming to me first, the truth is that he doesn’t need my permission. Or approval. And I would throttle any guy Claudia did date that wasn’t willing to stand up to me, to fight for her. Because she’s worth it. And Sandro knows that.
“No. I don’t think it’s too soon.”
He nods, holding up his beer bottle thoughtfully. “Me either.” He takes a long pull. “They’re winning.” He nods toward the screen.
And just like that things are normal again.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Mia
The delicious aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg, of apple and pumpkin, of all the traditional goodness of a homemade Thanksgiving dinner waft around the Franchettis apartment. Gianluca has outdone himself. Lexi bounces up and down on her toes, placing a chocolate turkey next to each place setting at the table. I have no idea where she even found them.
“Expat grocery store,” she says suddenly, answering my unasked question.
“How do you do that?” I ask her.
“What? Read your mind?” she asks, laughing at my startled expression.
I nod.
Really? This is news to me. How the hell did I manage to hide my food issues for so long?
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Paola continues. “You’re a very private person, but when something surprises you, or confounds you, it’s right there on your face.”
“You wrinkle your forehead,” Lexi throws in helpfully.
“Oh,” I say. Food for thought. Is that how Maura always seems to know how I’m feeling without me ever saying anything?
“It’s not a bad thing,” Lexi continues. “It just means I know you better than most people because I’m the best roomie you’ve ever had and you’re going to miss me so much when you go back to New York. You’ll probably cry for weeks.” She fixes me with a stare. “Don’t be embarrassed. I understand.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure.” I say in response. But really, I am going to miss her. A lot.
“Aw, Petunia. Don’t cry!” Lexi pulls me into a one-arm hug as tears prick the corners of my eyes.
Damn it.
“Here, have a turkey.” She passes me a piece of chocolate.
I can’t help but laugh as I unwrap the turkey and hand it out to Paola. She breaks off a piece and bites into it groaning appreciatively.
“Now, Paola, tell us how we are your best, most favorite exchange students ever,” Lexi continues, starting to fold napkins.
Paola places a hand over her heart and looks at Lexi with a devastated expression. “I just don’t know how I’m going to get on once you leave, Lexi. I can’t imagine a day without you in it. How will I ever enjoy a caffé again without your incredible latte art? How will I manage to get dressed ever again without your expert fashion advice? Tell me how?”
Lexi nods seriously, reaching out and placing a hand on Paola’s shoulder. “I know it will be difficult, but somehow, some way, you’ll manage without me.”
Silence ensues as we all stare at each other seriously.
“You’re not drinking in there, are you?” Gianluca calls out from his station at the stove.
The moment erupts and the three of us burst into laughter.
I really am going to miss my little Italian transplant family.
* * *
We’re seated around the table when Gianluca brings in a large, juicy, succulent turkey, laying the tray down in the center of the table.
We all clap in approval, and he literally beams with pride. “It’s my first Thanksgiving,” he explains.
“We know,” Lexi tells him. “You know how to carve a turkey?”
He frowns. “Of course I do.”
“Another first,” she says to me.
Paola nods, laughing.
Lorenzo chuckles next to me, and Lexi’s date, Scott, an American guy in her history class—who she assured me isn’t engaged—offers to help. Gianluca accepts the assistance, but I don’t think he’s too happy about it.
“Okay…” I look around the table “…before we begin, let’s all say one thing we are grateful for this year.”
Lexi nods enthusiastically. “I love this game. I’ll start.”
We all look at her expectantly.
“This year, I’m most grateful to have had the opportunity to come to Italy and meet all of you.” She smiles at each of us sweetly.
“I’m most grateful that even though we’re abroad, we get to watch football today,” Scott says seriously. Then he looks at Lorenzo, Gianluca, and Paola. “Real football, not soccer,” he clarifies.
Silence. Oh wait, he’s for real.
“I’m most grateful that…” Paola pauses and beams at us, taking Gianluca’s hand in her own “…we’re most grateful to announce that we’re having a baby!”
“What?” I exclaim, my hand rising to my mouth as I rush to the other side of the table to hug Paola and Gianluca.
“Oh my God!” Lexi is close behind me.
“Auguri!” Lorenzo congratulates them.
“This is so exciting!” I practically gush.
“I know.” Paola nods, smiling as happy tears trickle from her eyes.
“Don’t cry, love.” Gianluca reaches out, stopping her tears in their tracks and kissing her lightly.
“When did you find out?” Lexi asks.
“Two nights ago,” Gianluca tells us.
“This is the best Thanksgiving surprise ever!” I exclaim.
They both nod.
Scott mutters congrats and helps himself to turkey. We all share a look, one that Scott doesn’t pick up on, and laugh. Lexi whispers, “No wonder he’s single,” in my ear before mouthing “sorry” to Paola, but she shrugs, too wrapped up in her own happiness to care much about Scott.
Everyone piles their plates high with the best of Thanksgiving: turkey, candied yams, apple pie, stuffing, cranberry sauce.
I eat a bit of turkey and a little stuffing. I feel like I’m going to have an anxiety attack. It’s too much food. Too many calories. Too many carbohydrates. Why is everyone looking at my plate? Do they know?
Chatter buzzes in my ear and Lorenzo’s hand slides up my thigh, effectively distracting me from my thoughts, my paranoia, my anxiety.
“I never told you what I’m most grateful for,” he whispers in my ear.
“What?”
“You. I love you, Mia.”
My heart stops and I smile shyly at Lorenzo. “I love you too.”
December
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Lorenzo
The next few days pass quickly as I finalize all of my preparations and arrangements for New York. It’s difficult to believe that I’m actually moving there. That I have a brother. That I’m going to be working for a microbrewery. Sometimes I think the whole idea is absurd. Then I look at Mia and realize this is exactly how it should be. I wonder if Papa is looking down at us all, laughing his ass off. Not only did he safeguard his legacy from Benito by issuing a revised will at a later date, he also helped to create a close bond among Mama, Claudia, and me that didn’t exist before. And introduced us to Anthony.
I thought moving to New York would be really tough for Mama to accept. I thought Claudia would give me shit about it. Instead, they both have been incredibly supportive. Mama even agreed to come visit in the spring. And now, with my sister happily dating Sandro, I know I’ll be seeing them sooner rather than later. It really does seem like everything is working out.
This evening I hang up my apron at Angelina’s and it hits me that my time here is coming to an end. It’s a bittersweet moment. I never wanted to work here, never cared about a family restaurant. And now I look out to the patio, to the corner table, and I see Mia’s smile for the first time. Standing in the kitchen, I’m reminded of the night we had espresso leaning up against the counters. Biting into the hard crust of a cannoli has me thinking about all the cannoli I’ve eaten here over the years, sitting on Papa’s knee, hiding in Mama’s skirts, chopping tomatoes with Claudia. It’s pretty incredible that so many of my best memories, happiest moments, have taken place in this tiny restaurant that six months ago I never even thought about.
I sigh. It seems like everything is changing. And yet, it seems like everything is exactly as it’s supposed to be. It’s time to finalize my most important arrangement yet. The one that will change my life and literally be my future.
My fingers tremble slightly as I stare at the keypad on my phone. Jesus. I clench my hand into a fist so I don’t have to see my fingers shaking. I don’t want to admit, not even to myself, how fucking nervous I am in this moment.
Fuck. I need a drink.
No. That’s not the way to do this.
This has to be right. Perfect. Like her.
I take a deep breath, the small box in my pocket a weighty reminder of the gravity of this moment, the seriousness of this decision.
Placing my phone down on the top of the table, I pull out the small
box, popping the lid quickly. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the diamond. Again. Solitaire. Two point five carats. Color D. Nearly flawless.
Claudia was right.
It’s perfect for Mia.
Mia’s perfect.
I have to do this the right way, the correct way, the traditional way. I need her to know that I’m all in. That I honor her. That I fucking worship her. And that includes offering the utmost respect to her family. To her father. Because, if all goes well, he’ll be my family one day too.
I close the box and exhale. Clenching the box in my hand, my fingers stop their frustrating tremble. I pick my phone back up and dial. It’s 7:00PM in New York. Mr. Petrella should be wrapping up his workday. He should be available to talk.
He is.
“Hello?” he answers on the fourth ring.
My blood runs hot and cold through my veins.
This is it.
I take a deep breath.
“Mr. Petrella. Ciao. My name is Lorenzo and I’m in love with your daughter.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Mia
It’s still early morning, one week before I leave Rome, when I interrupt my morning run to stop on the Sant’Angelo Bridge. I stare at the line of bridges, recalling the rainy day, just weeks ago, that changed it all. Altered my entire life. The moment when Lorenzo’s car stopped. The way he looked at me through the sheets of rain. The anger and desire and pure need in his eyes that rendered me speechless and kept me frozen on the bridge.
I remember the smell of his skin, the heat of his touch, the raw honesty in his eyes as he took me home. His eyes blazed deep blue as they drank my body in and somehow his gaze erased the shame and guilt and made me feel beautiful. He always makes me feel beautiful.
I shake my head, deciding to walk the rest of the way home. I stop and enjoy the ordinary sights and regular landmarks that have seamlessly woven into my life these past four months. Leaving Italy is bittersweet and suddenly, everything I do could be for the last time. I nod in greeting to the shopkeeper who sweeps in front of his store each morning. I drop my hand to scratch the head of a stray dog as I pass him on the street. I breathe in the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and chocolate cornetti as I pass my favorite bakery. Each step takes me closer to my apartment and farther from the person I was when I arrived here.
