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Damiano gestures at each of the men. “Angelo Rizzo and his wife, Vittoria. Franco Vitale and his wife, Samantha. Renzo Torrisi and Skylar. And last but not least, Dario La Rosa and Eden.”
I don’t reach my hand out and nod at them instead. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Looking stunned, Angelo shakes his head, then he glances at Damiano, who says, “This is Gabriella di Bella. My fiancée.”
“Holy fuck,” Renzo mutters again. “You got engaged? When?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Damiano replies.
“Just nod if you need to escape,” Dario says, his tone playful.
Damiano lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my lower back.
His voice is dark as he growls, “Don’t start with me, Dario.”
Pulling away from him, I glance at the women. A smile tugs at my mouth as I say, “Care to join me in the sitting room?”
“Yes, please,” Samantha says.
As we walk to the sitting room where Aunt Aida and Mrs. Accardi are waiting, Vittoria murmurs, “I love your outfit.”
“Thank you.” I offer her a grateful smile. When we walk into the room, I say, “Our guests are here, Aunt Aida.”
While the women greet Aunt Aida and Mrs. Accardi, I take a moment to look at the women.
They’re all beautiful, but it doesn’t escape my attention that I’m the shortest.
I lift my chin higher as I take a seat on an armchair.
As soon as everyone is comfortable, Samantha looks at me. “So…you’re engaged to Damiano? We weren’t aware he was dating.”
“We didn’t date,” I answer honestly.
“It’s an arranged marriage?” Vittoria asks. When I nod, she says, “It was the same for me and Angelo.” My eyes lower to her pregnant belly, then she adds, “We’re very happy.”
“When are you due?”
“Soon.” She lets out a chuckle. “But not soon enough.”
My eyes drift to Skylar and Eden, and noticing Eden looks a little uncomfortable, I say, “Eden, you must be feeling out of sorts, having just met everyone as well?”
“You have no idea,” she chuckles. “It’s a little overwhelming.”
“We’ll get used to everything together,” I assure her.
“Ahh, here’s the tea and cake,” Mrs. Accardi says as Martha pushes a cart into the sitting room.
There’s also wine with a cheese and crackers platter, catering for those who prefer something salty.
I glance at Aunt Aida, and reaching over, I place my hand on hers. “Would you like some cake?”
She nods. “Just a small piece, cara.”
Everyone waits for me to get tea and cake for Aunt Aida before they start to help themselves.
I place the tea on the side table and guide Aunt Aida’s hand to the plate. “It’s carrot cake. I know you don’t like the icing, so I took it off.”
“Thank you, cara,” she murmurs.
