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A woman dressed in a black and white uniform comes into the kitchen with an empty tray in her hands.
“Martha,” Carlo says. “This is Miss di Bella. She’ll be visiting us for a while.”
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” she says politely.
“You too,” I murmur. When we leave the kitchen, I glance up at Carlo. “Thank you for answering my questions.”
“You’re not a prisoner. Just don’t cause any trouble, and you’ll be fine.”
His words ease more of the anxiety that’s been tightening my stomach.
Maybe things won’t be as bad as I thought.
When we enter an elegant dining room, my eyes jump from the two women who seem to be in their early or mid-fifties to Damiano. They’re already seated at the table.
My gaze darts back to the woman sitting to Damiano’s left, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is.
Now I know where Damiano got his good looks from.
Damiano is sitting at the head of the table, busy cutting strips of bacon into smaller pieces.
Pushing the plate in front of his mother, he says, “Clockwise, the bacon is at three and the pancakes at nine.”
She holds her hand palm up and when he places his hand in hers, she kisses his fingers, then asks, “How was the trip? Are Cettina and Stefano well?”
Carlo holds a chair out for me, and I take a seat across from Mrs. Accardi while Carlo sits down to Damiano’s right.
As Damiano pulls his hand free from his mother's, his eyes flick to me. “We have a guest.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Falco’s eyebrow pops up while Mrs. Accardi gives me a curious look.
“I didn’t give my permission for Stefano to marry Gabriella. Instead, I brought her to New York. She’ll stay with us for a while.”
My lips curve up in a smile as I glance between the two women. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Welcome,” Mrs. Accardi says.
It feels as if she’s inspecting every inch of me.
Mrs. Falco only nods in my direction before turning her attention back to her son. “What did Stefano have to say about the matter?”
“Of course, he’s not happy,” Damiano mutters while cutting a piece off his pancakes. “I didn’t see Cettina, but I’m sure she’s well.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Falco sighs. “I’ll have to call my sister-in-law and smooth things over.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Damiano orders.
Martha brings two plates of food and sets them down in front of Carlo and me.
Between bites, Mrs. Falco asks, “Why didn’t you give your blessing?”
“I have other plans for Gabriella,” he mutters, clearly annoyed by the conversation.
I focus my attention on the plate in front of me and begin to eat. Martha leans down beside me and softly asks, “Would you like juice, coffee, or tea?”
I give the housekeeper a warm smile. “Coffee, please.” When she pours me a cup of steaming caffeine, I murmur, “Thank you.”
“You look very young. How old are you, Gabriella?” Mrs. Accardi asks.
