Page 35 of Ghost Ribbon

Marco and I spoke at the exact same time.

“No,” we both said.

She blinked, looking a little startled. Her eyes darted between us again, clearly trying to read the situation. Then she asked, more carefully this time.

“Boy…friend?”

“Yes,” I said smoothly at the same time Marco blurted out, “No!”

His mother’s head whipped back and forth between us like she was watching a tennis match. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open in surprise. Marco looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His face was burning red, and he was still half-hiding behind his hand.

I smiled and stepped a little closer, resting a hand lightly on Marco’s shoulder. He stiffened under my touch but didn’t pull away.

“He’s a bit shy about it,” I said smoothly, my voice warm and polite. “We’ve been… keeping things quiet. Marco didn’t want to make a big deal out of it yet.”

His mother’s face transformed in an instant. The confusion melted away, replaced by delighted surprise. Her tired eyes lit up like someone had flipped a switch. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, beaming so brightly it almost made me feel guilty for lying.

“Wow! I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!” she exclaimed, looking at Marco with so much excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me?! Marco Bellini!! You’ve been keeping secrets from your own mother?!”

Marco made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, clearly mortified. His eyes were wide with panic as he looked at me, silently begging me to stop this disaster. But I didn’t. I just kept my hand on his shoulder.

His mother was still talking, her voice full of happy energy now.

“Oh my goodness, this is wonderful! Come in, come in! Both of you! You must stay for dinner. I want to hear everything. How long has this been going on? How did you meet? Marco, you never tell me anything important!”

She was already stepping aside, gesturing us inside with open arms, completely oblivious to the way her son looked like he was about to pass out on the spot.

I glanced down at Marco, my green eyes gleaming with amusement as I leaned in just slightly so only he could hear.

“Be a good boy and play along, Malyshka,” I murmured, low enough that only he could hear. “Or I’ll make this much worse for you.”

His face went even redder.

This was going to be interesting.

I stepped inside the modest house with my hand still resting lightly on Marco’s shoulder, guiding him forward like the devoted boyfriend I was pretending to be. The place was small but warm, lived-in, with family photos on the walls and the faint smell of cooking in the air. Marco’s mother bustled ahead of us, still beaming like she had just won the lottery.

“Come, come! Sit down, both of you,” she said, waving us toward the small dining table. “I was just about to finish dinner anyway. You’re staying, right? Of course you are staying.”

I gave her my most charming smile, the one that had disarmed far more dangerous people than a tired mother. “I wouldn’t want to impose, but if you’re sure, I’d love to.”

Marco looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. His face was still flushed, and he kept shooting me panicked glances as his mother pulled out chairs for us. I sat down first, right next to him, close enough that our knees brushed under the table. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.

His mother disappeared into the small kitchen, humming happily as she finished setting the table. She brought out plates, glasses, and a big pot of what smelled like homemade pasta with sauce. The whole scene felt domestic.

“So,” his mother said as she sat down across from us, still smiling warmly. “Tell me how you two met! Marco never tells me anything. I want all the details.”

I chuckled softly, turning to look at Marco with what I hoped looked like fond affection. “It was a year ago. He caught my eye right away. I had to work to get him to even talk to me at first.”

Marco made a small choking sound beside me. I squeezed his shoulder gently, a silent warning to behave.

His mother laughed, clearly delighted. “That sounds just like him! He’s always been shy. But you seem like a good influence… and you came all the way here just to see him. That’s sweet.”

That wasn’t true. The Marco I met in Italy wasn’t shy, and I didn’t know what exactly had changed that, but I hoped to find out. Don’t get me wrong - I loved how timid he was sometimes, but he used to be naturally talkative and brave. Now he seemed dimmed.

I kept the smile on my face, answering every question she threw at me with charming ease. She asked how long we had been “together,” what I studied, whether I treated her son well. I lied effortlessly, weaving a story of dates while Marco sat beside me looking like he was dying inside. Every time he tried to interject, I would cut in smoothly or give his knee a light squeeze under the table.

Eventually, his mother wiped her hands on a dish towel and looked at me with genuine warmth.