Page 66 of Unlock My Heart

This woman doesn’t just dislike me, she downright hates me.

So much for first impressions.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Calvani,” I say, fidgeting with my hands.

“Hey, cugino.” Nic appears, and he and Fabien hug it out with the manly back slap thing. “This is your girl?” Nic pretends to have never met me.

Fabien nods. “Nic, this is Sienna.”

“Sienna, nice to meet you.” He goes in for a double cheek kiss, and flustered, I just sort of stand there.

“Come, let’s eat.” Fabien’s mother switches to Italian, and I have no clue what’s being said.

Fabien takes my hand and squeezes it as he leads me to the ornate dining room.

He pulls out my chair for me, and I take a seat. Panic floods my bloodstream as I notice my place setting. Why are there so many forks and spoons and knives on the table?

Fabien’s mother says something animatedly in Italian, and Fabien interjects. “Mama, can we switch to English? Sienna doesn’t speak Italian.”

“Oh,” she says, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap. That “oh” is laced with enough condemnation to sentence me to the gallows. “But of course.”

A phone buzzes, and both Nic and Fabien grab theirs. Nic says something to Fabien in Italian before he and his aunt exchange something.

She smiles, waving Nic away.

“Sienna, catch you next time,” Nic tells me as he rises.

“Or not,” Fabien jokes as his cousin exits.

With one less person to buffer me from Fabien’s mother, I try not to squirm.

“Al, what have you been up to?” Fabien tries to start a conversation.

“I saw a severed head. Accidentally.”

My eyes go wide as Al’s mother says something in Italian to the child, and the little girl crosses her arms and falls back in her chair.

“Mrs. Calvani, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a phone call.” A housekeeper appears. “Says it’s urgent.”

“Everyone, excuse me for a moment.” She rises, placing her napkin in her chair. “Best behavior,” she tells Al before walking out.

“Is a severed head grosser than smooching?” Fabien asks his sister.

“Yes,” she says with a dramatic huff. “But I’m not supposed to talk about it. Around her,” she whispers, referring to me.

“It’s alright,” I tell her. “I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box. I don’t even speak Italian.”

Fabien chuckles. “You’re the sharpest crayon I know⁠—”

“How many crayons do you know?” Al wonders.

That elicits a laugh from Fabien and me.

Fabien’s phone buzzes, and he checks the message. “Be back in a minute. Al, keep Sienna company.”

“Okay, but she can’t ask about the severed head,” the little girl protests.

“Promise I won’t ask about it,” I assure her.