Page 122 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

“I think nothing at the moment,” John interjected.

“Don’t interrupt me, Johnathan. I am your—”

“Son,” Antony murmured, his voice cracking a bit, “let him take the girl in, and have her meet Cecelia.”

Antony’s old gaze turned on Siena. “She had to help at the church after services, and so she didn’t get to meet you properly, young lady. She would really like to say hello.”

“Thank you,” Siena said.

At her soft reply, the defensive postures in the room lessened a bit. John seemed to take that as their cue to get the hell out of the room.

Once the dining room was behind them, the conversation started up again. Although this time, it was a little bit quieter.

“She’s just a woman,” Andino said. “Did you hear her talk? She heard you insulting her, and she still spoke like a little mouse. How in the hell is she going to do anything to us?”

“It’s not her,” Dante said sharply, “it’s where she comes from.”

“I’m sorry,” John murmured.

Siena shrugged. “They’re probably right.”

Who the hell knew?

Cecelia Marcello—with her dark hair snaked with tendrils of white, and kind eyes—shooed anyone in her kitchen out with a single whistle. All she had to do was see John and Siena standing in the entryway, and she made everyone else leave.

Johnathan’s mother gave her son a quick smile, and a pat to his cheek as she passed him by. Her gaze barely drifted over Siena at all.

The rest of them followed the same suit.

She wasn’t even offended, now.

“Grandmamma,” John said, grinning wide, “what are you cooking?”

“Everything,” Cecelia said, just as happy. Her soft eyes turned on Siena. “And you must be this Siena I keep hearing about.”

“Nothing bad, I hope,” she joked.

Everything was bad, she knew.

Cecelia let out a quiet laugh, and waved a hand. “It’s a little awkward right now, Siena, but those are only details. You have to give these Marcello men a little room to figure out their nonsense. But me, on the other hand, is another story.”

Already, Siena liked this woman with her wise words and her kind offerings.

Cecelia gestured at the dough in front of her. “Do you cook?”

“Of course.”

“Then, come cook. I talk best when I cook, Siena.”

“Watch yourself, love,” John warned her. “Cecelia is a well-known tyrant in the kitchen.”

Cecelia didn’t even deny it. “And yet, you all come back every Sunday for more.”

Careful conversation flowed at the Marcello dinner table. Siena couldn’t help but notice how everyone made a great effort not to discuss anything too personal or behind the scenes when it came to their family. If someone did accidentally say something of that nature, Dante Marcello’s gaze would dart in Siena’s direction, and the topic would change.

She tried not to be offended.

She didn’t want to take it personally.