Page 68 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

We headed back into the room, and I was immediately bombarded. Someone was clinging to my other arm. Normally, I wouldn’t be so okay with random people grabbing me, but a quick look down told me it was the same little older auntie who had told me about the astrology spot.

“You see windows here? They are special, to magnify the light of the moon.”

“Really?” I asked, keeping my tone interested. “Is there a significance to extra moonlight?” It probably had to do with that astrology spot, but I figured it was polite to ask.

The older woman looked up at me like I’d asked her if she was capable of flight and I couldn’t figure out where I’d gone wrong.

“Are you teasing this old lady?” she asked, gray eyebrows going up to her nearly blue hairline.

“No, he’s not, Auntie,” Olivia said quickly. “Remember, he’s from a different culture, si?”

Ah, so it was an Italian thing. Fair enough. I guess I had a lot more to learn about their traditions than I thought.

“Oooooooooh, si, si, si. È un essere umano. I forgot.”

That was the second time I’d heard that word—umano—and it was pinging something in my head I couldn’t quite place. Maybe they were calling me the white guy? Or big guy? As far as I knew it wasn’t a slur, so I let it go.

“You, big man, come, let me show you our pride!” one of the older men called. Olivia gave me a small nod, and I headed through another door to see the eldest-looking relative standing next to who I believed was introduced as Olivia-Two in what looked to be a secondary sitting room.

Huh.

I didn’t get rich people. I had just walked out of a massive family room with large couches that could comfortably hold a Christmas celebration by the Von Trapp family, and now I was in yet another room with its own couch facing a love seat and a recliner around a long, low coffee table.

I made a sitting room next to your sitting room so after you sit, you can get up and then sit somewhere slightly to the left, I thought to myself.

“Someone said something about seeing your pride?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t a common phrase or idiom. I didn’t want to sound like an idiot for not knowing what he meant.

“Si, grande signore, right here.”

He pointed behind me and I turned to see another much smaller, less ornate fireplace than the one in the family room. The entire wall above it, however, was covered with trophies and medals.

“Whoa…” I murmured, instantly spotting a whole lot of soccer, track-and-field, mathletics, and awards from English competitions based on their wordy titles such as “Excellence in Performance: International Competition in Literacy.” There were also trophies for bowling, baseball, basketball, softball, Battle of the Books. If a sport existed, it was represented up there in either gold or bronze.

Strange, no second places, I mused to myself. What were the chances of that?

“Here you see our excellence. You know, other branco would always say we will dilute ourselves coming here, but you see, the bambinos are mighty when they are even of two generations on this soil!”

I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about a horse, so I figured branco was a slang phrase for his bros back home, or whatever someone from his generation would call them.

“Clearly they were wrong,” I said with a whistle. The man was trying to connect with me one of the few ways he knew how: bragging about his grandchildren. “Because all I see here is a bunch of thriving.”

“Thriving! Exactly. This is a good word. I like it; I like you, grande signore.”

“You’re too kind.” Even as I said it, I couldn’t help but think, One down, who knows how many to go. “I would be proud of this kind of legacy too.”

“Si, si. Very proud. All beautiful babies, the little ones. Although some are not so little anymore, yes? Makes a man feel his bones, si!”

“I know the feeling. Sometimes I see a client’s kid entering kindergarten when I was sure they were still a baby, and I wonder if I need to start dyeing the gray out of my beard.”

“Cli… client keed?” he repeated, somewhat mystified.

Olivia-Two looked up from her phone for the first time since I entered. “Il figlio del suo cliente.”

“Cliente?” He turned his attention back to me, still looking perplexed. “No, no, not work people. Um, famiglia! Like children.”

“Ah, I don’t have kids,” I said, chuckling. But the old man didn’t seem satisfied with my answer.

“Si, this is good. But, uh, of the brothers and sisters.”