Anna’s voice was laced with flint. “Massimo, you make me sound like an old woman. I’m hardly falling apart.”
Massimo soothed, “Of course you’re not, Mamma.” He turned to Isotta, “Mamma is very strong and healthy. I just didn’t want to take any chances. Plus, there are many advantages to sharing a home.”
Anna chimed in, “My quarters are on one side of the house, my son’s are on the other. They connect through Margherita’s room and the kitchen. Since Massimo can hardly boil water for pasta, and I spend my days with Margherita, it has been a good arrangement.” She poured thick coffee from the aged silver moka into three identical white cups rimmed with bold navy stripes, and then set the coffees in front of each adult.
Isotta ventured, “Is there anything I can help with?”
Anna said, “Absolutely not.” She waved Isotta toward an empty chair before turning back to the range. Anna peered into the oven while reaching for a pot-holder hung in arm’s reach. Nodding in satisfaction, Anna pulled the cake from the oven and rested it on the stovetop. Deftly, Anna plucked the cake server out of the jug of gleaming cooking implements and brought the plum-spangled torta to the table.
Margherita banged her high chair in approval and then ducked her head and looked over at Isotta through lowered lashes. At Isotta’s smile, Margherita banged again and chortled.
The adults laughed in unison, which broke the remaining tension. Isotta let her confusion about why Massimo didn’t tell her about his daughter fade into the auburn light streaming into the kitchen. He probably had a good reason. Maybe his behavior wasn’t typical, but he had yet to be wrong. He was clearly one of those people whose hands were on the reins, utterly in control of his life. As a person who constantly felt like her own life was on the edges of slipping out from underneath her, it was probably good that she had this steady and clear-eyed man beside he. So why not get married? It’s not like waiting years would change what Massimo seemed to know was inevitable. Plus, she had to admit to herself, she was eager to slip into bed beside Massimo every night. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, and then flushed further when she realized that Massimo and Anna were both looking at her.
“Isotta?” prompted Massimo.
“Oh, yes, sorry!” Isotta tried to laugh off her distraction.
“Mamma was asking you a question. It’s rude not to pay attention.”
Isotta flushed in shame. Her mother often said the same thing when Isotta’s thoughts wavered.
Anna said, “Oh, Massimo, lighten up. The poor child spent the day traveling, she just met your family. Give her a moment to take it in.” Isotta sucked in her breath, sure that Massimo would bark at his mother. Instead his face relaxed into its softer lines and he took his mother’s hand and then her own and said, “Of course. I apologize, Isotta.”
Isotta smiled weakly.
Massimo went on. “So, darling, mother and I were just wondering about timing for the wedding. I would love to do it next month, but that’s probably not enough time. What about November?”
Isotta’s smile shook briefly, but then steadied. “Of course. Whatever you think, Massimo.”
Massimo shot Anna a triumphant smile. Anna gave a begrudging nod before clasping Massimo’s hand in hers. Isotta, touched that her agreement would mean so much to Massimo, beamed.
It was as if her life—her family, her schooling, her career, her understanding of the serpentine streets that spiraled out from the Duomo—were being erased. It felt scary, but at the same time, Isotta wasn’t sure why she’d hang onto that life, when life here included Massimo, his solicitous mother, and little Margherita. A family ready to love her.
Glancing at the clock, Edo calculated he’d be able to duck out in an hour. Less than that, if the bar continued to be this quiet. His pulse quickened.
“Got an appointment?” Chiara asked with a smile.
“What?” Edo startled.
“You’ve been checking the clock just about every minute and a half.”
“Oh,” Edo tried to laugh casually, but he felt too irritable. Instead he turned away to refill the cocoa container.
“So, you heading out again tonight?”
Edo bit his lip and considered. It wasn’t any of her business. He could just sneak out when she was sleeping, save the questions. It worked with his parents. Only, upon further reflection, it didn’t. Not really. Just put more space between them.
“I was planning to.”
“That’s fine, Edo. You’re a big boy.” Chiara fought down the mix of innate curiosity and concern to avoid asking where he was going. She was worried about how brittle he’d been lately, and started wondering if maybe her brother had been right about Edo’s need for a “firm hand.” But, she had seen Edo when people asked him even innocent questions. His expressive eyes turned stony, and his full lips grew taught. Too much of that and he became unreachable. She wanted to simply enjoy his gentle presence. You can debate whether or not Chiara should exert some authority—certainly the villagers found much to discuss here—but ultimately, Chiara couldn’t be other than what she was. She added, “But maybe if you come in late, watch the third step? The creaking wouldn’t normally bother me, but I haven’t been sleeping.”
“Not sleeping? Why?” Was she staying up to monitor him? That seemed unlikely, but maybe his father was putting her up to it. Not for the first time, he wondered if they’d bugged his phone.
Chiara wondered how to answer her nephew. She couldn’t tell him about the loneliness that crept in, the feeling that her days were slipping by and she was unable to hold onto
