The Italian

“The café near your hotel?”

“Yes. See you then.” She hangs up, and I watch her stare at her phone for a moment before she stuffs it in her bag and begins to walk away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bella. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper with a smile.

She wants to see me. There’s hope.

* * *

I sit in the café and glance at my watch. It’s 2:10 p.m.

Where is she?

I’ve been antsy all day. What if she doesn’t come?

I sip my coffee, while her coffee sits on the table opposite me, going cold. I got here early. I couldn’t wait any longer.

She breezes in and gives me a little wave as she approaches the table. I smile like a puppy as I scramble to my feet.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she replies as I kiss her cheek.

She’s wearing a white linen shirt and navy capri pants. Her blonde hair is in a low ponytail, and she is wearing minimal makeup.

Natural perfection.

She sits down opposite me.

“I ordered you a coffee but it’s probably cold. I’ll order you another.”

“It’s fine.”

I stare at her, lost for words. What do you say to someone you’ve been following around all week? “How are you?” I ask.

“Good.” She smiles. “Getting there. How are you?”

My face falls. I hate that she’s fine. Am I alone in this? “I’m okay.” I fake a smile. “You wanted to see me?” I ask.

“Yes, I did.” She pauses and sips her coffee. “I have a few questions that I need answered.”

“Okay.” She wants to keep seeing me. She’s going to agree to it. “Anything, ask me anything.”

Her eyes hold mine, as if she’s steeling herself to speak. “Why do you think that your heritage depends on who you marry?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you… you said that…” She stops herself. “I know these seem like stupid questions to you, but I didn’t ask you them the other day and they are eating away at me.”

“I’m the head of my family now, and with that comes responsibilities. It’s in my hands to ensure that my family continues on as it has for centuries.”

“And you were taught this as you grew up?”

“Yes. When I have my own children, it is very important for them to know my language and their culture, and what it means to be Italian.”

“I see.” She smiles sadly.

We sit in silence for a moment.