The Italian

We walk in through the front door, and Andrea and Matteo are the first people we see.

Andrea’s eyes light up. “Olivia,” he coos as he kisses me on the cheek.

“Hi.”

“You remember Matteo?” Enrico asks.

“Hello.” He smiles as he kisses me, also.

“Hi.”

Their eyes are fixed on me, and then they glance at each other.

What are they thinking?

Francesca walks around the corner. “Olivia.” She smiles and kisses my cheek.

“Hi.”

“Come and meet Nonna,” Enrico says.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Great.” I fake a smile as he leads me through to the back of the house.

Bianca is sitting at the counter with a glass of wine in her hand. She smiles warmly when she sees me. “Ciao, Olivia.”

“Hello.” I smile in return. Good God, this woman freaks me out.

There is a little old lady in the kitchen cooking, and the food smells amazing. The lady turns to look at me.

Enrico presents me to her. “Nonna, this is Olivia.”

She stares at me for what feels like eternity before she finally says, “Ciao, Olivia.”

I shake her hand, and she eyes me suspiciously again.

My nervous gaze travels to Enrico.

“Sii gentile, Nonna,” he says.

Translation: be nice, Grandma.

She rolls her eyes and flicks her tea towel at him. “You come!” she snaps at me.

Huh?

“You come help me.” She gestures to the pot of food.

“Oh.” I nod. “Of course.”

Bianca gives me a sympathetic smile. She takes an apron from the drawer and passes it to me. “Here, Olivia.”

“Thanks.”

She spins me around and helps me put it on.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Enrico says.

I widen my eyes at him. Don’t leave me with them.