Chapter 25
582 Words
Chapter Twenty-Five
Fortunately, there is only Salvatore’s mother, Signora Di Luca—or just Paola, as she insists—in the kitchen when I walk in the next morning, the smell of freshly baked bread lingering in the air.
It’s a morning routine to break the fast in her kitchen, which I find loving and endearing. Not having had much of a family and having grown up in a convent since I was ten years old, I feel strangely comfortable with the Italian way of the Di Luca family.
The table is covered with pastries of every type as well as fresh fruits and small jars.
“Sit! You eat.”
But I hate to sit there, partaking in her hospitality when I am thinking such sinful thoughts that would undoubtedly be her family’s undoing.
She’d likely chase me from the house with her broom if she knew what I’ve done with Salvatore and Enzo, and what I’ve dreamed of doing with Angelo.
Why oh why can I simply not be a normal girl and settle on just one of them? I love Salvatore. Deeply. Why isn’t that enough?
Afraid of betraying myself with a guilty look, I do what she asks, watching as she pushes a cup toward me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Latte,” she says, motioning with her hand. “Drink.”
The steam drifts up from the cup as I pick it up and take a sip, remembering the morning drinks we tried on the train. It’s delicious.
“I could drink this all day.” I sigh happily, cupping my hands around the warm cup.
Paola joins me at the table, her shrewd eyes on me. “Do you love my Salvatore?”
Oh, my. I can’t meet her eyes. Her question is very direct and quite surprising.
I set the cup on the table with shaking hands, scared I might drop it.
But then I remember that here, in this country, I can be free about my affections with Salvatore. There is no one that would report back to the baron or his mother, nor is there any ramification of speaking my true feelings.
“Oui,” I say softly. “I do love your Salvatore. So very much.”
Just then, Anna comes in and it’s clear to me she heard what I just said because her face is closed in a frown.
“Buon giorno,” she mutters.
“Bonjour,” I say as she sits down next to Salvatore’s mother.
“So have you and Salvatore been getting along well?”
I feel like this is the Inquisition, the way she stares at me.
“Oui,” I say, wondering just what she is getting at.
“I am glad to hear that,” she murmurs. “I hope the other men of the house have not been too much…trouble?”
“Oh, non, pas du tout,” I answer non-committedly. And this is also not a lie. They are not much trouble, but they are trouble.
She smiles at me and drinks her strong corto, which looks more like coffee dough than a beverage.
“How long will you be staying with us?”
I don’t know if she means anything by the question, or if it is just my imagination.
I suppose it is a normal thing to ask an unexpected guest, and she smiles innocently as she continues to drink her coffee, but there seems to be something in her eyes.
Does she know what I’ve done, or is she just being territorial? Or am I just uncomfortable with the question because I have no answer at all to give her. “I am not sure yet.”
But I have a feeling that trouble is definitely on the way, and this beautiful country home is about to turn into a hornet’s nest.
- Writer
