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Fuck. It was already bad enough that my mother was now spending more time in Boston than in Italy. She was going to fucking ruin my life if she found me a wife.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DIVYA
Ihummed to Cora while carrying her down the stairs. It was a little over a month since I met this little bundle of joy, and every day, she snatched my heart in all kinds of ways.
The little one liked me right back. She showed her attachment in ways only babies could do. By giving me dimpled smiles when she saw me or latching on to my face and holding tight.
These days, when I woke up in the morning, I had a purpose. Somehow, where all my friends had failed, little Cora succeeded. She drilled a hole through the wall of darkness that I had effortlessly put up and let a ray of light flood me. Inch by inch. One day at a time.
I put Cora down in her chair and worked on getting her solids ready. I had started her on solids a week ago, and Cora was on a mission to gobble every last bit down. Pumpkins and carrots were her favourites. I took the cutting board down and started chopping her veggies.
Rosa walked into the kitchen and gave me one of her bright smiles. I liked to think her brightest smile was reserved for me. After Cora and her daddy, but before the rest of the staff. We worked companionably together, each going about our tasks.
I loved where I was now. Except for the inability to start my studies, this was not a bad place to be. Cora was a joy. The people were kind. I loved the Italian vibe in the house. Coming from a mixed background, I had either stuck out or felt awkwardly special. In this household, I was different, but they judged my difference as just that. Different. It was neither better nor worse. Most of the staff were interested in knowing about my background and my habits. I thrived on that.
“Ti piace questo?” Rosa stood next to me with her big, fat, faded cookery book in hand. She pointed to a recipe. It was all in Italian, and I didn’t understand anything in it. Except for the picture of another variation of a lasagne. Saliva pooled in my mouth.
“Yummy,” I said with a thumbs up. The last lasagne she had made was so delicious it would have been worth killing for an extra portion. Good thing Rosa made enough every time to feed an army. This one looked like it had even more layers of meat sauce, pasta, and cheese. I loved her food, yet she asked me every time before she made something if I would like it. I never said no, and she never let me down.
I had a soft spot for her. Most times, I battled to break down her Italian into a legible amount of English. Sometimes, she mothered me, and always, she looked out for me in her gentle but firm ways. She wasn’t family. But in the absence of one, it felt like she was. It was nice to have someone looking out for me.
My feelings for my boss were more complicated. Antonio. He had a practised ruthlessness about him that sent chills up my nerves. His lazy eyes following me around left me pulsing between my legs. His dark gaze observed my every move, hiding his conclusions in the curtains that hid his emotions. The times I tried to confront him by staring back, I lost forlornly, standing behind a nervous and hot mess. He made me feel like the adolescent I had been a long time ago. Extremely uncomfortable and yearning for approval. As if he held the strings to my puppet and could waggle me around any way he liked.
Most of the time, he was not at home and worked from his office downtown. He travelled a lot. Other times, he would just take off in the middle of the night or arrive late. Sometimes I thought his footsteps slowed down in front of my room when he came home. But I was sure it was in my imagination. He was an enigma. One that I was not sure I wanted to resolve.
His younger brother Angelo, on the other hand, was a dream to get along with. Or, as he said later, “I am not an angel with o.” Despite his arrogance when interacting with others, he always softened when we spoke. I had the feeling he had a particular fondness for me. He would often come over and hang around for breakfast with me and Cora, working on Antonio’s annoyance. But really for me, some adult company who spoke a normal level of English was a welcome break from baby talk and no talk with the boss.
A week into my stay, I met Mrs Capizzi, Antonio’s mother. Although met might be an exaggeration. A bitter taste in my mouth lingered when I thought about that encounter. The woman had looked at me as if I was the shit under her Prada shoe. Whatever she had said about me in Italian to her son must not have been very nice, as an argument broke out straight after that. Oh, the way those two could argue. It was fascinating to watch, with the hand gestures and all. But one thing was evident. Mrs Capizzi was not a fan of mine. Then again, she didn’t really seem to like anyone at all. She didn’t give a second of her time to Cora, and with her son, all she did was argue. She was perhaps the most cordial towards Angelo. It was a good thing she normally spent most of her time in Italy.
I put down the food next to Cora and settled into baby mode. Oohing and ahhing with her while helping her gulp down her mashed veggies.
A cold prickle filtered through my spine. Glancing over my shoulder, I found Mrs Capizzi standing near the hallway watching me, a mocking smile on her face, which she didn’t bother to hide.
What was it with the Capizzis and creeping up on me?
“Good afternoon, Mrs Capizzi.” I greeted her with forced brightness, even though uneasiness crept through my body.
Rosa turned to look and then immediately went back to rolling out the dough, studiously ignoring the visitor.
Mrs Capizzi walked over to us and watched me feeding Cora. No greetings back. For a small woman, she could easily cloak a room in a cloud of fear. Did she even speak English?
“I see my son hasn’t ridden himself of you yet,” she said.
Surprise washed over me. Last time, her words had been short and sharp and in Italian. So, she led me to believe she didn’t speak English. Frankly, I would have preferred it if she didn’t. Her words brought me no solace. Antonio was supposed to fire me? What had I done wrong? That would be crap if I lost this job just after a month.
“For how long do you plan to hang around here, anyway?”
I wasn’t to be fired?
“I am not sure what you mean. I don’t hang around. I am Cora’s nanny. Didn’t your son tell you that?” I asked.
“Don’t talk back to me like that. I know damn well who you are, girl!” She spit the words out, distaste flowing off her body. “I don’t like you tainting this house. When my son gets married, there will be no need for a nanny. I would count my days here if I were you.”
He was getting married?
Why did I not know anything about it? Even though he had insisted I call him by his first name, in my mind, he had been Mr Capizzi. But somewhere along the line, things had changed. I didn’t know when I went from thinking about him as Mr Capizzi to Antonio. Was it after he saw me half-naked in the bathroom? If someone saw my nipple, they were on a first-name basis. Or was it when I spotted him coming in from his morning run, all hot and sweaty? The sweat gliding off his body had got my juices running faster than Adam’s nakedness. He had looked up at that exact moment. When he found me, the air sizzled. Like cold water on a hot wok pan. I suddenly felt very odd at the thought of a married Antonio.
