Chapter 20
Antonio
This may sound crazy,but I’m a nervous wreck about introducing Daniella to Nonna, being that Nonna means so much tome.
I value her opinion more than anyoneelse’s.
Yet it’s funny, Daniella looks more nervous than I am right now. Or maybe it’s just pure hunger, having barely touched any of the pastries this morning. As expected, she looks hotter than ever. Tight-fitting jeans—and I unashamedly caught myself admiring how they perfectly caress her rump—along with a plunging neckline top, which leaves a tasteful amount of cleavage visible to my hungry-for-hereyes.
Thank goodness I’ll be busy with Fashion Show and Lingerie Ball planning activities. If I didn’t have those to distract me for the next ten days, I don’t think I’d be able to stand being around her so long without the two ofus—
“So this is Nonna’s place, huh?” Daniella asks, putting an end to my internalmeltdown.
“Yep. I’ve tried to get her to move to a more metropolitan area, but she loves this house. And actually, I do too. It’s country-like, faraway from those spectators I try so hard to stay hidden from,” I explain as the two of us walk up the cobblestone steps leading up to the frontdoor.
She nods, arms folded, still looking incredibly besideherself.
“You okay? Youlook—”
“Yes,” she interjects, “I think I’m just hungry. Andtired.”
“Right. Well, Nonna is a remarkable cook and will certainly make sure you get your fill. It’s the Italian inher.”
As we approach the front door, I feel my heart beat out of mychest.
Get a hold of yourself, man—they are going to hit itoff.
“Nonna,” I shout out, after opening the door. “I told you to keep the doorlocked.”
Women. Sometimes they neverlisten.
I help Daniella out of her coat and hang it on the hook by the door alongside mine. “She never locks the door in the daytime. I wish she’d listen to me—stubborn as most Italianwomen.”
Daniella nods and I can tell she’s surveying the house. It’s quaint and completely old-fashioned—and allNonna.
I grab Daniella’s hand and lead her to the kitchen. “I’ve gotta admit. I’m nervous and don’t know why. Maybe it’s because this is a first for me. Introducing someone—a woman—toNonna.”
Daniella frowns. “And why isthat?”
“Because no one hasbeen—”
“Antonio? Is that you?Mi sembrava di aver sentito il mio nipotepreferito.”
“Yes, it’s me. And, of course, I’m your favorite. I am, after all, youronlygrandson.”
The clip-clop of shoes pound the tile floor, then Nonna appears from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in her hand, and she immediately embracesme.
Daniella’s eyes widen and a smile consumes her entire face. “Wait. Did you say, grandson? Nonna is yourgrandma?”
I pull away from my seventy-year-old grandma and chuckle. “Of course, she’s my grandma. Anyway, Nonna this is Daniella…Daniella, this is Nonna—which in Italian meansGrandma.”
Daniella beams with delight as she pulls Nonna close and gives her a warm hug. “Oh, Nonna, you havenoidea how happy I am to meetyou.”
Nonna pulls back, rubbing her hands along the side of Daniella’s arms, giving her a sizeable once-over. She’s much shorter than Daniella is in her high-heeled boots. “Signorina, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turns her head to face me. “You’re right, nipote. She’s quitestunning.”
I look away, embarrassed. Perhaps I should have warned Nonna to be more discreet about the way I feel aboutDaniella.
Laughing nervously, I come up with something to say, to change the subject. “We’re starving,Nonna.”
