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An older woman came bustling over, clapping her hands. “Cari, scusatemi. I’m sorry, I was speaking on the phone with my producers.”
Rick’s face lightened. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’re all good here. Just introducing Chiara to everybody.”
Rick’s mother clasped her hands together. “I’m Camilla. Benvenuti.”
“Thank you for the welcome, Mrs. Serenghetti,” Chiara said.
“Camilla, please. You are doing me a huge favore.”
“She mixes Italian and English like they’re flour and water,” Rick said in a low voice. “Interrupt at your own risk.”
“Now, Chiara—what a lovely name! You are Italian and Brazilian, no?”
She nodded her head.
“You are a celebrity, yes? And beautiful, too, no?”
“Um...”
“Basta, così.” Camilla nodded her head approvingly. “It is enough. You are doing me a huge favore. Anything else will be extra filling in the cannoli, no?”
“Mrs. Serenghetti—”
“Camilla, please. Do you want me to demonstrate a recipe to you on the show, or—” Camilla brightened hopefully “—you have one to share?”
“Actually I do.” Chiara had been thinking about the show on the plane ride. She didn’t want to disappoint. It had nothing to do with Rick, but rather her own high standards and integrity, she told herself. “I used to visit relatives in Brazil when I was growing up. Italian food is very popular there.”
Camilla beamed.
“Brazilian barbecue—” Chiara began.
“Churrascaria, sì.”
“—is well-known, but we also have galeteria. It’s chicken and usually an all-you-can-eat pasta and salad. So I would like to make a pasta dish that sounds Italian, but was really popularized by the Italian immigrant community in Brazil. Cappelletti alla romanesca.”
“Perfetto.” Camilla nodded approvingly.
Mia linked arms with her mother. “Excuse us while I get Mom’s opinion on how to finish the tagliatelle salad.”
When his female relatives had departed, Rick turned to Chiara with a bemused expression. “I’m impressed. Have you actually made this dish before?”
“Please.” Chiara gave him a long-suffering look. “Do I look Brazilian and Italian to you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Trust me.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Isn’t that my line?” he mocked.
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and turned away.
“Rick!”
Chiara spotted an older version of Rick coming toward them.
“Brace yourself,” Rick murmured. “You have yet to meet the most colorful member of the family. Serg Serenghetti.”
Oh, dear.
