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“Not a problem.” Daniel glances at me.
I look away, focusing on where Arietta is standing with Barrett. They are near the luggage carousel, waiting for Bella’s bag. Realizing that I checked a bag, too, I start to head in that direction.
I don’t make it more than a foot before Dominick’s hand is wrapped around my forearm. “You’re fine with him staying with you, right?”
Daniel Lawton has an apartment in the city, so I remind my brother because it seems he forgot. “He has his own place. He can head straight there once we leave the airport.”
Dominick cracks a smile for the first time all day. “He sold his place in the city, Gina. You know that.”
I don’t know that. In fact, this is the first I’ve heard of it.
“So we’re good, right?” Dominick presses. “He’ll stay in your guestroom.”
I shrug my shoulders since I owe my brother at least a million favors in return for everything he’s ever done for me. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks, Gina,” Daniel says from next to me.
I acknowledge his gratitude with a weak smile even though I don’t look to where he is.
My gaze is locked on a woman heading straight for me. I’ve seen that look on people’s faces before. If I try and run, I’ll know she’ll catch me. I should have packed jeans and sneakers for this trip, but I didn’t.
That’s why I’m wearing a floral wrap dress and three inch nude heels.
“Gina Calvetti?” The woman’s voice rings through the airport terminal. “Are you Gina Calvetti?”
My self-imposed rules dictate that I need to be kind to people who recognize me. It comes with the job.
“I am,” I tell her as she nears me.
“I can’t believe it.” She laughs. “My daughter adores you. I wish she were here. She’s going to lose it when I tell her that I saw you at the airport.”
I step to the side to put distance between the woman and my family.
None of them signed up for this. My grandmother has had to endure countless people rushing into her restaurant in search of a glimpse of me.
Dominick has fielded dozens of phone calls at work from strangers asking if we’re related. Some of my cousins with the same surname as me have been subjected to that, too.
“Let’s take a picture for her,” I offer. “You can show her that.”
“Seriously?” The woman asks, sliding a palm over her dark-brown hair. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I manage a smile.
I wait for her to find an angle she’s pleased with before she snaps a few pictures with her phone.
She studies each of the images before showing me one. “You’re beautiful, Miss Calvetti.”
“Gina,” I gently correct her. “Thank you. You’re stunning, too.”
“Me?” She laughs off my compliment. “I look a mess. I had a last minute trip to take care of, so I haven’t taken a brush to my hair in over a day. I’m just about to jump in a cab and head home.”
“Home is the best, isn’t it?”
Her eyes search mine. “You know it. Maybe my daughter and I will see you at Calvetti’s sometime?”
“Maybe,” I say because I made the mistake of arranging a meeting with a follower once, and that turned into a disaster.
She invited more than thirty people to join her, and as they packed into Calvetti’s to meet with me, it quickly became apparent that they wouldn’t be ordering anything off the menu.
