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‘Oh,’ I said, taken aback.Where was he going with this?Quick, think of something cool!‘The craziest? Uh, let me think about that.’ I pressed my finger to my lips, then took a sip of coffee to buy some time. ‘My dad and I cooked a three-course meal for a private function of one hundred people once, just us two.’
‘Impressive.’ His eyes were wide with amazement. ‘It sounds like your pa was an impressive chef.’
‘He sure was. He was a very talented man and taught me everything I know.’ I nodded and smiled. ‘Now, what’s your story, hey?’ I flashed a mischievous smile his way.
‘The only thing coming to mind is this time …’ He pressed his manicured nail to his lip, copying my motion from before. ‘Well, it’s not really worth telling because it’s not exactlycrazy.’
‘Oh, come on. Any story will do,’ I said encouragingly.
‘Well, okay, here goes. Marco, my older brother … You might remember him. I mentioned him the other night,’ he said with a quick roll of his eyes before continuing. ‘He took me out on an adventure on our olive farm in the pitch dark to find Babau. Babau is a legendary bogeyman in Italy, and Papa used to scare us by saying if we didn’t come inside for dinner, Babau would get us. So, Marco, the crazy kid, wanted to prove that Babau was real. He took me on an expedition looking for him. As it turns out, of course …’ He held his hands out, palms facing up. ‘Babau wasn’t real, and when we got caught, we were made to do chores all weekend.’
‘That’s a fascinating tale, but you’re right, not very crazy. So, you grew up on an olive farm?’ A smile spread across my face as I imagined hundreds of rows of olive trees flourishing on rolling green acreage.
‘Yes, Ma and Pa ran an olive farm in Tuscany. My uncle took it over, but we still earn revenue from it, and I use the oil in my restaurants.’ He took a sip of coffee from his cup.
‘Oh, is that why the food tastes so good? Secret olive oil from Tuscany, hey?’ I lifted my brows and decided to take a sip of coffee too.
He nodded eagerly. ‘A lot of effort went into crafting those recipes. It’s my whole life’s work.’
We chatted about his family history and how his father’s mother taught Patrick to cook in her restaurant from a young age. The first dish he learnt to cook was gnocchi during his apprenticeship, and he spent hours perfecting the recipe. When his grandmother passed, the Vitellos sold their Naples restaurant and moved to Australia to take over Patrick’s mother’s parents’ winery on the Mornington Peninsula. His mother, Elizabeth, was holidaying solo in Italy when she first met Joseph, and it was love at first sight. She was Italian-obsessed and always wished to be one, so she couldn’t resist Joseph’s charm, good looks, or caring nature. They did everything together and travelled the whole of Italy – studied every ruin, tasted every wine, learned about Parmesan, browsed every museum – and found they had an unbreakable bond and got married after a month of knowing each other.
After hearing about his history in Naples, I found myself wanting to know more about how the famous House of Vitello was created.
‘So, when did you open your own restaurants?’ I asked with curiosity in my eyes.
‘At twenty-six, I opened the one in Melbourne.’ He paused and looked like he was thinking back to old memories. ‘It was hard at first because I only knew how to cook and not how to run a business, so it was trial and error, but the long hours paid off, and I had consistent clientele who loved my authentic Italian food.’
‘Did you run it on your own?’
‘I had to. My family was too busy with the winery, and Marco was trying out his fitness career, and Caterina, my sister, was studying interior design. So, just me and my staff.’
I thought back to meeting Patrick’s sister at his birthday and assuming she was his Italian girlfriend. Her chic Valentino outfit was still imprinted in my mind, and so was her flawless olive skin. She was the doppelganger of Monica Bellucci.
I gazed at him and took small sips of coffee while he shared his history. I’d always been a sucker for tales of family history and learning about the ones who paved the way before us. It was fascinating how we both were taught to cook by someone dear in our family we’d both lost, rather than a stranger. The way we both cooked was deeply rooted in us from generations of knowledge. How nice that Patrick left gorgeous Italy and journeyed his way over to Australia to open his restaurants. His story truly was as amazing as he was.
‘Caterina helped me decorate the restaurant, though,’ he added and took another sip of coffee.
‘Is your sister a model? She is very pretty.’ As soon I asked that, I wanted to sink into the chair with embarrassment. God, I hate it when I do that – make a big deal about someone’s beauty. Who cares if she’s a model or not?
‘Ha.Si, she did some modelling for a bit, but now she’s running the Melbourne restaurant while Marco runs the Sydney one.’ He chuckled.
‘So, she turned from being a model to a designer to a restaurateur?’I just couldn’t help myself, could I?I moved forward in my chair and placed my elbow on the table so I could rest my chin on my palm as I waited for his reply.
‘After Marco and Caterina saw how much money I was earning, they soon became passionate restaurateurs.’ He laughed again and shook his head at the thought.
Oh, typical. Of course, people want to be involved in your business as soon as they see how much money you’re earning.
Patrick lowered his voice and looked around before speaking. ‘Keep this between us, but Caterina pulled out of modelling because she’s got extreme anxiety. She struggles on and off with an eating disorder, and there are times she doesn’t eat for days. It’s very sad. She’s obsessed with being beautiful.’
‘Aww. Sorry to hear. I wouldn’t have guessed that at all. She’s so well-kept, and well-spoken, and doesn’t look bony but in perfect proportion. Actually, this is funny, but when she opened the door at your birthday, I assumed she was your girlfriend.’ I let out an embarrassed chortle.
‘I love her dearly.’ He sighed with worry. ‘One of our big family secrets is that Caterina gets weekly therapy. She doesn’t like anyone to know it, though, because of her obsession with being beautiful and being perceived as someone who has her act together and can solve her own problems. But her image obsession is dangerous because she’s ashamed of needing help. She thinks that makes her weak and gets paranoid people will judge her for that. Mama is partly to blame for this obsession.’ He sighed again, and I could tell he felt guilty for saying that. ‘Mama always told us image is very important in life and image is power.’
I just listened to him intently and didn’t utter a word.
‘We all have problems. You’re mad if you think otherwise. That’s one thing that irritates me – people having preconceivedideas about families with money.’ He frowned. ‘Yes, life is more comfortable – I can’t deny the privilege that comes with wealth – but we still have problems like any other family.’
I looked around at his mansion and sparkling river views. ‘I’m not one to judge someone’s personality on their level of wealth. That’s ridiculous. We’re all individuals, but I know what you mean. Even I thought Caterina had the perfect life just by looking at her.’
