"The wrong impression."
"The sweet, but exhausting impression." I hold up the dress. It's nice. Too nice, actually. I put it back and grab something slightly less appropriate. "Perfect."
Gia walks in, sits on my bed. "What's the plan for tonight?"
"Be helpful." I start laying out accessories. "Be enthusiastic. Be absolutely overwhelming in my eagerness to please."
"That's it?"
"That's everything." I turn to face her. "His mother already probably thinks I'm odd. Tonight, I'm going to be so devoted, so eager to be part of their family, that she'll wonder what her son is getting himself into."
"And Santino?"
I think about last night. About his face when I kept trading lettuce for steak. About how he didn't say a word when I ate all four desserts. About the way he just watched me drink his cognac while I explained why Madison is definitely the villain this season.
"Santino is starting to realize this might not be as easy as he thought."
"You think he knows what you're doing?"
"No." I'm confident about this. "He thinks I'm just clueless. Enthusiastic but airheaded. Which is perfect."
"What if he figures it out?"
"He won't." I grab the dress and head for my bathroom. "Men like Santino don't expect women to have strategy. They think we're either compliant or difficult, nothing in between. He's trying to figure out which one I am."
"And you're neither."
"I'm both." I grin. "Depends on the moment."
I spend the next three hours getting ready. Hair, makeup, outfit. Everything needs to be just slightly off. Like I'm trying really hard but missing the mark.
The dress is too bright. The jewelry is too much. The shoes are too high.
I look like I'm trying to impress his family. Which means I look like I have no idea what I'm doing.
At five-thirty, the doorbell rings.
Right on time.
I make him wait fifteen minutes. When I finally come downstairs, Santino is standing in the foyer looking at his watch. He's wearing a dark suit, perfectly tailored, and he looks good. Annoyingly good.
He looks up when he hears my heels on the stairs. His expression shifts from impatient to something else. Resignation, maybe?
"You look nice," he says, but there's no warmth in it. Just courtesy.
"Thank you! I tried so hard to pick the right outfit. Do you think your mother will like it?"
He studies my dress. The too-bright color. The too-much jewelry. "I'm sure she'll have an opinion."
That's not a yes.
The drive to his family's house is quiet at first. He's not chatty tonight. Probably still recovering from last night's dinner.
"I'm so excited to meet your whole family!" I break the silence. "Your mother seems lovely. And you have a grandmother, right?"
"Nonna." His voice softens slightly when he says it. "She's ninety-two."
"Ninety-two! That's amazing. Is she doing well?"
