“What are you filming for?” Charlie asks. At no point did he sign a release to be filmed. The vibe in Villa Meraviglia is drastically different this morning, and he doesn’t like it one bit.
His question is drowned out by Emilio saying, “Stay. You look sexy right now.” He lets out a purr-growl that makes Charlie uncomfortable.
The woman who recently arrived rushes up to Charlie at the table. “You made it back! Thank goodness. We were worried about you last night. Charlie, right?” She has a musical, American accent that reminds Charlie of home.
“That’s me,” he says.
Paola enters and upon seeing the crowd gathered at the table, turns on her heel and slips back into the kitchen. Charlie wishes he could join her.
“I’m April, Dario’s mom. I’ve heard such wonderful things about you,” she says before quickly switching topics and asking him about his tattoos.
The sound of the doors slamming scares them all into silence.
Dario stands in his swimsuit and a swim cap. Pool water drips all over the floor. “What’s going on in here?” He scans the room and reddens. “Ah, Charlie, I see you’ve met my family.”
Charlie nods as Michelle returns. Still pantless. Still in Emilio’s shirt. “Emilio, have you seen my—” She stops in her tracks when she locks eyes with Dario. Charlie holds his breath.
Dario’s piercing glare skips like a hastily tossed stone over to his brother. “Real nice, Emilio.”
“Ma dai! As if you were ever going to make a move,” Emilio says, fight in his words.
“As if you were ever going to be faithful to your wife,” Dario shoots back.
April intercedes. “Boys! Oddio! Basta! Who raised you?”
“Voi,” Paola says, ever the quick wit as she clears the breakfast spread.
Dario and Emilio snicker at Paola’s remark.
“Grazie, Paola. Very helpful. I did my best!” April calls after Paola’s retreating figure. “Can you two be in a room together more than a minute without fighting?”
Charlie grew up in want of a sibling, but this dynamic seems toxic enough to change his mind. The men glare at each other across the room, fire burning in their eyes.
Dario tears off his swim cap and says, “We wouldn’t be fighting if he didn’t have sex with one of my contest winners!”
Charlie cringes at Dario’s word choice.
Michelle, shocking everyone, says with a fierceness, “I am notyours.” It’s like she’s miraculously transformed into one of her favorite reality TV starlets. Charlie half imagines the gaudy dangling earrings and designer heels, the wineglass in her hand and the plastic plumpness of her cheeks.
Dario flushes cherry red while visibly fighting for words. “Si. No. Of course you are not mine. I didn’t mean it the way— You see, he…” Dario points his finger, voice falling off his breath. It’s obvious his brother brings out the worst in him.
“He, what? He spent the day with me. He was kind to me,” Michelle says. “I can have sex with anyone I choose.” Charlie would cheer for Michelle standing up for herself if it weren’t at Dario’s expense.
“Yeah!” Emilio chimes in. “She can have sex with anyone she chooses, and she chose me.”
“You are not helping,” Michelle says. “My decisions do not need your conditions.” Her hand sassily sits on her hip.
It rings like a clunky catchphrase meant to be turned into a meme, but still, good on her.
Dario opens his mouth, but after a moment of speechlessness, makes the wise choice of not extending thisconflict any farther. The tension in the room is already gooey mozzarella strung to its limit.
“This is my house, and I would like you all to leave,” Dario says, slow yet firm.
“It’s Mom’s house actually,” Emilio says.
April pinches the bridge of her nose, crosses the room to her son. “Emilio, let me help you find a shirt that isn’t already spoken for so we can get out of Dario’s hair. We’ve overstayed our welcome.”
“But—”
