“I hope nothing that big, or she’ll be damaged for life. And in any case, not until she’s eighteen.”
“So you’re imposing compulsory chastity until she’s an adult?” Mamma snaps.
“Of course, Mamma!” I reply. “Look at me! If you’d done the same, I wouldn’t have had Linda at seventeen.”
Donatella shrugs. “She’s so shy she’d run away at the sight of one.”
“One can only hope,” I say. “So ... how did you reply to Fury the Stallion?” I ask Giada, changing the subject.
“I asked where and when we’ll meet,” she says, typing.
“But you don’t have a photo of his face!” objects Donatella.
“This time I decided to trust him.”
“Trust? Is that what it’s called now?” I tease her.
“I hope this one’s closer than Viareggio. You’re always chasing after these far-flung men,” observes Mamma.
“Where do you suggest I look for them? Here?” Giada sounds horrified. “The most eligible bachelors here are Colli’s son, the funeral director, and Ceccarelli’s son, the plumber.”
“Even in the darkest crises, people don’t stop dying or shitting,” Mamma reminds her.
“Belvedere is no place to be single,” I agree.
“You can say that again. I would never stay here forever. As soon as I have the money, I’m going to London. If I have to look for the love of my life, I’ll take my chances in a city of nine million people. Anyone in their right mind got out of here as soon as they could.”
“Ahem,” I say.
“You mean everyone who didn’t become teenage mothers, dear,” Donatella observes abrasively.
“And in any case, while I’m waiting to escape, I don’t see why I should lock myself in a convent.”
“Let’s see the photo again,” orders Donatella.
We all gather round Giada’s phone to gawk at the outsized work of Mother Nature.
“My God, it’s swollen!” exclaims Mamma. “Do you think he has enough blood to make it work at the same time as his brain, or does he faint?”
“Can he find underwear that fits?”
“Maybe he has them custom made ...”
Knock, knock, knock.
We jump in surprise at a knock at the door.
“Who could it be at this time of night?” Mamma grumbles, opening the door.
“So, what’s the news?” asks Giliola, who, arm in arm with her daughter Regina, steps inside without even bothering to say good evening.
“My God,” Donatella scoffs. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have spiked my tea with a double shot.”
“What do you mean, news?” replies Mamma sharply. There’s bad blood between her and Giliola—their rivalry in the kitchen is legendary.
“Is he here?”
“Who?”
