“Yes, well, neither did I at the time. They don’t look alike at all, and, lucky for them—unlucky for me—none bear the face of their father.”
I scoff. “Ah yes, how sad for you, getting in trouble for being with three separate women.”
He grips the cornicello beneath his shirt. “Believe me, Tennyson was wrong in this case. It would’ve been better to have never loved any of them at all. If only to avoid Gino’s wrath.”
I’m grinning like a madwoman when Bes finally decides to join us. He places his jacket on the back of the empty chair beside his cousin before sitting.
“What are you grinning about?” he asks, not unkindly.
I lean back and cross my arms. This chair, too, groans from my shifting weight.
“Oh, enjoying my new familiarity with Cec’s misery over his sordid past.”
Bes grimaces. “Not too familiar, I hope.”
Cec winks at Bes. “Jealous?”
“Of course not.” Bes presses his hands together and clears his throat. “I’m simply worried for Miss Hawkins’ honor.”
“You’re a couple years late on that one, give or take,” I say.
I also want to say it’s not his to protect, but I don’t.
Bes blinks at me, and I can see he’s trying to decide if I’m being serious or not.Keep wondering.
He opens his mouth, but before he can question me further, Gino sets down three plates, each one laden with a hot, steaming slice of pizza. I examine mine closely, unsure.
“Why is this pizza slice square?” I’m used to round Neapolitan pizza.
Gino’s affable smile drops and he grunts.Clearly, I’ve offended him.I glance at the others, wondering what I could’ve said to upset him.
“Come now, Miss Hawkins, don’t insult the man,” Cec chides.Gallant, this one. “Haven’t you ever had Roman pizza?”
“Can’t say I have.”
I poke at what I believe to be a thin slice of grilled eggplant on top with my fingernail. Nonna has been trying to get me to eat eggplant for years with no success. When she finds out a stranger achieved what she never could in twenty-two years, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“We aren’t as… sophisticated with our pizza in the States.”
Cec laughs. “There are many things you lot aren’t as sophisticated with.”
I roll my eyes. “Calm down, King George.”
“É buona!” Gino assures me. “Trust the chef.”
I nod, swallowing the slight queasiness bubbling up in my stomach. When Nonna’s the cook, I love trying new things. But while I’m sure Gino is talented in his own right, I’m very particular about my pizza.
Picking up the thin slice, it holds its own in my hand, and I take a bite.
“Goddamn.” I groan at the explosion of flavors in my mouth.
I taste the eggplant, yes, but it’s seasoned and cooked to perfection—not rubbery at all, like I’d been led to believe. The thin layer of sauce packs a sweet and savory punch without being too tangy, followed quickly by the creamy taste of the fresh mozzarella and the earthy-sweet hint of basil.
Gino’s eyes widen and he fervently makes the sign of the cross. “Non sa cosa dice. Non sa cosa dice.”
She knows not what she says. I only recognize the phrase because Nonna used to utter it when I took the Lord’s name in vain, which was often. Now when I do it, she simply rolls her eyes and reminds me the Lord forgives all sins only if you pray for it.
“Perdonatemi, signore. My Nonna would have my head if she knew I’d soiled the Lord’s name in public.”
