Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” she says politely.
“You too,” I murmur. When we leave the kitchen, I glance up at Carlo. “Thank you for answering my questions.”
“You’re not a prisoner. Just don’t cause any trouble, and you’ll be fine.”
His words ease more of the anxiety that’s been tightening my stomach.
Maybe things won’t be as bad as I thought.
When we enter an elegant dining room, my eyes jump from the two women who seem to be in their early or mid-fifties to Damiano. They’re already seated at the table.
My gaze darts back to the woman sitting to Damiano’s left, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is.
Now I know where Damiano got his good looks from.
Damiano is sitting at the head of the table, busy cutting strips of bacon into smaller pieces.
Pushing the plate in front of his mother, he says, “Clockwise, the bacon is at three and the pancakes at nine.”
She holds her hand palm up and when he places his hand in hers, she kisses his fingers, then asks, “How was the trip? Are Cettina and Stefano well?”
Carlo holds a chair out for me, and I take a seat across from Mrs. Accardi while Carlo sits down to Damiano’s right.
As Damiano pulls his hand free from his mother's, his eyes flick to me. “We have a guest.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Falco’s eyebrow pops up while Mrs. Accardi gives me a curious look.
“I didn’t give my permission for Stefano to marry Gabriella. Instead, I brought her to New York. She’ll stay with us for a while.”
My lips curve up in a smile as I glance between the two women. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Welcome,” Mrs. Accardi says.
It feels as if she’s inspecting every inch of me.
Mrs. Falco only nods in my direction before turning her attention back to her son. “What did Stefano have to say about the matter?”
“Of course, he’s not happy,” Damiano mutters while cutting a piece off his pancakes. “I didn’t see Cettina, but I’m sure she’s well.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Falco sighs. “I’ll have to call my sister-in-law and smooth things over.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Damiano orders.
Martha brings two plates of food and sets them down in front of Carlo and me.
Between bites, Mrs. Falco asks, “Why didn’t you give your blessing?”
“I have other plans for Gabriella,” he mutters, clearly annoyed by the conversation.
I focus my attention on the plate in front of me and begin to eat. Martha leans down beside me and softly asks, “Would you like juice, coffee, or tea?”
I give the housekeeper a warm smile. “Coffee, please.” When she pours me a cup of steaming caffeine, I murmur, “Thank you.”
“You look very young. How old are you, Gabriella?” Mrs. Accardi asks.
I keep my tone respectful as I answer, “I’m twenty-three.”
Mrs. Falco turns her face in my direction, her eyes staring blankly ahead. “We’ll get to know each other better after breakfast.”
My eyes dart between Damiano and his mother before I reply, “I’d like that.”
While I eat, Mrs. Falco asks Damiano, “Will you be home for a while?”
“I’ll be between Manhattan and the mansion for the next few weeks,” he answers before wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Climbing to his feet, he says, “Have a good day, Mamma.”
He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her head before leaving the dining room.
Most of the tension in the room leaves with Damiano, and my shoulders relax a little.
A guard steps into the dining room, taking a seat next to Mrs. Accardi. His eyes flick between Carlo and me.
“This is Gabriella di Bella. She’ll stay with us for a while,” Carlo tells him. He gestures at the guard, then explains, “Gerardo oversees the mansion's security. He’s Mrs. Falco and my mother’s guard.”
“Welcome,” he says before his attention is drawn to Martha as she brings him his breakfast.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmur.
“Gerardo, give Gabriella the Wifi password,” Carlo orders as he climbs to his feet.
Mrs. Accardi also gets up from her seat and follows her son out of the dining room.
When I’m done eating, I’m not sure whether I should wait until everyone’s finished or whether I can leave.
I glance at Gerardo and Mrs. Falco, and when she pushes her chair back, she says, “Gabriella, join me in my sitting room.”
I dart to my feet, and unsure if I should assist her, my stomach fills with knots as I follow her.
I’m surprised when she walks down the hallway to a sitting room where the sun is streaming in through the windows.
She takes a seat, and with her head held high, she glances in my direction. “Please, sit.”
I pick a chair opposite her and perch my butt on the edge, my hands folded on my lap.
“Don’t be nervous,” she says.
I almost nod but instead murmur, “Okay.”
“Have you visited the States before?” she asks.