Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
My lips pinch together in distaste, and I hope it’s not too obvious.
May I talk to him? I ask.
He stares at me for a long moment before conceding. I write out a message for Nino and play it for him.
I can see that you have some big emotions right now. Sometimes I have big emotions too, and that’s okay. Do you know what I like to do when I’m feeling sad or mad or upset?
“What?” He wipes his eyes.
I ask what I can do to feel better. Maybe I’ll take a few breaths, or ask for a hug, or talk to a friend about what I’m feeling. And if I want, I might even roar like a lion or jump up and down and shake it off.
A small smile appears on his face at the idea, and I can see some of his anxiety ebbing away already.
We could try it now, I suggest. What do you think? Would you like to take a few breaths with me?
He nods.
Okay, let’s go on the count of three. Breathe in with your nose and blow it out through your mouth.
I hold up my fingers to count, and he mirrors me, doing the same as we inhale and exhale together. I’m quite certain Alessio is staring at me like I’m a lunatic, but my focus is on Nino. After the first breath, I hold up one finger and count down again. We take a few more breaths, and once he’s relaxed, I return to my phone.
That was a great job, Nino. Do you feel better?
“Yes.” He glances back at his plate. “But I don’t want to eat that.”
I rise and write a note for Alessio. Can he try some of the other food at the table?
Alessio stares at me, his gaze so intense it’s burning into my skin, but I have no idea what he’s thinking.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” he says.
I move to the space beside Nino’s seat, grab the extra plate meant for me, and then hold out my other hand for him. Nino stares at it for a long time, his eyes moving over my face uncertainly before he gently places his fingers in mine. I give them a soft squeeze, trying my best to reassure him.
We start at the mountain of pastries in the center of the table. I look at Nino and then point to them in question. Nino glances at Alessio, chewing on his lip before returning a tiny nod and pointing to a cherry Danish. I retrieve the Danish for him, then move on to the fruit selection, taking time to point at each option and allow Nino to choose for himself. This time, I hand the tongs to him, giving him a choice of how much he would like. During the process, his shoulders seem to relax, and by the time we move onto the platter of eggs cooked several ways, he seems quite at ease choosing for himself.
Alessio watches the entire interaction with an odd expression on his face, but I don’t look to him for approval nearly as much as Nino does. Several minutes later, he’s settled back into his seat, eating his breakfast without a fight. Alessio watches him take the first few bites before returning his gaze to me.
In my experience, many children do better with family-style options. If they can pick and choose what they’d like, they may even surprise you.
His brows draw together, and Angelina enters the room, pausing when she sees the plate prepared for Nino shoved aside. Her venomous gaze moves to me. “You will spoil him.”
My eyes narrow on her, and for once, I’m glad I have to hold my tongue because my patience with her is already wearing thin.
Don’t worry. I type. I’ll eat it.
This idea seems to dismay her even more, and she glances at Alessio as if he should put a stop to this. He doesn’t notice her gaze on him, or if he does, he chooses not to acknowledge her. She tops up his coffee with a stiffness that betrays her anger and then leaves.
The remainder of the meal is quiet, and I’m eager for Alessio to tend to his business, whatever it may be, so I can get to know Nino. I suspect that Angelina will be a problem, and I’ll have to tread carefully. For now, I just want to spend some time with Nino and familiarize myself with our routine.
“I have a phone for you.” Alessio rises from his chair and slides an iPhone across the table. “I will check in with you occasionally through messages, and I would like a prompt answer.”
I glance at the device and frown.
I already have a phone.
“This is the phone you will use to communicate with me,” he tells me. “And should any issues arise, I expect you to reach out immediately.”