Chapter 16

I open thekitchen door to gather the laundry drying on the line when I almost step on a dead mouse.

"Gah! Dammit, Razzo, stop leaving me these disgusting presents! We're even!" Razzo sits across the yard on the stone wall, ignoring me while he slowly licks his fur.

Ever since the storm, I've come home to find disembodied mice left on my back doorstep as if he were saying, Ciao, annoying human lady. Here is a nice present for giving me shelter during the rain. Be grateful I bring you such wonderful gifts. Gagging, I grab a biodegradable grocery bag and scoop up the mouse.

"Niente più regali!" I yell at him in Italian in case he doesn't understand English.

I dispose of the mouse in the trash. If Razzo's expression could be interpreted right now, he'd be giving me the middle finger. "Yeah, well, right back at you, buddy."

I pull the clothes off the line and fold them at the large kitchen trestle table.

"Buongiorno, Summer. Do you have company?" Nonna Rossi knocks on the open door leading to the side garden.

"Buongiorno, Nonna, come in." I smile when I see her holding fresh flowers and some cookies.

Sometimes I'll come home from work, and there will be pasta or fresh bread waiting for me on the counter or the amazing fruit-centered cookies she's holding now. She reminds me so much of my Grams. I love when she pops by for a visit.

She looks around the tidy kitchen. "Everything here okay, sí?"

"Molto bene," I say around a mouthful of buttery cookie. "Oh, except I think you need a new roof, the door to my room is no longer attached to the wall, and your cat enjoys leaving me sacrificial offerings…but I love it here."

Nonna Rossi smiles quizzically. "Sí, sí, va bene." She puts the flowers in a vase she procures from a cabinet. "I'm here to invite you to cena…dinner. We are having a party for la famiglia. I want you to be there."

"Oh, thank you, but I don't want to intrude on a family get-together."

"Certo che no, che sciocchezza—nonsense. You come, sí? Six. Dress nice, fancy…sí?" She smiles at me encouragingly, pointing at my messy bun and sweats.

"Oh, tonight? Um…"

She slaps her hands down on the table. "Molto bene." She gets up to leave before I can tell her I planned on soaking in the tub with a glass of wine and a book. My muscles are aching after the hike in Isola yesterday. "Fiore verra a prederti…she'll come pick you up, so you no ride bicicletta. Arrivederci!"

"Molto bene." I sigh after she leaves.

My thoughts wander to Lorenzo, who I can't stop thinking about. He wants to be friends. We are friends…but I can't help feeling there's more between us. I'm definitely attracted to him. A blind woman would be, for Pete's sake, but I want more. I want Frances' Marcello in Under the Tuscan Sun. The Italian man who reignited her passion for love and life. I feel like I had that connection with Lorenzo yesterday, but it's as if he's holding me at arm's length, deciding if I'm worth the risk.

I glance down at my gray sweats and frown. Nonna said to dress fancy, but all I have is simple. Remembering that cute little store I saw in town, I throw my underwear and socks on top of the folded clothes and dash up the narrow stairs from the kitchen to my bedroom. Realizing I won't have time to bike into town, I fish my cellphone out of my bag and call a taxi. I quickly text Cara an SOS message explaining my evening plans and to be on standby to help me choose something. I'll pick out something quick enough to give me time to get ready.

The pushy butchic store owner, Carmella, shoves another dress into my changing room while I'm slipping one off. I shriek, covering my bare breasts with my arm. The front of the store is all glass windows. The inside walls are blush colored with gold accents. Carmella prefers a minimalist approach to her store, only showcasing a few items. I'm hoping she'll pull something out of the back off a rack, but my chances aren't looking good.

"Come se non l'avessi mai visto prima…I've seen it all." She sashays away and I yank the curtain closed and step into the dress she brought. It's a white and red polka dot with a sweetheart neckline, a poofy skirt, and the biggest shoulder pads I've ever seen. It looks like an eighties prom dress. I grimace and stare at myself in the mirror, not even wanting to zip it up. I snap a quick picture and text it to Cara.

Me:I look like a clown.

Cara:Yeah, that's a hell no.

I quickly let it drop to the floor and kick it to the side. I want a beautiful white dress that makes me feel sexy, like the one Frances wore when she went to meet Marcello. I want to feel confident and Italian, like Sophia Loren. I try on a red one Carmella insists is all the rage in Rome. Now we're talking. I slip it on over my head because it only has a side zipper. I tug it down and keep tugging. It's a little tight, but not too bad. I turn toward the mirror, and my eyeballs almost roll out of my head.

Me:This one is a little tight…

Cara:Vava-voom! Are you planning on seducing everyone at the dinner party tonight? Because that dress is H.O.T. Do I see nip?

I look closer in the mirror and sure enough the material is completely sheer. This is more like a going-out-to-a-nightclub type of dress for a twenty-something, not for meeting Lorenzo's la famiglia for the first time.

Me:Yes. Nothing says family dinner like a see-through dress. I'm doomed.

I try to peel the weird nylon material away from my skin so I can breathe a little easier, but it sucks itself back into place. The curtain whips open and I yelp in surprise.

"Ah, bellissima. You like?"

"No, too tight." I show Carmella by pulling away at the material. I try to walk out of the dressing room, but the dress restricts my movements to small steps. "No like. Do you have anything with a full skirt?" I show her by fluttering my hands around my knees. She frowns and turns, hopefully to find something a little less skintight.

I walk back into the dressing room and slowly try to peel the finger trap off my body. I undo the side zipper, but it doesn't make a difference. In the five minutes I've had this dress on, it has suction-cupped itself to my body. Sweat glistens on my skin while I try to peel from the bottom, the hot lights overhead making me feel dizzy. I'm out of breath by the time I get it to my hips, my arms aching from the struggle.

Carmella appears and pulls open the curtain while I stand there and pant. At this point, I'm too winded to care if the whole town sees me in my underwear. She purses her lips and says something in Italian before helping me tug the dress off. I bend forward as she yanks it over my head, stumbling backward.

"Mannaggia la miseria," she mutters, regaining her composure, patting a stray hair that fell out of her French twist.

"Oh, thank God, I thought I'd have to cut that thing off." I gasp for air, hanging on to the dressing-room curtain for dear life. Carmella disappears for a moment and walks back over with a flowy dress, just like I was envisioning.

"This color looks good with your hair and eyes." She hands me an emerald-green silk dress. "You slip over your head." She motions for me to do it as I stand there braless in my panties, staring at the dress, petrified to get stuck in another. Maybe the polka-dot one wasn't so bad—shoulder pads do make the waist appear slimmer.

She huffs and rips the dress out of my hands, roughly pulling it down over my head. I think Carmella wants me out of the shop as much as I want to be done with this nightmare.

"Bellissima. Sí! This one."

I turn toward the mirror and gape. The rich, vibrant green contrasts beautifully against my sun-kissed skin. My greasy brown hair looks miraculously glossy and lush next to the satin. The capped sleeves and deep V neckline that twist into the waist shout elegant yet sexy. Carmella adds a gold belt and gold heels, and I can't say no. It's perfetto.

Me:I think this is it.

Cara:YES!!! Gorgeous.

"You like?"

"I love," I breathe.

"Molto bene."

I gather my purchases and head out into the golden afternoon sunlight.

I take offmy splint, deciding my thumb is healed enough, before plugging the curling iron into the power converter and sticking it into the socket. Tapping my finger on the ceramic wand, I test the heat and part a section of hair, wrapping it around the barrel. My cellphone rings on the counter, startling me. Barbara.

I put her on speakerphone. "Are you alive? I've left you a message every day. What is going on?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Summer." She sucks in a lungful of cigarette smoke. "I've been busy."

"Busy with your new job?" I ask hopefully, unwinding my hair. I wrap another section around the barrel.

"What job?"

"The one you said you got before I left for Italy?"

"Oh that. It didn't work out. The guy wanted me to be there by eight a.m. Can you believe that?"

I grind my teeth. "It's called a job, Mom. You need one to pay bills and rent. To put gas in your car and pay insurance. To be…I don't know, a responsible adult!"

"What's the fun in that?" She blows out. "I can see Italy hasn't loosened you up at all. Speaking of cars, where are your keys?"

I testily wrap a new section around the barrel. "Why?"

"I need to borrow your car tonight."

"What's wrong with your car?"

"Ugh, it got a boot put on it. I swear I parked it in a yellow zone for twenty minutes!"

"So, pay the fine and take your car."

"I don't have time to pay the fine right now. Mark needs to pick his kids up."

"Wait…who is Mark?"

"The new guy I'm dating." I can practically hear her eyes roll.

"Well, why the hell doesn't he have a car?"

"Because his license is suspended." She clucks her tongue. "Summer, I need the keys. I promised I would help him out."

"Why is his license suspended?"

"Because he's had a couple DUIs." She sighs, like my questions are completely irrelevant and out of line.

"A couple? How old are his kids?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." She huffs. "What's with the interrogation? Can I borrow it or not?"

"Let me get this straight. You want me to loan you my car to pick up your new boyfriend and his kids who you have never met, because he has a drinking-and-driving problem and got his license suspended? Yeah, no."

"Don't be such a judgmental pill, Summer. I don't ask you for much."

I make a strangled noise and stare at my phone incredulously.

"Forget it, I'll just borrow Janice's." She hangs up before I can formulate a response.

"Ugh! She's infuriating!" I shout to my image in the mirror, which is when I notice my hair is still wrapped around the barrel and it's smoking. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Attempting to unravel it, the hair breaks off where the curling iron is clasped around it. "Noooo!" Dropping the curling iron, I yank on the cord, dislodging it from the wall. "No, no, no!" I pick up the clump of hair and hold it to my head as if it would miraculously grow back together. The hair floats down to the counter.

Whimpering, I pick up my compact mirror and turn around, eyeballing the hair fried to a crisp. I try to blend it in with the rest of my hair, but it refuses to cooperate, sticking out at a weird angle.

Flipping my hair over to tousle it, I notice the front of my wrap dress gaping open, revealing more than just cleavage. I straighten up and smooth the silky fabric down against my chest. As I lean forward, it does it again. What the hell? How did I not notice this in the shop? Perhaps I'm missing a snap or button. I peer down the front of my blouse in search of a hook or button, but can't find one.

A man clears his throat behind me. Yelping, I pick up the curling iron and hold it out in front of me. What are you going to do with it, Summer, burn the intruder's hair off too? My heart is in my throat, but I quickly recognize the tousled dark hair and smoky eyes.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." I drop the iron and place my hand over my chest, willing it to a regular heartbeat. "I think we need to work on your door-knocking skills. I almost clocked you on the head with my curling iron."

"I did knock, but you didn't answer. I thought you were taking a pisolino." He gives me a charming smile.

"You thought I was taking a piss?" I hiss, heat splashing across my cheeks.

Lorenzo rubs a hand over his jaw, chuckling. "Pisolino means taking an afternoon nap. It's common here in Italy to take a pisolino."

"Oh…right. A nap." I nod, wishing someone would try to knock me out with the curling iron. "Don't you have a dinner party to attend?" I grumble.

"Sí. Nonna asked me to pick you up. Is something burning in here?"

"Uh, nope. Everything is perfetto." I laugh nervously. "I thought Fiore was picking me up."

His brows knit in confusion. "No, she's making dinner. She's up to her elbows in pasta. Are you almost ready?"

"Uh sure, okay. I'll be downstairs in a second. Let me just grab my bag."

He leaves the bathroom, thankfully not noticing the clump of hair on the counter. I try to pin my hair back in a last-ditch effort to conceal the frizzled mess, but it looks odd. Stuffing some gloss and my phone into a purse, I spritz myself with perfume and head downstairs.

Lorenzo's eyes quickly peruse over me while he waits by the front door. He looks so incredibly handsome in a dark gray suit, obviously Italian and tailored to him perfectly. His dark hair is gelled to finger-tousled perfection. Eyes more smoky gray than green are framed by thick black lashes, and I can't get over how gorgeous they are when he smiles.

"Sei bellissima stasera."

"I'm not sure what you said, but I'm going to respond with thank you."

He chuckles, and the sexy sound causes my skin to pebble. He opens the door of his Maserati and helps me in. "I said you look beautiful tonight, tesoro."

"Grazie, Ren." I adjust my dress and pull the seatbelt across my chest, reminding me I forgot to grab something to pin the top.

The smell of rich Italian leather, his masculine scent, and his close proximity wrap around me like a warm hug I don't want to let go of. The engine roars to life as The Police croon "Every Breath You Take." I inhale deeply through my nose and exhale, sinking into the designer seats. He maneuvers the car out of my little gravel lot and up the hill to the main house.

"Fiore said you live in town. Did you grow up in the main house?"

"Sí, I moved out when I returned from the States."

"I think I would have stayed at the big house. It's beautiful."

"It would have been hard to bring a girlfriend back to my place if my mom and grandmother were peppering her with questions and my sister was shoving pasta in her face."

My stomach churns at the thought of him having a girlfriend. I mean, it's none of my business, but it never crossed my mind he might have a significant other by the way he flirts with me. For all I know, he could be casually dating Nina or Daniella, the woman I saw on my first day here. He did warn me about Italian men.

This unfamiliar agitation swimming in the pit of my stomach feels a lot like jealousy, and I'm not sure I care for it. Perhaps Lorenzo keeping me at arm's length is the right thing to do. As much as I'm attracted to him, he and I shouldn't date. Nonna Rossi generously let me stay in her house and work at her business. Getting romantically involved with her grandson was not part of the deal.

I glance over at his handsome profile. I bought this dress so I could feel sexy and beautiful tonight. Perhaps Lorenzo is my Marcello from Under the Tuscan Sun. Someone I find incredibly attractive, but the stars aren't aligned in our favor. That thought makes me depressed.

"You're quiet. Are you okay?" He flashes me a brief smile before turning on the road to his parents' house. I crush down my jealousy and confused feelings for him and give him a bright smile.

"Just wondering how big the Rossi clan will be. Truth be told, I'm a little out of my element. I can only pick up a little Italian."

"You'll be fine. My aunt, uncle, and cousins will be here, so fairly small. The only one who doesn't speak much English is my great-uncle Giovanni, my grandfather's brother, but you won't have to talk to him." He parks the Maserati next to a yellow Ferrari. The gravel parking lot is full of cars.

"Seems like a big party." I swallow past the ball of nerves lodged in my throat. I'm not sure if I prefer small and intimate or getting lost in a crowd tonight. He quickly reaches me before I step out, offering his hand. "Grazie, Ren."

I immediately zero in on our clasped hands as he steers me toward the front door. Are we walking into the party holding hands? Is Lorenzo my date? I need clarification on what's going on here. I'm working up the nerve to ask him when he gives my hand a light squeeze before dropping it.

"I noticed you're not wearing your splint tonight."

"Oh, yeah, my thumb feels good. Besides, it clashed with my dress."

He chuckles and opens the front door, ushering me in front of him. Chatter and music filter down the entryway hall. Lorenzo's mom, Stella, beams when she sees us and greets us with outstretched arms. She reaches me first and pulls me into a hug, her perfume cloying.

"Buona sera, Summer! So glad you could join us." She kisses my cheeks. "You look beautiful in this dress."

"Buona sera, Signora Rossi, and thank you for having me."

"Of course, and please, call me Stella." She lets me go and hugs Lorenzo, speaking rapidly to him in Italian. "Raffaelo, vieni qui," she shouts over her shoulder. Lorenzo looks over at me and winks. I fan myself with my clutch before I catch myself. Jesus, get a grip Summer, he just winked.

A handsome, older man with silver hair and Lorenzo's eyes joins us and extends his hand. "Benvenuta a casa nostra."

"Raffaelo, this is Summer Andrews. The one Lorenzo has been talking about incessantemente." Stella clasps her hands together. "Summer, this is my husband, Raffaelo."

Lorenzo glares at his mom and says something in Italian, causing her to press her lips together. Signor Rossi smiles graciously, shaking my hand.

"I'm going to introduce Summer to everyone." Ren grabs my hand and pulls me away from his parents. "Let's go into the living room."

"Oh, okay." I tuck my clutch under my arm and follow him into a beautiful house where there are at least thirty people. Small gathering? I'd hate to see a big family get-together. I plaster an anxious smile on my face while Lorenzo introduces me to some of his cousins, aunts, and uncles. Little kids run throughout the room, squealing.

"I thought you said this would be a small gathering?" I whisper.

He chuckles, placing a hand on my lower back. "It is."

We turn the corner, and my jaw drops. Pouring a glass of wine at the bar talking to another man is none other than Dr. Bianchi.