Page 133 of Rio
We pull up in front of a buttercream yellow two-story villa, with climbing roses wrapped around the door.His mother is already standing there, as if she’s been waiting for us all afternoon.
I let out a little gasp, in awe, because this woman, she looks like she’s stepped out of a lifestyle magazine.She’s wearing black capri pants with a crisp white linen blouse with sleeves casually rolled up to her elbows.On her feet are simple leather pumps.Petite, yet graceful, with her dark hair pinned back neatly and large, hoop gold earrings catching the light, she has an aura about her that reminds me of Audrey Hepburn.Quiet and understated elegance.
I immediately feel a little underdressed, even though I’m wearing a pale blue linen wrap dress with tan leather sandals and a slim belt.
We get out of the car, and she meets us halfway, pulling Rio into a hug full of love, with a touch of scolding in rapid Italian.Then she turns to me.
“And this must be Raquel,” she says warmly, in accented English.
I smile, my heart thudding in my chest.I just want her to like me.“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Isabel.”My voice wobbles in a way that feels foreign to me.
She takes both my hands in hers—warm and soft—and I feel comforted instantly.Her gaze searches mine in a way that’s not intimidating or invasive, but knowing.And understanding.
“You are even lovelier than Rio said.”
Heat rises in my cheeks.“He talks about me?”
She glances at her son with a soft, amused smile.“He talks about you a lot.I feel like I already know you.”
I tap Rio playfully on the shoulder.“You never said.”
“I never said what?”he teases.His smile that is wide and full, as if he’s lit up from his core.It’s the kind of smile that belongs to man who is grateful to be home again.
“My Rio has never brought a woman home to me before, and that tells me everything I need to know.
I don’t know what to say to that, but Rio’s gaze lingers on me, and something flutters deep in my belly.
“Come inside.Let’s have lunch,” Isabel says, and hooks her arm in mine, familiar and friendly.I warm to her instantly.
Her villa is light and airy, with sunlight pouring through open windows.The scent of basil and fresh bread fills the air.I love the smell of fresh bread—I never bake, so I only get it when I walk into a bakery.
Inside, a small wooden table is set with painted ceramic plates, a pitcher of wine glowing deep red in the center.
“Sit, please.”She ushers us to our places.
“Let me help you,” I say, not sitting down.I don’t like to be waited on, as I survey the dishes and platters on the countertop, I can see she’s already gone to so much trouble.Then it hits me.“Oh my goodness—we didn’t bring you anything.”
I forgot.
Rio laughs.
I put a hand to my forehead like I’ve committed a terrible offense.“I’m so sorry.I meant to pick something up on the way.Some flowers, and some—”
“Mama, she’s nervous.”Rio finds this amusing.“Raquel is never like this.This woman is like a velociraptor in court—stubborn, feisty—and I love her so much.”
Something trips in my stomach, an unexpected flutter that makes my breath hitch.It shocks and delights me how easily these words slip out, in front of his mother.They land right in the center of my chest, and I feel dizzy, as if the world is tilting around me.
With determined focus, I get up to help Isabel while Rio pours the wine, oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions swirling around me.
I carry over bowls of fresh pasta, roasted vegetables, a charcuterie board, salad and baskets of warm bread.I didn’t even realize I was hungry, but all of these delicious aromas combine to make my stomach rumble.
“This smells delicious.You’ve been hard at work,” I tell her.
She sets down a bowl of olives.“This is simple, but it’s from the heart.I’m so happy you are both here.”She clasps her hands to her chest, eyes misting over, as she looks at us both.
Rio gets up.“Sit down, Mama.We’re here now.”
She gives him a dismissive wave before sitting down.“It’s been so long, Rio.Matteo and Enzo were here recently, and it was just ...wonderful.”She looks wistful, a little sad even.“I miss my boys.”
