Page 74 of The One
“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you catch up.” And I mean every word.
Seeing her light up over the simplest things, new experiences, new tastes, I want to be the one who shows her everything she’s missed. I want to be the reason that smile stays glued on her face.
“Why is Antonio so opposed to quintessential Italian food?” I ask as I finally take my first bite.
She sighs, her eyes moving between the pizzas laid out in front of us.
“Father considers this peasant food. I think it reminds him too much of growing up poor. Now that he’s swimming in money, it’s only ever the finest for an Accardi,” she explains, her nose scrunching up adorably as she tries to decide which pizza to try next.
“Mia once asked to have spaghetti Bolognese because she loved it when she had it at a friend’s place. Of course Father said no, and she wasn’t allowed to see her friend again. Supposedly, she was a bad influence on her.”
Good grief. How far does Antonio’s control freakishness go?
“You’ve never had spaghetti Bolognese either? What about lasagna?”
She shakes her head, too busy chewing on the bite of Capricciosa pizza to answer. I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity.
“Well, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to all the ‘common’ Italian foods. And I can’t wait to find out which one will be your favorite. I make a mean lasagna, by the way.”
Her eyes widen. “You cook?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I tease.
“But I am! I cannot picture you in a kitchen, let alone behind a stove.”
She presses her lips together, trying to hold back a laugh, her tongue tucked into her cheek. I bet she’s picturing me in an apron and chef’s hat, which, given what I do all day, would be comical.
It strikes me then how different she is from the nervous girl she’s been around me so far. She’s getting comfortable with me, and I couldn’t be more pleased.
A strange sense of pride swells in my chest, knowing that while I’m the one who makes her nervous, I’m also the one who brought out this new, carefree side of her.
I grin, leaning in a little closer. “Well, I’ll have to show you one day, won’t I?” I say, enjoying the way her cheeks blush.
She raises an eyebrow playfully. “Will Giulia even allow you into her domain?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “She’s not happy about it, but what can she do? It’s my kitchen. Fortunately for her, I don’t have much time to cook. It usually has to wait until I take a break and go away.”
“Oh? Where do you go?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“Tuscany. There’s a little place that reminds me of where my mom grew up. Don’t tell anyone, though. It’s my hideaway when I need to get away from it all.”
Mariella raises her fingers to her mouth, mimicking zipping her lips shut. “My lips are sealed.”
“So your mother was from Tuscany?” she asks after placing a slice of my favorite Diavola pizza on her plate. It’s on the spicier side with the hot salami.
I nod, watching her carefully as she bites into it, waiting to see if the spice will catch her off guard. She doesn’t flinch though, taking it in her stride.
“Yeah, from a small village just outside Siena,” I say, a hint of nostalgia creeping into my voice.
“She metpapàwhen he was on business there. He always said one look into her eyes and he knew she was it, his One. They were married within six weeks and she moved to Sicily with him, but that part of Tuscany always stayed with her. I guess it rubbed off on me.”
Mariella pauses, savoring the taste, her brow furrowed slightly as she seems to take in both my words and the heat of the pizza.
“Do you visit often?” she asks softly.
“Not that particular area. It would be too predictable and I’d be easy to find. My place is in a different part of Tuscany, but it reminds me a lot of her. I feel closer to her when I’m there. And you can see the sea in the distance too. I love it.”
“It sounds beautiful. How often do you go there?
