Page 48 of Cinderella-ish
“Oh sì, venite a mangiare,” she says, then looks back to Daniella. “Let’seat!”
We gather in the kitchen, sitting around the table that’s been covered in the same blue-and-white floral tablecloth for years. Nonna serves up a few of my favorite dishes that always make me crave home—Saltimbocca - veal wrapped in prosciutto, Lasagne, and Osso Buco alla Milanese -another veal dish braised in vegetables and white wine.Perfecto.
The three of us talk freely about Italy, the impending fashion show, and theCraveMebusiness, as we all pig out, Daniella seeming to equally enjoy the feast. I listen to the two of them chatting non-stop, as if they were long lost friends who never missed abeat.
* * *
After we eatall that we possibly can, the three of us tidy up and retire to the living room, too full to move. Nonna tells us both there is homemade gelato in the freezer, should we develop a sweet tooth later. And by the time nightfall surfaces, Daniella’s yawns tell me it’s time to show her to herroom.
“I hope you don’t mind sleeping here tonight. I just don’t wish to battle the drive and the Milantraffic.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all. I’m glad you told me about the overnight bag. I’ve got everything I need for the night.” She yawns as she walks alongside me down the narrow hallway to the guestroom.
We reach the end of the hall and I slowly open the guest room door, wishing I didn’t have to say good-night just yet. But I know she’s tired and we have another early day tomorrow. “Here’s your room. I’m sure Nonna has fixed it up nice for you. She likes company, that’s for sure—and I can tell she especially likesyou.
Through sleepy eyes, Daniella’s gaze dances with mine. “Thanks for today, Antonio. I feel honored to have been introduced to Nonna. She’s a special lady and I can see why you light up whenever you speak withher.”
“Ido?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” She bites down on her lower lip. “Can I sharesomething?”
I lean into the door frame, arms folded. “Ofcourse.”
She stares up to the ceiling, seeming to search for the right words to say. “Each time you spoke with Nonna on the phone, I thought she was some Italian hottie model you meet up with whenever you’re in Milan.” She breathes in and out. Then meets my gazeagain.
I let out an amused chuckle. “I see. Is that what was bothering you earlier? You thought I was going to introduce you to my Italian hottielover?”
She nods vigorously, with her index finger over her pressedlips.
I lean in closer to her and softly whisper, “Daniella Belle, I have no Italian lover and in fact, according to TMZ,youare my lover,remember?”
And with that we break out into laughter, before I bid her a very goodnight.
