Page 52 of Cinderella-ish
Chapter 22
Daniella
The next morningI wake up to the sound of a rooster’s crow and the bright sun beaming down on my face, both forcing me to get up and dressed. I scurry over to the kitchen to find Nonna sitting, reading the local newspaper and munching on a fettabiscottata.
“Good morning,Nonna.”
She peers up through her dark-rimmed eyeglasses and smiles brightly. “Eh! Good morning, Daniella. You sleep well?” she asks, through a heavy Italianaccent.
“Yes, thank you.” I sit down beside her at thetable.
“Are youhungry?”
“Sort of. May I have a biscottate?” I ask, unsure if I’ve even pronounced itright.
“Oh, of course. What about espresso, my dear? Thattoo?”
I nodgraciously.
Minutes later, she produces the hot espresso along with thebiscuit.
“Antonio. He left for the factory. He didn’t want to wake you. But he said he’ll return soon and you two will head back to Milan.” She pats the back of my hand, seeming to try to ease any discomfort I may befeeling.
Truth is, I wasn’t planning to be left behind. But it was thoughtful of him to let mesleep.
I smile. “Oh, it’s fine. I don’t mind hanging out here with you,Nonna.”
“You have a lovely smile, Daniella.” She cocks her head to the side, giving me a serious expression. “You seem to have this uh, aura about you that comes from within. Natural. Not forced.” She looks down at her biscuit. “Very similar to myAntonietta.”
“I’m sorry…who?”
“Antonietta. My daughter. Antonio’s mother.” She smiles at thethought.
“Oh, I see. I didn’t know her name. I’ve only seen a photograph ofher.”
“Oh, yes. The one when she was pregnant with Antonio,no?”
Inod.
“Did Antonio share what happened?” She looks at me, eyebrowsraised.
I shake my head as I sip myespresso.
“He doesn’t speak about it much since he never mether.”
Nonna folds the newspaper and sits back in her chair with her arms folded over her chest as if to provide self-comfort. “Antonio’s mom was a young woman of eighteen years, living here, in this very house, when she met this French-American businessman while she was shopping in Milan. My goodness, was she captivated by him. He was about ten years older than she was and had money to woo her to the moon and back. I warned her to stay away from him—that he was probably after one thing. But I couldn’t deny, my daughter was a beauty with this magnetic aura.” She smiles and pats my hand again. “The same aura I see in you.” She sips on her espresso. “Anyway, Antonietta fell for this man and ended up following him to America—California to be exact. They had an affair for months, while he was doing business and living it up at a fancy hotel in Beverly Hills. Antonietta got a job as a housekeeper, working for this older woman who lived alone in this elaborate home in Beverly Hills. My daughter was on top of the world. Until her man, Hugo Michaels, just up and disappeared. A few months later, she realized she waspregnant.”
I sit back in the chair, completely engrossed by her story. And already my heart aches forNonna.
“So I begged her to come back to Italy. Have the baby here and I’d help her raise it. But she refused, citing she loved America and was planning to stay and make it work. It broke my heart, but she was a grown woman living herlife.”
I finish my espresso and listenintently.
“Then, I got a phone call from Miss Tilly. Her employer. She said that my Antonietta had gone into early labor, with an elevated blood pressure. She passed away during the delivery, never having the chance to see or hold her baby boy. I was a hysterical mess. Miss Tilly flew me to Los Angeles and, when I arrived, together we came up with a plan. First, we named him Antonio, after his mom and gave him the last name of his father, the dirt bag who left my beautiful daughter. Anyway, Tilly explained how much Antonietta wanted to raise Antonio in America. So she offered to allow me to stay at her house and work part-time as a housekeeper while I raised my grandson. I agreed to do so; after losing my own husband many years ago, I was alone in Italyanyway.”
I nod in absoluteamazement.
“So, after my daughter’s funeral, I contacted my brother Carlo and explained what had happened and asked him to keep an eye on this house until I returned. So he moved in, bless his heart, and renovated it over the years while I remained in Beverly Hills raising Antonio. Miss Tilly was taken by Antonio, especially since she had no children of her own. All she had was her beautiful home and what seemed like an endless amount of money. She made sure Antonio went to the finest private schools, hired tutors for subjects he needed extra help in, and spoiled him rotten. She actually treated us both very well. And since she was much older than I was, she eventually passed away when Antonio was sixteen. She left him the house, her money,everything.”
