Page 52 of It's All Sun and Games

‘Well, it’s this,’ he says simply, his words punctuated by another bite of pizza as he points over at his family. ‘Family and good food – and maybe a little bit of sunshine, if you’re lucky, but it’s mostly the first two.’

It’s easy to smile at that. It sounds like a pretty great way of life to me.

‘So, what do you suggest?’ I ask, eager to hear his thoughts.

‘Keep it simple,’ he says with that trademark confidence of his. ‘Do something that captures this, what you see now, and I think Beppe will love it.’

Usually, the way it goes at work is that I play it safe, going for simple and trying to please the client, while Liz goes all out with sexy and flashy, and she usually wins. But this time, I trust Andrea’s instincts.

‘Okay, I’ll work on something, then run it by you,’ I suggest, feeling a surge of confidence knowing he’s got my back.

But before I can say another word, Andrea’s attention shifts to my plate.

‘Robin, you don’t eat the crust?’ he says, pointing to the pile of pizza crusts on my plate. The way he asks makes it sound like a question, but his tone is pure Italian disbelief.

‘Erm, no,’ I admit, unable to stifle my amusement at his reaction.

‘Robin, no!’ he exclaims, his response possibly the most Italian thing I’ve ever witnessed. ‘You have to eat the crust. It’s the best bit.’

I laugh.

‘What?’ I squeak, genuinely amused. ‘Call yourself a foodie – everyone knows the cheese is the best bit.’

As we banter back and forth, teasing each other, I notice members of Andrea’s family glancing over at us, their smiles warm and genuine. It’s clear that they’re all so happy for him, and it’s nice to see – I was going to say even if all of this is fake. The relationship status might be fake, but the fun we’re having is totally real.

Paola shouts something over to us. Then Luca adds something.

‘Zio!’ Andrea claps back, sounding a little surprised.

‘What did Paola say?’ I ask, curious – especially given Andrea’s reaction.

‘She said she’s amazed that I am getting married, because she thought I liked ladies too much to settle down with just one,’ he translates. ‘Luca said that he didn’t think I liked girls enough.’

‘Sto solo scherzando,’ Luca says, laughing to himself – I assume that was some sort of apology or something.

‘I’ve never really brought a girl to meet them,’ Andrea tells me. ‘I always think that, when it’s serious, I will bring them – or when, you know, when the boy I used to write letters to turns up and is actually a girl, and everyone just thinks she is someone serious to me.’

I laugh. Poor Andrea. It must be strange, to have your entire family wondering why you don’t have a serious girlfriend. I wonder if it’s because he’s a bit of a ladies’ man. I mean, come on, look at the guy, he could put the gods in Roman mythology to shame. He’s got the body, the looks, the charm – what woman wouldn’t throw herself at him, and why wouldn’t he make the most of it?

Then again, I’ve never really taken anyone serious to meet my parents, and they don’t think it’s weird, or that I’m some kind of mare (which, I know is not the female equivalent of a stud but, thinking about it, I’m not sure I can think of a non-negative term for a woman who gets a lot of guys). They know that it’s probably just down to something simple, like my personality, and are polite enough to not mention it.

Under the large marquee next to us, a DJ steps up to the decks and starts playing music. Suddenly, Tommaso goes charging past us, knocking me as he zooms by.

‘Tomma, piano, piano,’ his dad calls after him.

‘He loves to dance,’ Andrea tells me with a laugh and a shake of his head.

All of Andrea’s family gets up and heads for the dancefloor. It seems like Tommaso isn’t the only one who loves to dance.

‘Balliamo,’ Sabina says as she passes us.

‘Do you like to dance?’ Andrea asks me.

‘Do I like to? Yes,’ I reply with a laugh. ‘Am I good at it? No, probably not.’

‘There’s no such thing as a bad dancer,’ he insists, flashing me a reassuring smile. ‘Come on, what do you say?’

I glance over at the dancefloor and notice that everyone seems to be doing the same dance, like they all know the steps. This must be – what I can only describe as – Italian ‘Agadoo’.

---