Page 92 of Sinful Promises

I forced my wobbling knees to cross the threshold. Delicious aromas of spices and cinnamon filled the tiny entrance. She instructed me to leave my suitcase and hang my coat on a set of hooks overburdened with jackets and scarfs, and with each step I followed Maria upward, the aromas developed in intensity.

“Mamma, Mamma, guarda chi c'è. Daisy.”

At the top, the stairs led to an open-plan room, and a short Italian woman with silver hair that looked like it’d just come out of hot rollers raced toward me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and smothered me in a bear hug like I’d never experienced.

Maria laughed. Mamma squeezed. Tears filled my eyes.

Mamma eased back and clutched my cheeks. “Daisy, sei anche più bella di quanto dicesse Roman.” She pulled me to her bosom again.

I wrapped my arms around her, but I frowned at Maria. “Sorry,” I said. “I have no idea what she said.”

“Mamma said you are even more beautiful than Roman said.”

“Oh.” My mind swelled with delight. I’d only been in this house two minutes, and I already felt so welcome.

It felt so good.

No, it was more than that. It felt real.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, I was seated at the table with a glass of Chianti and four of Roman’s sisters. Donatella, Serena, Valentina, and his youngest sister, Maria. A dozen or so kids came in and out, and although they introduced each of them, I lost complete track of whose child was whose. Roman’s mother fetched one dish after another, and soon the entire table was filled with enough food to feed all of Manarola.

They asked me question after question.

What I was going to do for work now?

Where had I traveled to?

What was my favorite country?

It was obvious that Roman didn’t just talk about me. He talked about me a lot.

After a while, it occurred to me that they didn’t ask any personal questions about my mother or my growing up. I couldn’t decide if that meant Roman had told them about my crap and they were just being polite, or that he hadn’t told them.

Either way, I hoped they didn’t ask. Last thing I wanted to do was ruin this amazing introduction to his family.

But with an unprecedented bolt of clarity, I realized that it didn’t matter if they did ask those difficult questions.

My childhood was not my fault.

Besides, it was behind me now. Nothing mattered except what I did from here on. And being in Roman’s home, with his sisters and mother who he loved so much, was a huge step in the right direction.

But there was one problem. He wasn’t here.

We had finished three bottles of Chianti between the six of us before I’d summoned enough courage to ask, “Where is Roman?”

“Oh, he’s fishing.” Donatella rolled her eyes and waved out to the vast ocean—a view that filled the entire double-glass doors in the lounge room. “He’s always fishing.”

“Especially lately.” Valentina nudged Donatella’s shoulder.

Donatella nodded at me. “He’s been so grumpy.”

“He has? Since he left work?” If that was true, it was my fault. I’d abandoned him mid-tour. He must think I’m?—

“He will be so happy to see you.” Maria interrupted my thoughts, and I blinked at her.

“He will?”

“He smell.” Mamma was loud. I guessed with her enormous family she needed to be. She pinched her nose for emphasis.

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