Page 28 of Rome with Dad's Best Friend

“No!” Simon repeats again. “I won’t have it. I won’t allow it. You’re not to see each other again.”

There’s a long pause, Simon visibly shaking with rage, before Hannah answers him in a low voice. “Dad,” she says. “I love you. But I’m not a child anymore. I’m going away to college. How do you think you’ll be able to control who I see or don’t see?”

Simon splutters with rage, shaking his head. Before he does something rash like forbid her from going to college, I know I need to step in. This anger is only temporary, and I need him to calm down and start seeing things from our side. Once he does, I know he will have a different perspective. Maybe enough to make him happy for us, even.

“Simon, this is real,” I tell him. I rise to my feet, keeping my hands low in a calming gesture so that he can see it isn’t a move of aggression. “I’m in love with Hannah. I mean that. It’s not a fling or the chance for a holiday romance. Nothing like that. I want to be with her. I want her to be my family.”

Simon looks like he might be sick. “She’s young enough to be your daughter,” he says. “And you’ve only known each other for a week.”

I have to correct him again. “But she’s not my daughter. And even if it’s only been a week that we have really got to know each other, something in our souls is connected. We’re meant to be together.”

“I feel it too,” Hannah says, joining me on her feet. “I’ve never felt like this before with anyone. I love him, Dad.”

“Goddamn Italians,” Simon scowls, throwing those words to the back of the room as he turns away from us, wiping a hand over his mouth and chin. “So passionate about everything. You make it sound like you’re in love when you’ve only just met.”

“I’m not Italian,” Hannah points out. “So, listen to me. What I feel is real.”

Simon whirls around again, raising his voice as he points at me. “What you feel, yes. But what about him?” He shakes his head. “Marco is twice your age. He’s an old man, like me. He’s at a different point in his life. He’s not worried about college or starting a career, he’s halfway through his. He should be sending grown kids off to college himself, not dating one.”

“I do love you, Dad,” Hannah says, a little sadly. “But Marco is nothing like you.”

“I know we have an age difference,” I say. Perhaps a little of an understatement. “But that means nothing to me. You’re worried that I don’t feel the same commitment as Hannah, that I will let her down.”

“Of course you will!” Simon practically explodes. “You don’t care about the same things. You’ll get bored with her and fly back to Italy.”

“Actually, when she’s finished studying, I would like Hannah to come to live with me in Italy,” I say. “But that’s something we can discuss further down the line. Because, as much as I love my country, I would go anywhere for her.”

“You say that now, but it’s only words,” Simon scoffs.

“You’re right,” I say, simply. “It is only words. And actions speak louder. That’s why there’s something I want to do.”

I turn to Hannah, who is looking at me in surprise. She has no idea that I had something else planned, and she’s as much in the dark as her father is. But what I have to say, and do, I hope will be enough to reassure both of them that I’m here to stay. In it for the long run.

“Hannah,” I say, taking both of her hands in mine for a moment. “It’s been less than a week since we reconnected. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You are the one for me.” I drop to one knee, letting go of her hands to reach inside my jacket pocket and draw out a jewelry box. “I want to be by your side for all time. I want you to be my wife and bear my children. Hannah, will you marry me?”

Hannah takes a second to react. I can see it in her glazed eyes and her slightly pink cheeks, the surprise, the overwhelming happiness, the struggle to process and articulate. But then she overcomes it and opens her mouth. “Yes,” she says, simply, the only word I wanted to hear.

I laugh happily, realizing I haven’t even opened the jewelry box to show her the ring. I do it now, the diamonds of my grandmother’s antique engagement ring catching the light, glinting as I take it out of the box and slide it onto her finger.

I rise to my feet and lift her off the floor, into an embrace, tipping her forward into my arms and squeezing tightly. Both of us are laughing like idiots, and when I pull back for a kiss and see the wetness on her face, I realize that I, too, am leaking tears of joy.

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