Page 19 of Marry Me in Rome

“Gee-lee,” she said, and I immediately loved how my name sounded on her tongue. “You may call me Nonni. I apologize for my grandson. His papa did not teach him manners as he should have. Perhaps you are hungry, yes? You like pizza? You are American. You like pizza.” She barreled decidedly toward the kitchen.

Even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten in that woman’s way in a hundred years. It would be like stepping in front of a bulldozer. “I love pizza, but please don’t go to any trouble.”

“It is no trouble. I find any excuse to use this kitchen at this time of day, when the light is right through the window. You will join me.” She retrieved a folded apron from the pantry and tossed it to me. As I slid the straps over my shoulders, I shot Matteo a glance. He wore a blank expression with a practiced air of uncaring. But I detected a softness in his eyes that he probably meant to hide.

This wasn’t how we had planned to spend what remained of the afternoon, but I couldn’t leave without fixing my phone situation anyway. And when it came down to seeing tourist sites or having an authentic Italian cooking lesson with a charming Italian grandmother, there was no contest. She already stalked about the kitchen, completely in her element as she hummed a tune I didn’t recognize.

She stopped and glared at Matteo. “Will you help us, or do you intend to ogle our guest all day?”

I hid a chuckle.

Matteo’s gaze slid from the apron down my waist, and he seemed to shake himself. “I have something to take care of.” Without another word, he strode through the door and disappeared.

His grandmother muttered something under her breath that needed no translation, then washed her hands in the sink. “Come. I will show you how pizza is made. The real way.”

The next thirty minutes passed as if in a dream. I felt like a movie character, watching Nonni throw the crust ingredients together without a care. The oil, she said, was the secret.

“Speaking of secrets,” she began, “let us exchange a few. I once fell in love with the Queen of England’s cousin’s son. Sadly, he didn’t love me back. Your turn.”

Matteo had asked a similar question at the Mouth of Truth. Maybe falling in love was a common topic of conversation in his family. I chuckled at the thought. “You say that so casually. I’m assuming you found someone else?”

She stopped kneading the dough to look at me. “Obviously, but that’s a different question. Your turn.”

“Hmm. I’ve lived in the same house my entire life, and the whole thing is probably the size of your living room.”

Nonni gave a disappointed shake of the head. “A safe answer.”

“Maybe, but when it comes to love, I don’t have any good stories. I certainly haven’t dated any royalty.” If by some miracle I dated Matteo, he would be the closest thing to it. This family clearly had old blood rooted deep in Rome’s history.

Except I did not—repeat,not,intend to date Matteo. No matter how charming I found his grandma.

“My mother spent time in prison.” Nonni sprinkled more flour onto the dough.

This woman! How did one keep from laughing around her? “What did she do?”

“A shady business deal. Rumor says it was a favor to her lover at the time.”

“Everything seems to connect back to love in your family.”

She whirled to face me. “My dear, you are in Italy. Love is everything. Now tell me your next secret.”

“My mom did something that drove my dad away, but I still don’t know what it was and I’m not sure I want to know.” The words had slipped out, and I immediately wished I could pull them back.

Nonni patted the dough and smiled sadly. “Did she love him?”

Honestly, I couldn’t say. “I think she did at first, but by the end? I don’t know.”

“Then she didn’t. When you love someone, you don’t let them escape. You love your father, though, yes?”

A more complicated question. “The same answer, I guess. We were close at first, but there were times that I wondered if I mattered to him at all.” My voice turned bitter. “Then he left and answered that question loud and clear.”

Nonni finished kneading the dough, then rolled it out and slid her hand underneath. “Time for the spinning.” She tossed it into the air with both hands, sending the dough flying, rotating in midair. Just as I thought it would splatter on the ground, she caught it with a few pointed fingers.

“You try,” she said.

Oh, boy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told her. “I’ve seen those movies.”

She cocked her head. “Movies?”

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