Page 41 of Bellini Born
Bianca sat perched on the counter beside me while I boiled water and stirred sauce on the stove, eager to be my little helper. Serafina was as happy as a clam in her highchair, which was affixed to the kitchen table, babbling to the baby—herself—she found in the mirror set before her.
They were such delightful, easy children. I couldn’t understand why Matteo had such trouble getting a nanny to stay.
Once the food was almost ready, I set Bianca on the floor. “Go sit down. It’s time to eat.”
The little girl who had become my shadow raced toward the table and climbed onto a chair.
Carefully, I strained the pasta, returned it to the pot, and then added the sauce, mixing it all together. With oven mitts protecting my hands, I carried the heavy pot to the table.
Locking eyes with Bianca, I asked, “Ready?”
She bounced on her knees. “Ready!”
Tipping the pot, I let the saucy spaghetti slide onto the table, which had been covered in a plastic tablecloth for an easy cleanup later.
Bianca’s giggles bounced off the walls, and I found it impossible not to join in, my laughter layering over hers.
“Wait just a minute, okay?” I instructed. “I’ve got to put the pot in the sink, and then I’ll be right back.”
Though her eyes were bright and she practically vibrated with excitement, the little girl nodded in agreement. “Okay.”
Fully aware that I was testing the limits of a four-year-old’s patience, I hustled to complete my task and return to the table.
“Arms up,” I commanded.
Bianca reached toward the sky, and I lifted her shirt over her head. Even though it would be straight to the bath after dinner,at least I wouldn’t be spending my free time after they went to bed scrubbing tomato sauce stains out of clothing. Serafina had been stripped down to only a diaper before being placed in her highchair, so now both girls were ready to eat.
“All right. Let’s dig in.”
With a fork poised in her hand, Bianca reached toward the massive pile of pasta. She didn’t bother to return to her seat, letting her torso rest against the table’s surface as she shoveled spaghetti into her mouth.
“How about you, little mouse? Want a taste?” I asked Serafina. My research had also made me aware of baby-led weaning, and this meal seemed like the perfect opportunity to let her try it out.
The baby slapped the table, and I took that for a yes.
Separating a section from the pile, I cut the long noodles into smaller pieces and brought them within her reach.
For a while, all she did was squish them in her fist, content to explore the new texture. But eventually, she did bring some to her mouth, and soon both girls’ faces and chests were smeared with sauce.
“Smells good in here.” A male voice had my head whipping around to find Enzo and Matteo entering the room.
Both men were clad in those sinfully sexy suits, indicating they’d come straight from the office. It was a good thing I was already sitting down because the sight alone was enough to make my knees weak.
Shucking his suit jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves to reveal thickly corded forearms, Matteo eyed the carnage on the kitchen table. “What’s all this?”
“It’s pasketti!” Bianca yelled.
A smile touched his plush lips at his daughter’s youthful mispronunciation.
Enzo dropped onto a chair. “So what’s the deal? We just eat off the table?”
My cheeks heated. “Oh, you don’t have to. I can—”
“And miss out on all the fun? No way.” Immediately, he dug in, moaning as he began to chew. “So good. Matteo, you gotta get in on this.”
“In a minute,” Matteo replied, his footsteps retreating from the table.
My attention was so focused on the kids that I was startled when curved glass was pressed into my hand. The tiniest gasp flew past my lips before I realized Matteo had poured me a glass of red wine.
