the area as quickly as he wanted. But once she cleared the path, he dove into the seat, giddy with excitement.
She stepped back out of the way as more and more family members joined the throng, buzzing like bees swarming around their gigantic yellow and black queen.
They talked excitedly, running their hands across the smooth leather interior and sleek exterior curves.
“Non, non. Non ho comprato l’automobile,” Vitale protested in response to the rapid-fire questions aimed his way. At last, he quieted the group long enough to point toward Julia.
Seventeen pairs of eyes turned toward her in unison, seeming to see her for the first time. “Julietta, la mia famiglia.” He smiled warmly as he came around the car to stand by her, placing a hand at the small of her back. She was sure it wouldn’t have happened otherwise, but the touch coming so fast on the heels of his comments about having sex gave her a shameful tingle of excitement. She tried to stop the smile that popped onto her lips. Oh, this is ridiculous. Maybe the family would perceive her expression as excitement about sharing lunch with them.
With his customary gesturing, Vitale introduced each person, then apparently proceeded to explain about her toe and the crutch because all the eyes shifted down at the same time, and the surprised expressions softened to sympathy. Or maybe they felt sorry for her obvious fashion faux pas since they were all dressed up.
She tugged on the skirt, trying to cover more leg as her eyes scanned the gorgeous array of people surrounding her. Vitale’s sisters were as beautiful as he was handsome—all of them tall and lean, like their father, Piero. Their mother, Angelina, while shorter and stockier, still had a manner about her that let everyone know she ruled the hive. The queen bee personified.
The family members kept their distance until Angelina graciously took Julia’s arm. “Benvenuta, Julietta,” she said, and gestured toward the house. Then the hive became frenzied again, welcoming the newcomer in English that ranged from stuttered to flawless, but always accompanied by handshakes and hugs.
After the preliminaries, Julia waved as Vitale and the men disappeared around the side of the house.
* * *
Angelina walked her slowly up the uneven sidewalk, which was paved with ancient stones that matched the ones on the house. “You americana?” she asked.
“That’s right. I’m from Kentucky.” Julia watched the woman’s eyes narrow in question. Vitale had done the same thing when she mentioned the state to him. “It’s sort of in the middle of the country,” she explained. “I wish I had dressed more appropriately. I didn’t know we were coming here for lunch. I thought I was switching hotels . . .” She remembered where Vitale actually intended for her to stay and quickly dropped that line of conversation. “But thank you for having me.”
Angelina’s eyes stayed narrowed while she shrugged. “My English not good.”
A flowering vine with small, poppy red flowers blanketed portions of the house’s façade, and huge bushes flanked either side of the stone stoop. Their scent was familiar, and Julia took another sniff as they passed. Rosemary. Gigantic versions of the small pot she grew on the deck at home.
A deluge of mouthwatering aromas assaulted her nose and taste buds as she stepped through the doorway. One whole side of the house was a gigantic kitchen/dining room combination. A massive table, already set and surrounded by an eclectic mixture of chairs, dominated the room.
Angelina directed Julia to a caned chair against the wall. “Sit now.”
Julia sat helplessly to the side as the women scurried around placing platters of food on the huge, marble-topped buffet. One of them—Giada perhaps?—quickly set one more place and rearranged the chairs to allow for the addition of another.
“Can I help?” Julia offered.
Angelina answered with phtt, phtt, phtt and an impatient gesture Julia translated as “No, and stay out of the way.”
Two little girls sidled up, eyeing Julia warily. When she smiled, the oldest one attached firmly against her thigh while the smaller child held out her arms. Julia gathered the child onto her lap. Tiny arms encircled her neck and a warm cheek nestled against hers.
Precious memories of Melissa at that age brought a lump to her throat. God, she missed her.
Both of the children chattered away, asking Julia question after question, obviously perplexed with her pat answer, “Non capisco.”
Through the great French doors at the back of the house, Julia could see what had stolen the men away so quickly—a bocce ball court and what already appeared to be a heated competition.
With movie director precision, Angelina choreographed the position of each dish until, at last, two large terrines of soup were placed, one at each end of the table. She seemed satisfied that all was ready.
A gentle command was directed to the little girl leaning against Julia’s leg. She ran out the back door, but soon returned, leading her grandpa, Piero, by the finger. Vitale and the other men followed.
Everyone gathered around the table, moving so quickly Julia had to assume seating was assigned and set for life. Vitale took her hand and led her to the seat beside him at his father’s end of the table. He continued to hold her hand, which made her heartbeat speed up to its third-cup-of-coffee level. What would his family think of them? Holding hands like a couple of teenagers! When Celeste took her other hand, Julia understood, feeling a bit foolish as Piero intoned a beautiful blessing for the food.
He finished and Vitale pulled her chair out for her and pushed it in after she was seated. All the men and boys did the same for the women and girls sitting near them.
Angelina and Piero ladled the orange-colored soup into bowls and passed them down the sides of the table amid lots of banter that Julia could only grapple single words from. She understood “automobile” and “Mario Moretti,” so she inferred Vitale was explaining whom he’d borrowed the car from.
Proud of her accomplishment, and already exhausted by the effort of trying to understand the foreign language, she rewarded herself with a spoonful of the soup, which had been placed in front of her. The delicious sweetness of butternut squash surrounded her tongue, chased by a hint of nutmeg. Another flavor teased her senses, and she concentrated to name it. Sage maybe? She was so caught up in the mulled flavors, she didn’t think anything of Celeste’s sharp but whispered utterance, “Vitale . . .”
It was the jerky movement of his arm against hers that drew her attention.
“Merda!” He swore under his breath and scooted his chair back. His napkin landed hard in his empty seat, thrown down like a gauntlet.
“What’s wrong?”
But he was already making his way to the front door.
She glanced around the silent table.
All the eyes were focused out the large front window. She followed their gazes to the small black sedan parked behind the yellow Smart car.
As she watched, a petite brunette with hair to her waist ran up the walk toward Vitale and launched herself into his arms, smothering his face with kisses.
CHAPTER 8
Julia watched the dramatic pantomime taking place in the front yard, trying to piece together what was happening.
After the initial shock, it seemed everyone at the table began talking at once. Most of the tones were angry, though whether they were directed at the young woman, Vitale, or someone else entirely she couldn’t tell.
She watched Vitale extricate himself from the woman’s embrace and send her away. The chatter at the table increased as the woman threw up her hands and took a step toward him, but Vitale held his palms up in a “stop” gesture and motioned toward her car. This brought on a collective whispered gasp from inside the house. The woman wheeled around and started toward her car, only to stop and turn back to Vitale.