I smile. I'm not surprised Vi knows precisely what I'm thinking about: I’m terrified about meeting Ricardo.
When I step onto the terrace, I hold my breath for a moment: the view is simply amazing. The garden with blooming roses spreads on the valley, and in the distance, I can see green Tuscan hills.
Their patio is enormous. It has a big terrace with a long marble table placed under a canopy. A fountain in the form of a statue is in the center of the garden. And there are so many trees, I can't even count.
But what amazes me the most is they have a vast pool, with a mosaic of a lily in the middle.
The house seemed huge when I first saw it, but as I see the patio now, I understand how wrong I was: it's not even a house, it's a mansion. And it's gorgeous, so Italian, with a lot of marble, mosaic and porcelain. It’s like we accidentally went back in time to the nineteenth century.
They didn't live in this house when we were young. They had a smaller one, but there was also a small rose garden on their patio. I heard Alberta takes care of flowers on her own.
If I had a terrace like this with such an outstanding view, I would probably do everything here, even sleep.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" asks Fran when she sees me staring at the view of the mountains. "I still can't believe we could afford a house like this. I told my parents I'll never move out, even if I get married."
I laugh, but not because she's joking—I'm sure she’s serious.
"This view takes my breath away," I say as we go to the table.
After I greet everyone and receive a couple of evaluating looks from their relatives, whom Alberta probably already told that Ricardo and I are dating, I take a seat between Enrico, Alberta's brother, and my dad.
It will be easier for me if Ricardo sits on the other side of the table, because if he touches me or if I inhale his smell, I will probably jump on him and won't be able to let him go until the dinner is finished because of how much I missed him.
The table is full of different cold dishes, everything from bruschetta to tartare. A chef and two waiters are serving our meal. I know Alberta hates help from outside—she loves to prepare everything herself—but I guess cooking for sixteen would be hard even for her.
I hope she feels okay and that they ordered catering just because it's the twins' birthday.
But what if she got worse? Maybe Ricardo is coming back to Tuscany because of her and not me.
My stomach shrinks. I'm totally not ready to see him. Not yet.
"What would you like to eat as a main course?" the waiter asks me, interrupting my thoughts. "There's Tuscan-style lobster with vegetables, Florentine steak with mashed potato and mushroom sauce, or a seafood risotto with cream."
I look at the table again, unable to believe there's still going to be a main course after all these appetizers.
"I guess I'll refrain from the main course, thank you," I say, trying to speak quietly, but almost everyone is looking at me anyway, so they hear everything.
"Darling, you should have the lobster. It's amazing how they make it, with garlic and rosemary," Alberta says, looking at me. "You’ve obviously lost weight from the last time I saw you—you're looking so thin."
I smile at her. I'm far from being thin, but I actually did lose a couple of pounds because I couldn't eat during all of last week.
"I'll have the lobster, thank you," I say to the waiter, and I see that Alberta’s face breaks into a smile. She obviously knows how to persuade—that's precisely how the girls convinced me to go to the bar: a puppy-dog look blended with an assertive tone.
"Of course she's thin, do you remember how terrible the food in London was?" asks Vi, talking to her mother. "They eat beans for breakfast! Can you believe it?"
Fran nods in agreement. "Yeah, the whole time we were there, I was looking for Italian restaurants." She rolls her eyes as if it was tough to find an Italian restaurant in London.
I smile. I went to different restaurants with Ricardo while I was there and the food was terrific. I know they exaggerate. I guess it's just because they want to prove to everyone, or maybe to themselves as well, that living in Tuscany is much better than living in London.
"And do you remember those potato balls covered with breading?" Vi asks again. "What do they call it?"
"Croquette," Fran reminds her.
"Right! That one! How can you eat a potato with bread? It's like eating pasta with bread!" Vi exclaims loudly, and everyone nods in agreement.
And cheers to the real Italians: conservative, obsessed with food and never ready to change their habits or try something new.
"Where's Ricardo?" asks Enrico's wife—Siena, I think her name is. I never remember the names, and asking again makes me uncomfortable.
"Oh, he probably just arrived and is running around the city in search of some gifts for us," answers Vi, though Siena was looking at Alberta.
"No, of course not." Fran shakes her head in disagreement. "He already ordered gifts online, just like he did when he bought us the exact same BMW X6 cars after they just launched."
"Yeah, he didn't even bother to choose different colors," Vi continues, rolling her eyes as if a hundred-thousand-dollar car is a bad gift.
I don't know why they do this. Why do they laugh at him? I know they love him. I know they're not spoiled. They probably just got used to expensive gifts and want him to be more attentive and not to treat them as if they’re the same person.
"You'll never get a gift from me again." I hear a familiar low voice from behind me, and I freeze in place, holding a breath.
Chapter Four
Angie
Everybody turns to the entrance to look at him. I don't need to see to know who’s just come in. I would recognize that voice from a billion others.
"You're here!" the twins exclaim at the same time and jump from their seats, rushing to their brother.
I inhale deeply and force myself to turn my head to look at Ricardo, and I see the girls hanging on him and showering him with hugs and kisses.
He looks so good that I couldn't look away even if I wanted to: light blue shirt with two unbuttoned studs on his neck and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which makes his look more casual but still elegant, classic navy blue jeans with a dark brown belt and loafers in the same color.
I can't stop wondering about how skillfully he can dress, looking so sexy and so gorgeous as if he spent a couple of hours preparing for this dinner, while I know for sure that he doesn’t spend much time on such nonsense as choosing an outfit.
"Please, just show us what you've got!" Vi starts pleading, trying to look into the bags Ricardo's holding in his hands, but he doesn't let her do that.
"And just to let you know, I chose the same color cars for you because I didn't want you to fight. When I bought you scooters on your sixteenth birthday, you started a fight about who got the pink one and who got the purple." As Ricardo speaks, he holds the gift bags so high over his head, the girls can’t reach them.
"We won't fight again, please just show us," Fran begs, jumping and trying to tear packages out of his hands.