Page 6

I married him thinking I would have a partner I could rely on for life and wound up with a man child who expected me to be his second mother.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to tease men every once in a while. On vacation in Sicily happens to be one of those times where it seems like a perfect opportunity.

The chauffeur gets out to open the rear door for Jayla and me.

He’s cute.

Young and eager, with dimples, barely speaking a word of English.

We communicate with lots of smiles and nods of our heads.

Jayla shudders from excitement the entire trip. As we drive farther out of the village, she leans close and whispers about where we’re going.

“I wonder if we’ll meet anyone famous.”

I laugh. “Why would we meet someone famous?”

“If we’re going where I think we are, Mr. Calderone’s restaurant is a huge hotspot for the rich and famous.”

“Since when do you know about random Italian businessmen?”

“Google helps,” she answers. “The man is worth billions. He’s one of the richest Italian men in the world.”

“Okay, gold digger.”

“I’ll be a gold digger if it means crying myself to sleep on a pillow stuffed with Benjamins.”

We’re so busy snickering and chatting among ourselves it takes us a second to realize the car’s stopped. Our friendly chauffeur has gotten out to open the door.

We’ve finally arrived at Mr. Calderone’s establishment, Appetito.

We’re ushered from one door to the next, passed off from the chauffeur to the doorman waiting outside a marvelous stone baroque building.

“Buona sera ragazze.”

The doorman nods politely, guiding us through wooden doors twice as tall as we are. They’re heavy and bear carvings that look at least a century old.

The entire building must be that old… or more.

There’s a historic vibe in the air that blends perfectly with the more lush and modern furnishings inside.

I drag my gaze from the vaulted ceilings and antique artwork and take in the warm glow from the candlelit chandeliers.

A third man greets us in a tailored server uniform of a vest, white button-down shirt, and dress pants. Giving a quick bow, he leads us from the vestibule down a hall lined with leafy plant life, tasteful accent furniture, and more artwork. We walk through an archway that opens up to a sprawling space known as the formal dining room.

Jayla and I both stop short.

The large dining room’s full of dozens of tables where people dine over wine and Sicilian food so authentic, the savory herbs and spices are fragrant in the air.

It’s almost like we’ve stepped into the past.

The men all look fit and fine in black suits and ties while the women pair their finest jewelry with sparkling cocktail dresses.

Everything’s perfect. The small details in the room like the vines climbing the walls and wrapping around the stone columns. Even the archways on the opposite end leading to a terrace where the sea can be seen in the distance…

As if the ground floor weren’t enough, there’s a huge balcony overlooking the entire dining room. A second level that seems to offer even more prestige and exclusivity than the formal setting on the ground floor.

“Ladies,” says the host in his tailored vest, “please follow me.”