Page 13 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

What a Paolo thing to say. “What is it you do again?”

“Investments, banks transfers. It’s much too tedious to talk about.”

And you probably aren’t allowed to because you’re in the mafia . “Okay, well I’m all out of charming conversation.”

“Perfect, you can bring the salad to the table and let people know dinner is ready.”

I usher people into their seats and a moment later, Paolo sets the lasagna in the middle of the table.

“Are you ready for the best lasagna in Italy?” he asks.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.” Jake says.

“Perhaps you are teasing, my American friend,” Paolo says. “But I promise you, I do not exaggerate. After this meal, you will never be able to go back to your bland, overcooked American pasta. It will be ruined for you. Forever.”

“I’m ready for all other lasagna to be ruined for me, Paolo.” Jake says.

“Very well.”

Paolo serves a slice of lasagna to each of us and notices he’s left with the seat at the end next to Valentina. He looks at me. He knows this is my doing. I flash him a smile, and he flashes me a look that says ‘You’re the worst!’ But I think he really means ‘Thank you.’

He takes his seat, fills his glass and says, “To Diego, may the best of your past be the worst of your future. Compleanno felice .”

We clink our glasses and then dig into the food.

Holy monkeys this is good. Paolo was right.

My whole body fills with love for whoever made this delectable combination of cheese and meat and sauce and pasta.

We tell him how delicious it is, and what a great cook he is and how wise his grandparents were to save that recipe from destruction during World War II.

Diego unwraps his gifts and we all ooh and ah. Paolo and Carmen both got him sweaters. They look more like something Paolo would wear than something Diego would wear, but Diego looks happy. Jake got him a fancy watch from the two of us. And Valentina got him a new cologne.

“Thank you, ragazzi , for the wonderful gifts. And thank you Paolo for hosting this delicious dinner.” He pauses and an emotion I can’t decipher flashes across his face. “It’s been a wonderful birthday celebration.”

“Well, it’s not over yet,” Valentina says. “I have one last surprise.” She goes into the kitchen and returns with a huge cake lit with candles. Everyone starts singing, and when Diego blows out the candles, we clap and cheer.

Valentina cuts a large piece of cake and sets it in front of him. Then she starts cutting pieces for the rest of us.

If I hadn’t been watching Diego’s face when he took his first bite, I might have missed it. But as luck would have it, I was watching, and I didn’t miss it.

He winces. Noticeably. He shoots a look at Valentina, but she’s busy placing more slices of cake on plates. I watch him try to take another bite, then give up halfway through and discreetly cough into a napkin.

This could be a problem . I’m terrible at eating things I don’t like. I stand up. “Valentina, let me help,” I say.

“ Grazie ,” she says and takes plates to Carmen and Jake.

I cut two tiny pieces and bring them to Paolo and myself. Paolo sees his tiny piece and opens his mouth to complain, but I give him a kick under the table. He looks at me, then takes a tentative bite. Actual tears well up in his eyes. He coughs and takes a big drink of water.

With dread I pick up my fork and take a bite. My gag reflex kicks in almost immediately. It has a sour, rancid taste. Like maybe this used to be a delicious cake, but it was left in a smelly gym locker for three weeks. I swallow hard and follow it quickly with a drink of water.

“Tell us about your dessert, Valentina,” Paolo says.

“Of course,” she says, settling herself into the seat next to Paolo.

“This is called Prle?ka Gibanica. It comes from Slovenia, where my grandmother grew up. It’s prepared with curd cheese and sour cream.

You roll the dough into thin sheets and then top it with curd, eggs, and sour cream.

We always do it for birthdays back home, so I wanted to make it for Diego.

” She gestures to the giant cake sitting in the middle of the table. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Valentina is the sweetest one in our whole group. Every one of us would rather swallow glass than hurt her feelings.

“You were so kind to make this!”

“Wow! So many layers!”

“What a thoughtful idea!”

“I had no idea your grandmother was Slovenian!”

Valentina beams with pride.

“Do you mind if I have another piece?” Jake asks. His plate is empty.

What in the actual blazes?

“Of course, of course!” Valentina says. “I made a double batch, so there would be plenty.”

She serves Jake an extra-large piece, grinning the whole time.

“How are you doing this?” I whisper to him when Valentina goes back over to Diego. “This tastes like decomposing socks.”

Jake leans back a little, and I can see that he has a coffee mug on his lap, wedged between his legs.

It’s half full of cake. I watch him watch Valentina, and every time she’s looking away, he scoops another forkful into the cup.

In no time he’s down to the last bite, which he leaves there.

I’m too impressed for words. Jake gives me his nearly empty plate and takes my full one.

He gets half of it in, but the mug is filled to the brim now.

“I need another mug,” he whispers.

“Paolo, I’m going to try your cappuccino machine,” I say like a bad actor in a low budget show.

I sneak two mugs back to the table. I hand one under the table to Jake, and he makes quick work of the rest of my cake.

I hand the other mug to Paolo who catches on fast and whispers to Carmen.

Before I know it, both their cakes are gone.

But Diego still looks miserable. Valentina hovers nearby, making it impossible for him to ditch his disgusting dessert.

He attempts another bite and there’s actual sweat beading along his hairline.

Nobody should have to eat sock cake on their birthday!

“Hey Diego, have you seen the trailer for the new Indiana Jones movie?” I call from the other side of the table.

He drops the fork, and his face lights up. “They’re coming out with another one? Harrison Ford is ancient!”

“Eighty-one,” I say, “but he’s still got the moves. Check this out.”

I pull up the trailer on my phone, and Diego leaves his chair and comes over to watch.

“He’s pretty sexy for an old guy,” I say.

Jake looks at me alarmed, but I waggle my eyebrows in the direction of Diego’s plate.

“Valentina, come look,” I say. “Don’t you think Harrison Ford is sexy?”

Valentina comes over to have a look, and I angle my phone to get her to face away from Jake near Diego’s plate.

“I don’t know, Julieta, I think he looks pretty old.”

Valentina and Diego watch the whole trailer and out of the corner of my eye I watch Jake scoop the cake off Diego’s plate into a coffee mug.

“We should definitely go see that,” Diego says when the preview ends. He pauses and glances at me. “Do you know when it’s coming out?”

“It says this summer.”

Diego nods. He sees his empty plate and looks back at me. I give him a wink and a smile. He lets out a relieved sigh and smiles back. Jake and Carmen whisked all the mugs into the kitchen, and Valentina and I clear the rest of the table.

“Wow, everyone really liked the cake,” she says, stacking the empty plates.

“It would appear so,” I say.

“I’m glad I have a little left-over to share with my roommates,” Valentina says. “They had so many questions watching me make it.”

“I bet,” Paolo says, joining us.

“So, it’s getting pretty late,” Carmen says looking at Paolo. “I don’t know if we’ll make it to il Duomo before the last tram leaves.”

“Carmen, Carmen, Carmen,” Paolo says, and I have a feeling this is a conversation they have often. He gives a sigh. “I’d be delighted to drive everyone home. Would you like me to tuck you in as well?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Carmen smiles triumphantly and goes to get her purse.

“Thanks, Paolo,” Jake says. “We appreciate the ride.”

Paolo waves away his thanks. “I’ll get my keys and round up the others,” he says.

“We’ll meet you at the car,” Jake replies.

Jake and I slip out the door and walk down the hall to the elevator.

As soon as the door closes, Jake reaches for me.

His lips are on mine, and it feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment all night.

I trace my fingers over his three freckles.

I run my hand through his hair. There’s a dizzying feeling of electricity and adrenaline and then the doors open and we spill out into the lobby.

The doorman averts his eyes, and Jake and I exit the building into the chilly fall air.

It’s too dark to find Paolo’s car, so we stand next to a tree to wait for the others to arrive.

“You look really lovely tonight,” Jake tells me.

“ Grazie .” Part of me wants to tell him how funny Isa was choosing my outfit, but a bigger part wants to kiss him some more, so that’s what I do.

His cheeks are cold, but his lips are warm.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in extra close.

I swear I’ve never been kissed like this in my entire life.

“Kissing you is my new favorite thing to do,” he whispers in my ear.

I hear Carmen’s voice as the crew comes outside. Reluctantly, I pull away from Jake.

He takes my hand, and we walk over to Valentina, Carmen, Diego, and Paolo.

“We couldn’t find your car,” I say. Because I feel like I need to say something.

“Ah, well, I usually keep it in the dark under that tree, but just for tonight I parked it right here.” He’s smirking at us, and I want to throw something at him.

He climbs into the driver's seat and Diego climbs into the passenger seat. Jake and I squeeze into the back with Carmen and Valentina. Valentina is mostly sitting on my lap, and her elbow is right in Carmen’s face, but no one seems to mind. I get the feeling they all squish in here a lot.

We drop Jake off first since he doesn’t live far from Piazza Duomo.

I use all my self-restraint to give him a short kiss, acutely aware of the four other people in the car.

Diego and Carmen go next. They live just two blocks apart.

I fake a big yawn and mention how tired I am in the hopes that Paolo will take me home next and have some one-on-one time with Valentina.

It doesn’t work. Valentina’s apartment is a five-minute drive from Carmen’s, while I live another twenty minutes away in the suburbs.

“Sorry you have to drive me all the way out here,” I tell Paolo.

“ Di diente,” he says. It’s nothing. “As the only one in the group with a car, Carmen sometimes mistakes me for the group’s taxi driver.”

“Well, you’re a wonderful host. And it was a great party.”

“Indeed it was. Until we got to dessert. I have no idea how a woman so lovely could create something so foul. I feel like I can still smell it in the car with us.”

“I want to defend her and say it wasn’t that bad, but it was.”

“I’m going to remember that coffee mug trick.”

“Jake is a pretty smart guy.” I run my fingers over the leather armrest of my seat.

“Smart enough to snatch up a good thing when he sees it.”

Do I like being snatched up?

We pull into the Rossis’ parking lot and Paolo kills the engine.

“So, as a best friend, what do you think about it?” I ask.

Paolo looks at me innocently and stays silent.

“I know you have an opinion you’re dying to share. Let’s hear it.”

“ Julieta Dolcetta .” Paolo turns and faces me. “As your ‘best friend,’ I want you to be happy. If this makes you happy, I think that’s great.”

“You don’t have to use air quotes for best friends. The sooner you admit that’s what we are, the better off you’ll be.” Paolo smirks.

“So, you don’t think it’s too fast?” I ask. “Or lame that I’m dating an American? Or that we’ll break up and bring a bunch of drama to the group? Or that we look like Barbie and Ken when we stand next to each other?” I rub a smudge on my window.

“I do not think any of those things.” He pauses. “Do you?”

I sigh dramatically. “I don’t know. Maybe.

Isa told me I look like Barbie. And Jake does have some classic Ken features…

But that’s not my biggest worry. There are just a dozen ways this could go badly.

What if I change my mind in two weeks and break his heart?

And lose all my new friends in the process? ”

“Julieta, you are worrying about problems that do not exist,” Paolo says. “That may never exist. You like him, he likes you. Take your ridiculously good fortune and enjoy it. Not all of us are that lucky.”

I’m quiet a minute.

“You might be right,” I finally say.

“I’m Paolo. I’m always right.” And he looks at me with such confidence I believe him.