Page 14 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Seven

O ne minute Isa is fine sitting on the couch, digging through her backpack, looking for markers.

The next minute her face is a thunder cloud, and I know we’re seconds away from a category five storm.

I’ve survived the last three weeks with this child by looking for the signs.

So as soon as I see her expression, I lunge for my phone and play the first song I find.

“What are you doing?” she asks. Her body language is tense, like she’s ready to spring, but there’s confusion there too, and I’m hoping to capitalize on her bewilderment to buy me some time.

“Music,” I blurt.

Isa narrows her eyes.

“It’s Thursday.” I shrug like I’m easygoing and chill, and not desperately trying to avoid whatever new hell she’s about to unleash. “I’m ready for a Thursday dance party.”

I turn the volume up as loud as it’ll go. The living room fills with Justin Timberlake’s voice singing “Can’t Stop the Feeling.”

“I know this song,” she says. “It’s from Trolls .”

“Yeah, it's great for dancing.”

I stand up and start dancing and after a second, Isa joins me.

The living room is about ten square feet, but the limited space doesn’t curb Isa’s enthusiasm.

Her long skinny limbs look like they’re ready to fly off her body as she flings them about with abandon.

Is this what six-year-olds look like when they dance? It’s amazing and terrifying.

The next song is Pharell’s “Happy.” I clap my hands, and Isa’s arm flailing gets even crazier.

“Can we do a dance party every Thursday?” she asks when the song ends.

“Absolutely,” I say. Then I continue in my most casual, doesn’t-even-matter voice, “So, do you have any homework or anything to do for school?”

The thundercloud returns. “A stupid worksheet about stupid numbers that my stupid teacher is making us do.”

“Cool. How about you pick the next song to listen to while you do it? I bet you can finish before the song’s over.”

The grumpy expression stays, but Isa chooses a song on my phone and then fishes her homework sheet out of her backpack. She finishes well before the song ends.

As a reward, I pull up Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” and scoop Isa into my arms. She’s way too big to carry, but that’s what makes it fun.

I spin her and dip her and replace the chorus with “Sweet Isabella.” I bang my shins on the coffee table twice, but it makes Isa giggle even more, so I decide it’s worth it. We’re mid-dip when Sofia walks in.

Isa leaps out of my arms and gives Sofia a hug. “We’re having a dance party!”

“Well, that sounds lovely,” she says. She’s smiling, and I realize how rarely I see her smile. She always looks tense.

After dinner, Isa and I do the dishes and Sofia wipes the table.

“Isa,” she says, then stops. “Tomorrow is Friday.” She stops again, her lips pinched in dread. She swallows. “Do you have any homework to do?”

“Oh, I already did that earlier,” Isa says.

Sofia’s eyes widen in surprise, then her whole body relaxes. She looks at me with an expression of relief and mouths “ Grazie. ”

After I put Isa to bed, I call my mama. I feel like I haven’t talked to her in ages.

“ Buon giorno my glamorous daughter!” my mom says as soon as she picks up. My mom hardly ever speaks Italian, even though she grew up hearing my grandparents speak it. “Tell me everything about your Italian life!”

I fill her in on Isa and the food and my new friends. I leave Jake out of it.

My mom gives me updates on the fam.

“Brad gets his next assignment any day now,” she says. “They’re hoping for something overseas.”

“That would be cool,” I say.

“Brianna is coming to visit next week.”

My older sister Brianna married Tyler five years ago and has been unhappily married for five years. She lives in Arizona and visits my parents a lot.

“Have you registered for your classes for next year?” my mom asks.

“Yep. I emailed my schedule to Sharon this week.”

“Did you pick some classes you’re excited about?”

A Venn diagram of my schedule for next year and the ten classes that put college students to sleep would be a perfect circle.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s going to be great.”

And that is how you lie to your mother.

“I miss you,” my mom says.

“I miss you too.”

“But I’m so happy you get this special year,” she says.

“Me too.”

The last happy year of my life.

* * *

“Marco! Your hair!” I say and hold up the photo. Marco’s tuxedo is perfectly cut, and his wild curls have been slicked into submission for the day.

“It was a one-time feat,” Marco calls from the kitchen, “and it required more gel than you could possibly imagine.”

Isa helped me choose a great outfit to go out dancing tonight, but then we got distracted by the Rossis’ wedding album.

The photographer did an amazing job. Each shot is perfectly framed, and the lighting makes them glow.

There are some cool shots of the two of them in perfect focus and the wedding party behind them softly blurry.

I wonder what setting you use to do that.

My phone vibrates, but I ignore it. Marco and Sofia are preparing dinner but come out occasionally to provide commentary.

“Your dress is beautiful,” Isa tells Sofia.

“A friend of Daddy’s designed it for me. You like it?”

“So much,” Isa says and Sofia’s face lights up.

My phone vibrates again, and I finally take a look. It’s from Jake. So was the last one.

Hey, how is your day going? Are you coming to Calypso tonight?

That was fifteen minutes ago. Just now he sent:

Just leaving my house. I can meet you at the bus stop if you want.

Ugh.

I feel a stab of irritation. Yes, I was planning on going to Calypso tonight. But we’re enjoying a rare and wonderful peace in the Rossi house. I don’t want to rush off.

I text him back.

I’ll be there, but I’m coming late, so go in without me.

I spend fifteen more minutes hanging out in the Rossi living room, then I say goodbye and head downtown. By the time I arrive at the club, I’m forty-five minutes late.

Calypso is thirty degrees hotter than outside, and I start sweating as soon as I walk in. I try to take my coat off, but it gets stuck on one arm, and I twist awkwardly for a moment before someone says, “Here let me help.”

I feel the coat slide the rest of the way off, and I’m free.

“Whew. Thanks,” I say.

“You’re welcome. I’m Nicola.” Nicola is a good-looking man in a fitted blue shirt and expensive jeans. He gives me a dazzling smile.

“I’m Juliet,” I say.

“ Piacere ,” he says. Nice to meet you. He leans in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

When he leans back out, Jake is somehow standing right next to me.

“I’m Jake,” Jake says. “Thanks for helping my girlfriend with her coat.”

Wow, I thought flailing around with my arm stuck was awkward. This is worse.

“Happy to help,” Nicola says.

We stand in a weird triangle for a beat longer and then Nicola turns and walks away. I try to breathe deeply in a way that Jake won’t notice. It’s fine. That was a totally normal interaction.

“You made it!” Jake says.

“Yeah. I was right in the middle of something with Isa,” I say. And why do I have to account for my time to you? The feeling in my chest reminds me of the time I got locked in my grandma’s closet. Can you be claustrophobic in tight relationships?

I do my best to shake the feeling off. I dance and let the music work its way into my brain and drown out my thoughts.

Diego is extra goofy and makes me laugh, and Paolo seems to be talking to Valentina more.

Carmen teaches me a new dance, and I’m so bad at it we’re nearly falling over from laughing so hard.

After two hours of dancing, all my irritation has faded away. My body is tired, and my heart is happy.

“Hey, how did that lab test go?” I ask Jake as we wait for my tram. “Didn’t you get the results back today?”

“Well, I could update you on my research. Or…”

He leans in and kisses me and my whole body responds. He was right. I don’t care about his lab results. I don’t care about anything. Only the softness of his lips and the gentle pressure of his hands on my hips. His smell, woodsy and fresh, is intoxicating. I never want to stop kissing him.

There’s a horn honking and the 27 tram pulls in. Jake breaks away for the tiniest moment to wave the bus on and then he kisses me again.

I feel lightheaded, but somehow manage to say, “What about my bus?”

“We’ll catch the next one.”

And it’s such a great answer because I don’t want to move from this spot. I don’t want to stop kissing this boy with the warm hands and snowy woods smell. At the same moment, I realize we’re standing on a public street corner.

I pull back to catch my breath. I look up at him, and wow. He’s staring down at me with brown eyes like glowing embers.

And that mouth. I can’t help it. I kiss him again and it feels like fireworks going off everywhere. I break away when I hear another bus approaching.

“I’ve got to go,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

Neither one of us moves. The bus driver gives a beep-beep that makes me jump.

“Good night,” I say and climb on the bus.

“Good night,” Jake calls behind me.

I make my way to a seat and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dirty bus window. My lips are swollen, and my eyes are glazed. My messy bun is more mess than bun. I’ve never looked happier.