Page 6 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Three

“I would not do that ridiculous handshake if they begged me!” Isa declares Friday afternoon. She stomps her feet on the crowded sidewalk outside her school.

I nod as though I have any idea what she’s talking about.

“They do it ALL THE TIME,” she continues. “It’s not even that cool!”

I don’t know who “they” are, but I get the feeling that’s irrelevant. I take her hand and lead her through the crowded sidewalk toward home.

“Handshakes are supposed to be cool,” I confirm.

Isa scowls at me. “What would you know about it?”

“I happen to know the greatest secret handshake ever created.”

She stops and folds her arms across her chest. “Prove it.”

We step off the sidewalk into the grass, so we don’t hold up traffic, and I teach her the handshake I learned at gymnastics camp when I was thirteen.

It has hand slapping, elbow bumps, toe taps and finger links.

It’s legitimately awesome, and we practice it all the way home.

By the time we take the elevator up, she’s actually smiling.

“Why do you keep tapping your hands like that?” she asks.

I look down and see my fingers beating against my thighs. I clasp them together to make them stop. “Sorry. I’ve got a date tonight, and I’m nervous. What do people wear to the theater?”

“Evening gowns.”

“Hmm,” I start tapping again. “I don’t have an evening gown.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you find the perfect outfit,” Isa promises.

Once inside she heads straight to my closet, dropping her backpack on my unmade bed.

“Show me your dresses,” she demands.

On the one hand, Isa recently learned to tie her shoes, and it feels ridiculous to take fashion advice from her, no matter who her father is. On the other hand, I’ve never been great with clothes, and Isa does seem like she knows a lot.

I pull out a yellow sundress with navy polka dots.

“Nope. What else do you have?” she asks with an imperious tilt of her chin.

I shake my head. “I have one other dress that I wore to my Aunt Marla’s funeral, but it’s terrible. My mom made me bring it in case I went somewhere fancy.”

Isa giggles, apparently delighted that I have a mom who bosses me around. Her smiling stops when I pull out a plum dress with a high neckline and a pleated skirt.

We both stare at it for a moment of tragic silence.

“Do you have a fancy skirt?” Isa asks hopefully. “That you could wear with a fancy top?”

I shake my head. “I have neither of those things. I have a denim mini skirt.”

“Is that the only skirt you have?” Isa asks.

“Yes,” I mumble.

Isa starts rummaging through my closet muttering something about “looking like a farmer at the theater.”

A farmer? Really?

I hear a muffled “Hey!” and then she comes out waving something on a hanger.

It’s a full-length romper made from silky black material.

“What about this?” she demands, like I’ve been holding out on her.

“You asked about dresses!” I say. “And also, I forgot about it.”

“It still has the tags on.”

“Yeah, my friend Maggie bought it for my birthday last year, but I never had anywhere to wear it. I threw it in just in case. I haven’t even tried it on. ”

It takes me and Isa a minute to figure out how to actually get into this thing. Isa spots a tiny zipper up one side, and I wiggle in and zip it up. The length is perfect, just skimming my feet, and it’s snug but not too tight in the bum and thighs.

“I think everything fits okay except the straps,” I say to Isa who is leaping from foot to foot with excitement.

“It looks really nice on you!” She doesn’t try to hide the shock in her voice, and I choose not to be offended by it.

“Also, the straps are like my mom’s blue pantsuit. They go like this.”

She adjusts them so they’re sitting off my shoulders.

Wow. I am an idiot.

I check myself out in the mirror. The cut is flattering, and the style makes me look older than twenty, which I appreciate.

Isa hands me my black heels.

I slip them on and do my best runway model walk. Isa giggles.

“Is that what you think runway models walk like?”

“Yes,” I say with a serious face. I add in some dramatic hip shimmies, and Isa falls over laughing.

“ Mama ! Come look at Juliet!” Isa hollers, still giggling.

There’s a timid knock on my door and Sofia peaks her head in. “Wow, you look very nice,” she says.

“Thank you,” Isa and I say at the same time.

“ I chose her outfit,” Isa tells Sofia. “She’s going on a date tonight. To the theater. With an attractive man.”

She pauses and looks at me. “He is attractive, right?”

“Very,” I confirm.

“Now let’s put on all your jewelry!” Isa says, already rummaging through my closet.

“Oh. I don’t really have any jewelry,” I tell her.

Her face looks like I’ve just told her I don’t really have fingers.

“I think I have just the thing,” Sofia says.

I start to protest, but she’s already gone. She comes back a minute later carrying a diamond necklace. Each stone is the size of a plump blueberry and I take two steps back.

Sofia sees my expression and laughs. “It’s not real. It’s just costume jewelry. Inexpensive.”

She puts it around my neck and fastens it.

I looked good before, but now I look stunning.

“Wow,” I say. “Thank you, Sofia. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I’m sure you will,” Sofia says with a smile. “But it’s not anything to worry about. Marco used it for a runway show last year and it’s been sitting in a drawer ever since.”

My jaw drops. “This was in a runway show? Worn by a real supermodel?”

Sofia smiles. “We just call them models over here. But yeah, one of the girls wore it with a swimsuit I think. That show had some eclectic combinations.”

Sofia heads back to the kitchen, and Isa starts pulling at my hair.

“You should definitely wear it down,” she says.

“I thought up might look fancier,” I say.

“Your hair is the prettiest thing you have,” she says, like she’s explaining it to a toddler. “Keep it down all flowy, so he’ll want to touch it.”

This child is brilliant. I wonder how much time she’s spent chatting with Marco’s models.

“Isa, I’m terrified for when you start dating. Those boys don’t stand a chance.”

Isa nods in agreement.

The buzzer rings at 6:58 p.m., and I take the elevator down. I wipe my sweaty hands on my thighs and take a breath.

Paolo sees me through the glass door, and his mouth falls open. By the time I make it over to him, he’s rearranged his expression into something more casual. But I know what I saw.

“ Buona sera ,” he says. “Don’t you look like a tempting treat.”

I give him a big smile. “ Buona sera , Paolo,” I say. “You look very handsome yourself.”

He’s wearing a sharply tailored charcoal suit and a crimson tie. Will it be weird if I take a selfie with him to send to Maggie? He is hands down the best-looking guy I’ve ever gone out with.

His car is clean and smells like expensive cologne.

“So, is Italy living up to your expectations so far?” Paolo asks as he pulls out of the tiny parking lot.

“It’s exceeding all my expectations,” I reply. “My grandparents told me stories, but I was not prepared for how amazing this country is.”

“Shame you didn’t come last month,” Paolo says. “We took a group trip to Florence. Now that is a beautiful city.”

“That’s in Tuscany, right?”

“Correct. We rented some of those bikes for tourists because Diego wanted to ‘ride through the hills of Tuscany,’” Paolo says this like he’s reading from a travel brochure.

“Valentina didn’t know how to ride a bike, but didn’t tell us, because she didn’t want to feel stupid and just pretended she knew what she was doing. She fell over a lot.”

It’s hard to imagine someone as lovely and graceful as Valentina falling off a bike. As Paolo talks, I keep my eyes on his face so I don’t watch his driving.

“So, what’s your story, Juliet?” he asks. “What brings you to Italy?”

“I’m a nanny.”

He smiles. “I know that. I’m asking why you came to Italy as a nanny.”

“To escape,” I say accidentally.

Paolo raises an eyebrow. “What terrible things are you escaping?”

I sigh. “Business classes. And my future.”

Paolo nods like he knows just what I’m talking about. “I’ve found that the best way to stop worrying about the future is to distract yourself with all the pleasure you can get in the present.”

He gives me a smile, and I smile back. That sounds like a very good plan.

He parks his car in a spot barely big enough for a scooter, then opens my door and we cross the street to the theater.

Lanterns on tall hooks line the perimeter, making the stone building glow.

We walk toward a line of elegantly dressed people, and I bring a hand to my giant necklace and stand up straighter.

Once inside, Paolo leads me up three flights of stairs to a balcony suite with a center view of the stage.

The theater is small, but a soaring ceiling makes the space feel grandiose.

A large chandelier hangs above rows of red velvet seats.

“We have this whole space to ourselves?” I whisper. It comes out more suggestive than I mean.

“We do,” Paolo says smiling. “It's a company suite. We take clients out sometimes, if we’re trying to close a big deal.”

The whole thing is so fancy and elegant, I give up on playing it cool and just gush.

“This is dazzling. I’m dazzled.”

Paolo smiles, pleased. “Then my mission is accomplished.”

The lights go out, and we settle into our seats.

The pit orchestra starts a rousing opening song, and the curtain lifts to reveal a lovely setting in the park.

We see a beautiful young woman sitting on a bench reading a book.

She turns the pages, oblivious to the man staring at her from three benches over.

Finally, he gets up and walks toward her on a cobblestone path.

The music swells as he bursts into song.

He says he thinks she’s pretty, and he wonders what she ate for lunch. Wait, I don’t think that’s right...

“Paolo,” I whisper, leaning toward him. “What did he say?”