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ALESSIA

T he heavy oak doors creak slightly as I push them open, stepping into the grand foyer of my parents’ house. Romiro had to leave in the early morning and managed to let my father know. I’m sort of hoping he won’t bring it up. The light filters in through the tall, arched windows, casting a warm, golden hue on the dark wood paneling that covers the walls.

I take a deep breath, feeling the familiar scent of old leather, polished wood, and my mamma’s perfume—a floral blend that’s both sharp and sweet—wafts toward me. The house is quiet, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging back and forth like a metronome, keeping time with my racing heart.

I cross the foyer, my footsteps echoing against the high ceilings. I know they’re waiting for me in the sitting room, the one just off to the right—the room that’s always reserved for serious conversations, the kind that leaves a knot in my stomach.

The door is ajar, and I hear the low murmur of my parents’ voices. I push it open gently, and they both look up as I step inside. My father is seated in his usual place, a high-backed, leather armchair that looks more like a throne than a piece of furniture. His face is stern, as always, but there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes today—anticipation, maybe, or concern.

Mamma is perched on the edge of the sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression a careful mix of warmth and calculation. She’s dressed in one of her tailored dresses, her hair perfectly coiffed, a single pearl necklace resting against her collarbone. She looks like she’s waiting for an audience to arrive.

“Alessia,” my father says, his voice deep and commanding, but there’s a slight smile tugging at his lips. “We need to talk.”

I nod, taking a seat on the opposite sofa, feeling the fabric press against my back. “About what?” I ask, though I already have a feeling I know where this is headed. The conversation last night at dinner is still fresh in my mind—the surprise, the tension, the curiosity in their eyes when Romiro and I announced our relationship, of course my father knew beforehand, but that still left some questions unanswered.

He leans forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees. “We’re having the family lunch this Sunday at Vito’s,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate. “And I want my son-in-law, Romiro, to be there.”

I blink, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. “Dad, they just met him last night,” I protest. “Isn’t it a bit early to call him…son-in-law?”

My father’s smile widens just a fraction, but his eyes are serious. “It’s not too early, Alessia,” he replies calmly. “Not for a man who clearly knows what he wants.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Mamma cuts in, her voice softer but no less firm. “Alessia, dear, he is smitten with you,” she says, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s obvious to anyone who looks at him. You’ll be married soon, I’m sure of it.”

I feel a flush of warmth spread across my cheeks, my heart skipping a beat at her words. “Mom, it’s too soon to talk about marriage,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re just… we’re just figuring things out.”

She waves her hand dismissively, as if brushing away my words like a pesky fly. “Nonsense,” she says with a laugh. “You’re not getting any younger, and neither is he. If he wants to be part of this family, he’ll have to prove himself sooner or later. Why not start now?”

I shake my head, feeling a knot tighten in my chest. “It’s not that simple,” I insist. “Romiro… he’s complicated. And so is our relationship.”

My father’s smile fades, his expression hardening. “Well, uncomplicate him,” he says, his tone firm. “He needs to show up. I expect him to be there on Sunday.”

There’s a finality in his voice that makes my stomach twist. “Dad,” I begin, trying to keep my tone light, “I can ask him, but I can’t promise he’ll come.”

My father’s eyes narrow slightly, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “This isn’t a request, Alessia,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I expect him to be there. If he’s serious about you, he’ll come. If he’s not… well, then maybe it’s better we know now.”

I feel the words hit me like a punch to the gut, my breath catching in my throat. I glance at Mamma, hoping for some kind of support, but she just nods in agreement, her smile bright but her eyes sharp.

“Romiro will come,” she says confidently, as if it’s already been decided. “He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I bite my lip, feeling a surge of frustration rise inside me. “You don’t know him, Mom,” I say, my voice edged with irritation. “He’s not like that. He doesn’t just show up because someone tells him to.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile never wavering. “Then maybe it’s time he learned,” she replies smoothly. “If he’s going to be part of this family, he needs to understand how things work.”

I feel a rush of anger flare up, hot and sharp in my chest. “And what if he doesn’t want to be part of this family?” I snap, my voice louder than I intended.

My father’s eyes narrow, and he leans forward again, his expression stern. “Then he has no business being with you,” he says flatly. “We don’t have time for games, Alessia. We need to know where he stands.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. “Fine,” I say finally, my voice tight. “I’ll ask him. But I’m not promising anything.”

My father nods, satisfied. “That’s all I ask,” he says. “Make sure he understands what’s expected of him.”

I nod, feeling the tension in my shoulders, the weight of his words pressing down on me. I don’t know how I’m going to ask Romiro, or what he’ll say when I do. But I know one thing—I’m not going to let my parents dictate the terms of my relationship.

“Alessia,” Mamma says, her tone softening, “we just want what’s best for you. We want you to be happy.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I know, Mom,” I say quietly. “I know.”

But as I sit there, the grandeur of the room pressing in on me, I can’t help but feel like I’m caught in a battle between two worlds—my family’s world, with its rules and expectations, and the world I’m trying to build with Romiro, which is uncertain and fragile, but real in a way that feels like breathing.

And I don’t know which one will win.