Page 16

Normally I don’t mind being the center of attention—in my family, it’s eat or be eaten—but all I can see is Ricky’s face staring directly at mine like he’s the only one at the table.

Or in the room. Or in the entire damn country.

I wonder if Bianca told him what happened in the kitchen already. My cheeks heat.

Ricky’s eyes are soft? Maybe it’s the reflection of the lanterns over him, but a flash of memories take hold.

Us at a local carnival last spring. Recorded footage of us taste-testing crispy, sugary funnel cakes and fried Oreos, juicy sweet-and-hot sausage and pepper wedges dripping with tomato sauce, and root beer floats.

Ricky playfully smashing my nose into the whipped cream, laughing hysterically as the lens zooms in on my shocked face.

The way he licked it off my nose and kissed me, grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped it off for me while apologizing.

I remember looking into the camera of my phone and saying, “This is true love.” I went to dump a tray of Mexican street corn on him, but stopped, which caught him off guard because he fully expected retaliation.

Instead, I kissed his cheek, and the way his face softened still takes my breath away.

Not that I rewatch that video. Because I super don’t.

But I still get comments on it, and it has sixteen million views!

Ricky’s face now reminds me of him being surprised by his own surprise.

Riccardo Sr., Ricky’s father, stands and offers me a head nod. It might not seem like much, but he was always a man of few words, like Ricky, so the acknowledgment and respect—big in any Italian family—is all I could have asked for.

I spot my name on a placard. Two of the villa staff pull out chairs for me and Matty, far enough away from Ricky that I don’t have to interact with him, but close enough to where I can’t help but glance over at him.

I stifle a laugh when I notice Zia Gab managed a seat next to Topher.

I bet any amount of money she moved around the name cards since it seems like their college friends are seated closest to them, while family is on the other end.

Matty notices too, and we share a wide-eyed gaze. Typical Zia Gab move.

Sienna stands with her champagne flute and a rose-gold knife.

She delicately taps the glass. “I want to thank everyone for being here. We’re so lucky we get to have our families here to celebrate our love.

We’re all family now.” It’s amazing how much she looks like Ricky with her facial expressions.

Then Topher launches to his tiptoes. “I’m sure a lot of you were a little taken aback when you found out we were together.

” He grabs Sienna’s hand. “But we wanted to be sure this was right. Our families basically all grew up together, and when we reconnected, we wanted to protect what we felt for a while. Just in case. I never thought I could love somebody the way I love you, Tinkerbell.” He kisses the tip of her nose, and her face softens, eyes flutter, and she nuzzles into him.

My bottom lip quivers. Matty grabs my leg under the table to hold me steady.

“And for us to have time to really be together and build on us before the families came together because, well, you know how you all are.”

“Hey!” Zia Gab shouts. “What does that mean?”

Matty boom-laughs.

“I just did my makeup, damn it,” Ma says, dabbing herself with a napkin. Black mascara smears under her eyes.

“Join the club,” Bianca adds.

“I love heterosexual love,” Benny says. “There’s not nearly enough of it.”

Matty and I burst out laughing, and Jenni Lee hisses at us.

“I love you too, Pooh-Bear,” Sienna says before rapidly waving her hand in front of her face to stop herself from crying.

With one heavy breath, she says, “Before we eat this incredible dinner, we also wanted to acknowledge that there’s a lot going on over the next few days.

So we made personal itineraries for everyone. ”

Matty and I look at each other out of the corners of our eyes.

“We figure everyone is going to get drunk tonight, so we won’t bother distributing them now, but they will be by the front door tomorrow, each one labeled by name, with paper tickets for the major group events, and some euros so you all can enjoy yourself without breaking the bank since we know it was a big ask to be here.

Make sure you grab yours first thing in the morning,” Sienna says.

“The girls are going to an exclusive shop in Positano for couture dresses bright and early, so be ready to go by eight a.m., while the boys will be going to a tailor here in Amalfi. Then, we’ll meet at the Piazza Del Duomo around one thirty for a big group tour of Amalfi’s biggest lemon farm, where we’ll have an exclusive lunch and get to make handmade pasta and limoncello!

” Topher winks at me. “It’ll be a great bonding experience for all of us! ”

Zia Gab claps. “My son is so generous! You know we’d all be happy just hanging out here in this beautiful villa; you don’t have to do all this for us.”

“Shut up, Gab!” Ma and Rosa scream at the same time.

Nonna interrupts. “Can we all say a little prayer?” She does the sign of the cross.

“Nel nome del padre, e del figlio, e dello spirito santo, amen!” she continues, urging the lord to watch over Topher and Sienna and to bless their union, yadda yadda yadda.

She takes her time, and we all start to nod off until Ma tells her to hurry up.

“Amen to that.” Topher raises his glass. “I say, saluti!”

As predicted, by the time dessert—a rich, layered lemon tira-misu—is done, the Coven is wine-drunk and Nonna has whipped out a deck of cards.

It’s time to execute the next part of the plan.

Matty texts Benny, who looks up and over at us.

Benny slyly leans into Monroe, showing her his screen.

“What did you text them?” I ask.

“Don’t worry ’bout it.” Matty sounds like a cross between an Italian mobster and a Jersey Shore goon. “It’s handled.”

Within seconds, Monroe and Benny descend on Cam, trapping him in conversation.

Matty must sense me getting anxious because he says, “Relax, there’s nothing to worry about here. They got this. Also, is it just me, or is Cam kinda cute?”

“Annoyingly so,” I admit. “Look at him chatting with everyone, little miss perfect over there with his glasses and cheekbones. I hate him.” I lean into Matty. “What are you gonna say to Ricky to get him alone?”

“No idea.” He shrugs. But then Ricky makes a move toward the bathroom, and Matty stands up so quickly the chair skids.

“I’m gonna take a leak.” His fingers dance as he does some sort of spy sign language, and I get the hint that he wants me to make the move and head toward the pool for the rendezvous.

I wait a few minutes to ensure that everyone is deep enough in conversation around me before standing up.

Ma catches me. “Baby, where’re you going? You okay? Have you two talked yet?”

“Not yet, but all’s good.” I catch Bianca’s gaze and kiss Nonna’s forehead, and before anyone else can call me over, I slip out.

The infinity pool is dimly lit with fairy lights, an extension of the endless night sky. It’s like a scene from a Disney movie. All I need are talking fireflies and singing rabbits urging me to “kiss the boy.”

To make time pass as I wait, I contemplate posting the footage from dinner service and critiquing the food.

I decide it’s not the best idea, given Chef Vittoria’s reaction, so instead, I make a quick montage of the food and splice it with some footage I shot of the sea and villa at large—that’s when I notice Ricky in the background.

I toy with the idea of clipping him out, but I know my viewers will be looking for him, for context clues as to whether we’re back together.

I’ve already gained more followers in the last few hours, so it certainly can’t hurt to just have him there, right?

Pull a Taylor Swift and plant hidden messages and sit back and collect on views?

Especially given the upcoming @FoodForChange contest, I’m going to need all the likes and viewer power I can muster to vote for my content once I figure out what the hell I’m doing for that.

It’s fine— this is fine .

Except. It doesn’t feel fine, or right, but neither does cutting Ricky out.

Then again, it’s not like I’m zooming in on Ricky or anything. He’s just . . . there .

When I hear footsteps, I don’t bother editing the sound levels and audio because my adrenaline is pumping, so I press the upload button and shove my phone into the pocket of my jeans.

Matty and Ricky turn the corner.

Ricky freezes.

God, he fills out a button-down shirt so well these days. And those pants. The thighs. His face in the low light is hauntingly beautiful, and I can’t help myself; I have to stare, to study him, take him in the way I used to.

“Sorry!” Matty waves his hands in the air overdramatically. An actor, he is not. “I did not know you would be down here, bro. I’m gonna jet.” Matty turns on his heels.

“Wait, Ricky,” I call after Ricky, but he hasn’t moved. “Can we—”

“Talk?” Ricky finishes for me.

@LemonAtFirstSight 3 min ago

Views: 10

10

CAPTION: Amalfi FTW!! Bellissima!

HOT MIC AUDIO:

FIELDER: . . . this lemon tiramisu is the best thing I’ve had in my mouth since—

MATTY (WHISPERS): Let me guess, does his name rhyme with Mickey?

1 COMMENT

amithedrama

How gauche. This is who you want representing you

@FoodForChange?