Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(34)

Surprised to hear Marabella’s voice, I shut my journal and twist around to find her entering the living area with several pizza boxes in her hands. “Had I made this, it would have been better,” she declares. “However,” she adds, setting the boxes down in front of me, then straightening, her hands settling on her robust hips, “I do know the owner of this restaurant and he’s almost as good in the kitchen as I am.”

“We’re settling for his,” I say. “When can I try yours?”

“You could have tried it today, but no one asked me,” she scolds. “I’ll make one for you and Kayden tomorrow.”

And while her words are as warm and playful as ever, her energy is as uncharacteristically dark as her black dress, and, concerned that the death of Enzo has rattled her, with no one to offer comfort, I ask, “Will you join us? Aside from loving your company, I could use some help learning Italian.” I glance between her and Giada. “Can you ladies help?”

“Of course we can,” Marabella replies, crossing her arms in front of her and studying me. “You really do need to learn Italian to live here.”

“I really do,” I agree. “I hate it when people are talking around me and I have no idea what’s being said. Why did you both learn English?”

“I learned when I started working here in the castle,” Marabella replies. “And Giada was brought up bilingual by her father. She even went to one of the American colleges nearby.”

“I’m a good teacher, too,” Giada interjects. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about looking into a teaching job.”

I flash back to my friend Sara’s apartment, both of us sitting on her floor, with papers on her coffee table. “It’s going to be a long night of grading these papers for class tomorrow,” Sara says. “How about we order pizza?”

The memory is gone as fast as it begins, and I find myself frowning at the idea of me being a teacher. That doesn’t feel right, though I am certain my mother was a dance instructor, maybe music, too, and I’m very maternal with Giada. But grading papers doesn’t feel like music or dance.

“I’ll get us all drinks,” Giada says, snapping me back to the present. “We have Coke Zero and water.”

“Water, please,” I say, writing the word teacher in my journal.

“With or without gas?” she asks.

I frown. “Gas? Why would I want gas? What does that mean?”

“Bubbles,” Giada says, her eyes lighting.

“Ohhhhh,” I say, laughing. “You mean sparkling water. For Americans, gas means you ate something that doesn’t agree with you. I guess I’ve just had my first language lesson. No bubbles for me.”

“Gas for me,” Marabella declares, and we all start giggling.

Then Giada joins Marabella, saying something to her in Italian before hugging her.

Marabella’s eyes meet mine and we share a look of hope. Giada isn’t completely lost, and it is then that even without my memories full recovered, a sense of family and belonging comes over me, which I’m certain I haven’t felt in a very long time. Giada releases Marabella and walks toward the kitchen.

Marabella seems to decide to stay for lunch, claiming the chair next to me and softly murmuring, “You’re good for her, Ella. For all of us.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I assure her.

“You’re good for Kayden.”

If only I knew that without any question, I think, fighting the urge to grab my journal and start reading through the notes I can’t explain to her or Giada.

“Knives, forks, napkins, and drinks for three,” Giada announces, returning and sitting down next to me before handing me a small box. “Four cheese. I hope that works. It seemed the most American.”

“Any cheese is wonderful,” I say, eagerly opening the box to find a delicious-looking concoction. Then I look at Marabella. “They didn’t cut my pizza.”

“We Italians don’t pick up our pizza.” She holds up a fork and knife and then hands them to me. “Our way is this way.”

“You’re making me work for my meal,” I say, accepting the utensils. “I can live with that,” and boy, do I. In one bite I’m moaning with the delicious, rich taste of the white sauce under the cheese, and as silly as it might be, I wish that I were experiencing this with Kayden for the first time. But I’m not and I’m eating it now, and eating it all, with a bonus of Marabella and Giada giving me a language lesson. And before long, the food is gone, and with Marabella and Giada’s prodding, I’m repeating English words and their Italian equivalents, writing them down in the back of my journal, and I’ve lost track of time.

We’re just talking about coffee when the buzzer at the door goes off again, and Marabella glances at her watch. “I bet that’s your clothes for tonight,” she says, having obviously spoken to Kayden. She heads toward the door.

“What’s tonight?” Giada asks.

“Some political function Kayden and I are attending,” I say, standing, my body stiff from sitting so long. “I’d better go help Marabella.”

“I’ll clean up our mess,” Giada says, while I head toward the front of the store.

Rounding the corner, I come face-to-face with Adriel as he enters the living area. “It’s football time, and since it’s still my store, and my TV, I’m taking over this room.”