The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(96)

“My life has become Groundhog Day,” I say to myself.

Carmella lets out a laugh, more from relief, I suspect, than humor.

The bell chimes again. I rise up and see the Cannoli Man. “Carmella,” I say. “Check out this guy. He came in last August, raving about the cannoli.”

She peeks through the window. “Yup. He was in last week. Aunt Rosa dragged me out to meet him.”

“Really? Nonna wouldn’t waste his time on me.”

“She told him I was Bensonhurst’s bella pasticciera.” She laughs. “As if the guy gives a shit whether his baker is beautiful.”

I watch him cross to the bakery counter. I turn to Carmella. “Is he here to see you?”

“Oh, heck no. I only met him that one time.”

Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I yank off my hairnet and untie my apron. Then I step through the double doors, my shoulders squared.

“Emmie?” Carmella calls after me.

From behind the bakery counter, Rosa scowls. “Get to work,” she hisses.

The truth hits me: she doesn’t want me to find love. But why? So she can continue to control me? So she will always have one person in this world to take care of her when she needs help?

Ignoring her narrowed eyes, I stroll down the aisle. The Cannoli Man stands at the register now, handing Daria his credit card. He’s wearing an expensive-looking suit, and his hair is perfectly cut. He glances over when I approach. My heart beats double time. I come up beside him and extend my hand.

“I’m Emilia Antonelli. I hear you’re a fan of my cannoli.”

His hand is warm in mine, his nails trimmed and buffed. “You’re the baker?” He spins around, as if expecting to see Carmella. “I thought . . .”

“Nope. It’s me. I’m kind of the family secret.”

His blue eyes sparkle. “The best-kept family secret, I suspect. It’s nice to meet you, Emilia Antonelli.” His gaze drops, giving me an agonizingly slow once-over. “I’m Drake,” he finally says, pulling a business card from his Hermès wallet. “Call me. I’ll trade you lunch at Luke’s Lobster for a dozen cannoli.”

He squeezes my hand and strides away. The door closes and I glance at the card. Drake Van Buren III. I smile and slip it into my pocket.

“What the hell?” Daria says.

I hear the swish of nylon stockings and turn to see Nonna marching toward me. Her face is pinched and pink, and she’s wheezing louder than ever. She shakes a finger at me. “You make me to be a liar! How could you do that? Now we have lost this man’s trust!”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.” I step closer to her. “I should have walked out of that kitchen last August, when he first asked to speak to the baker. But I was fully indoctrinated back then.”

Rosa bats a hand at me, dismissively. My blood pressure soars. Behind her shoulder, Mrs. Fortino and my father stand watching us. But right now, I’m too angry to care.

“For all of my life, I’ve let myself believe I wasn’t worthy of love. You—and generations of Fontanas—have created a myth, and I bought into it. The truth is, there is no curse. There never was.”

My hand moves to hide my lip, but I catch myself. I lower it and look Nonna straight in the face, my scar—and my courage—beautifully visible. “For years, this little line made me feel ugly and ashamed. But it’s a powerful reminder now. My spirit was never broken by you, Nonna, no matter how hard you tried.”

She gasps.

“Emilia!” my father says.

I lift a hand to silence him. “I will not be manipulated any longer. I’m finished here. I’m going back to Italy. I was hoping you’d join me, Nonna. Your sister loves you. She needs your forgiveness. She’s longing for one last reunion.”

Nonna sneers. “That woman is evil.”

Blood surges past my temples. “No. Your sister is kind and loving and forgiving.” I jab a finger at her. “Everything you’re not.”

As I march toward the back kitchen, I catch a glimpse of my father. His mouth is agape, like a cartoon character who has just been clobbered with a bowling pin.

“And you,” I say to him. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life kowtowing to your mother-in-law? Jesus, Dad, get a backbone!” Beside him, Mrs. Fortino stifles a smile. I drape an arm around her shoulders. Together, we face my dad. “You’ve got a chance at love,” I tell him. “Here’s a woman who’s sweet and generous. And she likes you. Take a chance, for God’s sake! Be the man that my mother fell in love with.”

His eyes mist. I draw him into a hug, trying to ignore Rosa’s frosty glare from down the aisle. “I love you, Dad,” I say, the long-unspoken words awkward on my tongue. And I realize how much I do.

“Love . . . you,” he whispers, barely loud enough to hear.

But I do hear. And I smile.

My chest heaves and I throw open the kitchen double doors. Carmella grabs me into a hug and spins me around. “Oh. My. God!” she bellows. “That was, like, a five-star Netflix performance! I never knew you were such a badass!”

I let out a breath. “Can you take over?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Take a break. You deserve one.”