the door wider, and Marco entered the living room, eyeing the array of cabinetry without comment. She showed him into the dining room. “Nonna, this is Marco Terrizzi, and Marco, this is—”
“Signora Servano.” Nonna’s hooded eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t your father, Beppe, run Bar GiroSport?”
“Yes.” Marco smiled pleasantly.
“Aren’t you the one who serenaded Elisabetta at my restaurant?”
“Yes.” Marco nodded.
“So you’re courting Elisabetta?”
“Yes.” Marco beamed.
“What are your intentions? Are they honorable or trifling?”
Elisabetta cringed. “Nonna!”
Marco straightened. “My intentions are honorable, and I love her.”
Elisabetta felt moved, her heart responding, to her own surprise.
Nonna scowled. “But you’re not a very diligent suitor, are you, Marco?”
He blinked. “Pardon me?”
“You haven’t been here yet, have you? She’s been here a while, did you know?”
“Yes, but I’ve had to work.”
“So why do you come knocking at this hour?”
“I had to work late and—”
“You don’t expect she’s going out with you tonight, do you?”
“Beh, I was hoping we could get a gelato.”
“Don’t you know she has to work in the morning? Do you believe you can just show up and have it your way?”
“No, no, I don’t—”
“Don’t get any ideas, capito? You know she’s a good girl, don’t you? She’s not like the others, do you understand?”
“I know she’s not like the others.”
“So why treat her as you do? If your intentions are honorable, why come by so late, for the very first time?”
Elisabetta wished she could flee, but Nonna was unstoppable, already waving at Marco’s wrapped gift.
“Anyway what have you got there?”
“Oh, this is for her.” Marco slid the gift from under his arm.
“You don’t think you can buy her off, do you? Elisabetta, why don’t you open your gift?”
“I will.” Elisabetta was too mortified to meet Marco’s eye as he handed her the present. “Thank you, Marco. What’s the occasion?”
“If I tell you, then you’ll know what—”
“Basta!” Nonna interrupted, with a snort. “Talk, talk, talk! I’m sleepy! Hurry up!”
Elisabetta burst into laughter, and so did Marco. She tore off the silvery paper, and he balled it up as she lifted the lid of the box and opened a layer of white tissue paper.
Nonna craned her neck. “How can I see? Why don’t you hold it up?”
Elisabetta gasped when she opened the tissue paper to reveal a beautiful pink dress, sleeveless with a scoop neckline, its fabric a filmy chiffon with a pink satin ribbon at the waist. She lifted it up, and it felt lighter than air, made for a night she would never have, for a life she would never live, a dress so elegant, feminine, and fancy that it was fit for a princess, not a waitress.
Nonna scoffed. “Now where’s she going to wear that?”
“Nonna, please.” Elisabetta clasped the dress to her chest, overwhelmed. “Thank you, so much, Marco. This is a beautiful dress!”
“You’re welcome.” Marco smiled warmly, his dark eyes shining. “I’ve been invited to a fancy party, and I was wondering if you would go with me. You can wear the dress.”
“What about shoes?” Nonna interjected again. “You think she has shoes for such a dress? Or do you expect her to go barefoot?”
“Nonna, I’ll get my own shoes.” Elisabetta’s heart was still hurting from Sandro, but a fancy party sounded fun, and she hadn’t had fun in such a long time, working every day and going to bed early every night.
Marco touched her arm. “Will you go with me, Elisabetta?”
“Yes,” Elisabetta answered impulsively.
“That’s enough!” Nonna glowered, pointing to the door. “Good night, Marco! Bye-bye! Sleep tight!”
Marco chuckled. “Good night, Signora Servano.”
Elisabetta placed the dress back in the box, folding it with care and smoothing out the skirt. “Marco, I’ll walk you to the door.”
“No, you won’t.” Nonna waved her hand. “Marco, see yourself to the door, will you? That’s not difficult, is it? Are you sighted? In full possession of locomotive power?”
“Signora Servano, yes, thank you. Good night, Elisabetta.” Marco reached for Elisabetta’s hand and kissed it softly, then strode to the door, and left.
Elisabetta felt her heart wake up, though she hadn’t known it was sleeping. Marco did love her, and she felt herself wanting what he was offering, whether it was fun, romance, or true love, she wasn’t sure. She knew only that she felt happy. She looked at Nonna, but the old woman was frowning.
“Nonna, what’s the matter? Don’t you like him?”
“Not for you,” Nonna shot back, lifting an eyebrow. “I told you before. You can’t be with him.”
“But why not?” Elisabetta asked, mystified. “Why don’t you like him for me?”
Nonna’s expression softened to sadness. “Sit down,