One Hot Italian Summer - Karina Halle Page 0,49

up, so I missed out on having that big family with lots of siblings. When my father remarried and had a daughter with his new wife, I thought things would change. But my half-sister Beth doesn’t want anything to do with me, no matter how hard I try, so that didn’t work out the way I hoped it would. I still have faith that when she’s older (she’s thirteen and going through stuff) that we’ll finally have a chance to connect.

Regardless, I’m excited for the new distractions. Things got kind of weird at the pool, so the more people in the house, the better.

Especially people who know Claudio well. I want to learn everything there is about him, what he was like growing up, if there is indeed something that magic man can’t do. I want the dirt. I want to know it all.

I get off my bed where I was working through some plot holes in my notebook, and get dressed. I pick—surprise—another dress, this one white with short sleeves, buttons down the middle, and oranges printed on it. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail, then slide on an orange headband. I’ve got this 60’s Italian chic thing going on, so I play that up with my makeup, a wee bit of winged liner and mascara, a touch of blush. I look half-decent, even with my lemon face.

Of course, there’s no point in denying that I’m not only looking good for Claudio, but for his sisters. I want them to say “who is that girl?” although that might be pointless considering the women that Claudio dates. I know he said he doesn’t have time to date anymore, but that woman, the ex of his, Marika, was stunning. Perhaps he’s known for dating tall, tanned and leggy blondes, basically everything I’m not.

Well you’re not dating him, so why does it even matter? I tell myself.

The thing is, I can tell myself things, but it doesn’t mean I’ll believe it.

Even if Claudio tells me things.

Even if he says that I’m beautiful.

The thought makes something flicker deep inside me.

Hope, maybe.

I head out of the room and down the stairs, the yelling getting louder and louder.

“Grace! Ciao, ciao!” Vanni yells at me as he turns the corner on the second floor, racing past me on the stairs with his backpack. He’s followed by a blonde girl in a pink romper, who gives me a shy look while running up the stairs after him. I’m assuming that’s his cousin.

They disappear up the steps and I steel myself for the rest of my journey. As much as I want to meet his sisters, I do tend to get all awkward when I meet new people, and the yelling is throwing me off. I can’t tell if they’re actually angry or that’s just how they talk.

When I get to the bottom floor, the bar looks like it’s been ransacked and raucous laughter is coming from the patio. Okay, laughter. That’s a good sign.

I take in a deep breath and turn the corner.

Three female versions of Claudio are sitting at the table, all three of their heads swiveling to look at me. I don’t see Claudio anywhere.

Gulp.

“Chi è questa?” one of them exclaims. She’s wearing cat-eye sunglasses.

“Ooooh,” another one says, this one wearing a stunning shade of red lipstick. “L’autrice!”

Another one, the shortest, the most petite, also wearing red lipstick, gives them both a dirty look. “Inglese!” she scolds them.

Then she eyes me, a brow raised. Wow. Perfectly shaped eyebrows that move independently from each other must run in the family. “I apologize for my sisters being so rude. You must be Grace.”

I raise my hand slightly. “That’s me.”

She points to herself with a red fingernail, the polish chipped. “I am Maria. This is Giada.” She flicks her nails toward the one in sunglasses, who looks to be the oldest out of all of them. Then she points at the other sister. “That is Veronica. We are Claudio’s sisters.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell them, feeling awkward on my feet. Do I do the whole kiss them on each cheek thing? Would that be too informal? I’ll just stay here.

“Oh, come now,” Maria says, getting to her feet. In seconds she’s grabbed me by the shoulders, engulfed me in a cloud of lemony perfume, leaving lipstick marks on my cheeks. She pulls back and inspects me closely. “You are a beautiful woman.”

Wow. Do all the Romanos throw compliments around like confetti?

Of course, I

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