* * *

I woke with a start and stared at the clock on the wall. It was already late afternoon? Where? Oh yeah— Sicily with my family and my fake fiancé. I’d slept for over three hours. I grabbed my phone and checked texts. Nothing. How could the world just stop for a holiday? What were people thinking? Business couldn’t just stop for a few days. Could it?

There was no way in God’s creation I’d make it back to Chicago in less than 48 hours but work had to go on. I couldn’t figure out the time difference but texted Nolan anyway.

I smiled.

I got out of bed and pulled a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and a fresh sweater from my suitcase. I showered and dressed, smoothed on minimal makeup and applied a tinted lip balm. I found my way downstairs and followed the happy chatter to the kitchen.

Papa’s modern, immaculate kitchen featured white-washed glazed walls. Matching white wrought iron crystal chandeliers hung from the beamed ceilings. The cooking galley featured large stainless steel appliances.

Mom, Florentina and Vincent were seated at a rustic, rectangular, wooden plank table sipping espresso and nibbling pastries.

“My beautiful granddaughter has seen fit to grace us with her presence,” Papa said as he pulled milk and eggs from the refrigerator.

“You mean the bride to be,” Mom said.

Papa opened the oven and placed a baking tray on a cooling rack on the marble counter. “Flavio will make a wonderful husband.”

“You mean, Aiden will make a wonderful husband,” Mom said.

I extended my hand in the ‘Stop’ position. “Coffee will make a wonderful husband.”

“Ha!” Papa walked to the espresso maker and pulled the handle. “I will make you a cup of the magical elixir.”

“It smells great in here.” I accepted the cup from him. “What are you baking?”

“Amaretti, ricciarelli…”

“Almond cookies,” Mom said.

“What smells delicious?” Aiden’s sister and her spouse entered the kitchen wearing coats and warm boots.

“Amaretti. Yum.” Flavio followed on their heels loaded down with shopping bags. “Should I take these to your room?”

“Later,” Nora said. “We’ve got to sample these cookies.”

“Violet, can you make plates?” Papa asked.

“Absolutely. Where are the dishes?”

“Cabinet on the right. Get everyone something to drink as well.”

“Something sweet for me.” Flavio stared at me knowingly and slowly stripped off his jacket.

“Ooh la, la. Someone’s been working out,” Florentina said. “You’ll have to share your arm routine with me. Those are fabulous guns you’ve got there.”

“How did you know?” Flavio asked.

“Not those guns,” Vincent said.

“Aha. For a minute I thought she might have the sight,” Flavio said.

I grabbed a spatula and placed the warm cookies on a white ceramic platter.

“You should see how cute the piazza is,” Nora said.

“We saw that on the way into town,” I said. “Some kind of baking festival?”

“Not just some,” Papa said, adding more dollops of dough to baking tins. “The baking festival of the year. The winner gets to ride on a float in the Festival of the Almond Blossoms in Agrigento. This is my year. I feel it. I almost have the recipe down. I’m just looking for that last pinch of magic.”

I grabbed small plates and napkins from shelves and drawers and poured sparkling water into crystal glasses. “What is that going to be, Papa?” I asked. “More amaretto? Anise? Sugar?”

“I’ll know it when I feel it. Just like I know how beautiful Florentina looks in the late afternoon sun that streams through the windows.”

“I do?”

“You know you do, Bella.”

“Don’t start with me, Giuseppe.”

“We started a long time ago, Florentina.”