Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
His head snaps up, and he tucks the phone into his pocket. “Yes, Misha just called to check in on you.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “Ready?”
I nod quickly. “Yes.”
Armani comes to take my hand and leads me down to the courtyard. We exit through a different door, and I find myself on a narrow street.
With Armani showing the way, I glance around at all the old buildings.
A door opens, and an old woman sweeps dust out of the house. Her eyes land on us, then a friendly smile spreads over her face. “Signor Armani…” I don’t make out the rest of her sentence, but I assume she’s greeting him.
They exchange words, then Armani says, “My fiancée, Tiana Petrov.”
I smile at the woman. “It’s nice meeting you.”
“She doesn’t speak much English,” he informs me.
I need to learn their language.
We continue down the narrow street before turning up another and crossing over two bridges.
It really feels like I’m in a fairytale.
Chapter 20
Tiana
Without bothering to knock, Armani lets us into a house, then calls out, “Mamma?”
“Dio, Dio, Dio,” I hear an excited voice right before a woman comes barreling toward us. “Cuore mio.”
Armani lets go of my hand and hugs the woman tightly before smiling at me. “Tiana, this is my mother.”
I reach a hand out as I say, “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Senora De Santis.”
The next second I’m yanked into a smothering hug, a kiss pressed to both my cheeks. “Tsk, call me Mamma. You’ll be my figlia by the end of the week.”
It’s going to take me a while to get used to calling her Mamma, but for Armani, I’ll pretty much do anything.
Another woman comes to join us, who Armani introduces to me as Zia Giada.
Zia Giada and Mrs. De Santis are like two whirlwinds as we’re ushered into a kitchen where the delicious aroma of baking hangs in the air.
I’m pushed down into a chair, then a cappuccino and a croissant with condiments are placed in front of me.
“Mammamia,” Mrs. De Santis exclaims. “You’re so tiny. Eat, piccola.”
Armani chuckles from where he’s sitting next to me while lathering his croissant with jam and cheese.
I do the same, my eyes darting between the two women who seem to be doing a lot and nothing at the same time.
Finally, they come to sit at the table, and as I take a bite, I’m peppered with questions. “Where in Russia are you from? Who are your parents? Have they given their blessing for the wedding? We don’t have much time to prepare. Will your mother come help with the arrangements?”
My eyes dart to Armani, and it has him answering, “I’ll take care of the wedding preparations once I’m back from work.”
Mrs. De Santis’ eyes widen like saucers. “Work? You’re leaving again? But you just got home!”
Armani shrugs. “When Luca gives an order, I have to carry it out. You know this.”
“But…” Mrs. De Santis starts to argue.
Armani shakes his head.
A frown settles on her face, then she mumbles, “Luca could at least give me time with my son before sending him away again.”
Armani helps himself to another croissant, and I make a mental note to learn how to make them.
“I have to leave after breakfast. Please check in on Tiana while I’m gone,” he says before devouring the pastry.
God, even the way he chews is hot.
Both women nod, and Mrs. De Santis answers, “We’ll take good care of her.”
Even though I feel out of place, I’m thankful for the warm welcome I’m given.
Mrs. De Santis’ eyes settle on me, then she says, “We’ll look for a wedding dress while Armani is away at work.”
“Thank you.” The cappuccino is too sweet, but I drink every last drop.
“Where will the ceremony be held?” Mrs. De Santis asks.
“It will be intimate with only our close loved ones,” Armani answers. “We can have it in my place in the courtyard.”
“How many people?” Mrs. De Santis demands to know before looking at me. “We’ll cook and bake all of Friday.”
“Seven,” Armani answers. “That’s excluding Tiana, me, and whoever’s officiating the marriage, but don’t worry about cooking, Mamma, I’ll book a restaurant for the celebration.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll speak with Father Moretti,” Mrs. De Santis says. “He baptized you, he can marry you.”
The moment we’re done eating, Armani stands up. “I’m sorry the visit is so short, but I must take care of urgent business.”
Mrs. De Santis waves a hand in the air. “You forget I was married to your father for thirty years. I’m used to it.”
When Zia Giada starts to clear the table, I notice she’s been quiet and wonder if she’s just as shy as I am.
“Don’t get hurt,” Mrs. De Santis tells Armani.
“I won’t.” He hugs his mother and aunt, and I quickly do the same before we leave the house.