Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

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I watch Kent carefully as he smiles at the memory and then adds pieces of his own, making Natalia laugh- perhaps a little. too hard – when he reminds her that that was the first time he ever had fois gras, and how much he hated it. The conversation: passes mostly like this, with Natalia and Kent and Alessi trading fond memories of their youth, sometimes slipping into Italian to better express their meaning.

And as I look around at the table, watching Daniel laugh along with them in the moments when I cannot understand the words, and catching Natalia watching me when she thinks I’m not looking, I realize that…this dinner could very well be about me. About making it quite clear to me precisely how much I do not fit in this family – the little American girl who has never been to Italy or France, who cannot understand Italian, or cook, and who certainly has never had fois

gras.

And who does not like it when I try it tonight.

As I push my little plate away, a single bite taken out of my pate–and–baguette, I lean over to Daniel to whisper in his ear.

“Daniel, who organized this dinner?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Natalia,” he replies, leaning close to tell me in my ear. “A

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The chef is an old

this afternoon.”

the table better prepared to

War.

really have a chance

as she pretends to ignore me, so I notice the precise moment when she makes her move. It happens just after the meat course is served – a gorgeous roasted game hen for each of us – and each of us are provided with our fifth glass of wine, which I’m curious to see Kent lift to his lips, having fallen under her nostalgic spell more than I thought him capable

curiously, “when do you think it is that you will

just a second, and I feel Daniel perk up next

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time so precisely that neither Kent nor Daniel bristle at her, which I know they usually would at anyone who dared ask Kent about his romantic intentions at any

time.

on my hand, flicking my eyes to Kent, curious