I used to love breakfast as a child. It was my favorite meal of the day. The main reason was that I always found the food we usually ate for breakfast the most delicious and appealing of all the other meals. What kid would not prefer pancakes topped with chocolate, whipped cream, or strawberry jam over steak? It is true that Romans rarely stray from the typical espresso and cornetti.* However, I was not exactly one of them, was I?
*Cornetto - literally "a little horn", Italian pastry resembling the French croissant, but usually sweeter and filled with crema pasticcera (custard) or jam and powdered with sugar and nuts
The appetizing smell of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and toast makes me cease all fruitless attempts to tame my blow-dried, frizzy hair. I know from experience that any styling product will only make things worse, so I sigh in resignation and leave myself to the mercy of my nasty brother. He will surely make the most out of this welcome chance to taunt me.
Luca wastes no time in proving me right. The moment I step into the kitchen, he yells, "Guarda questo angioletto (Look at this little angel)! He must have flown here straight from wild hair heaven.
I glare at him and give him the finger.
He fakes a startled expression and covers his mouth with a hand. "Mi dispiace, Sky (I'm so sorry, Sky)! I shouldn't have used the word "straight" when it comes to you. How inconsiderate of me."
"Ha - ha - ha! Sei un coglione (You're such an idiot)!" I hiss. "If you want to tease someone, at least come up with jokes that are actually funny."
"Boys!" Father's voice booms in the huge room, instantly drowning out our not-so-friendly banter. "Listening to this, one would never believe they are dealing with grown men. I feel like I am still talking to the immature brats I had at home fifteen years ago. You were two little devils alright. Nothing much has changed."
His face lights up. His lips curve in a smile, which reminds me of my first year in Italy. Although I am constantly torn between love and admiration and the burning desire to strangle him, I can not help but admit that count Massimo de Angelis did his best to make me feel at home. Breakfast was his way of showing me that I was a part of the family. He changed his schedule and started going to work later just so he could spend more time with us every morning. Now that I know what a workaholic he is, I can properly appreciate the gesture. He always cooked whatever we wanted and made sure I did not miss out on anything I used to eat back in the US.
It is hilarious to remember. Before I met my stepfather for the first time, I thought of aristocrats as some kind of mythical creatures that only existed in the movies. I imagined them living in gloomy haunted castles. There was no way they would not grow horns at night, or wings, or at the very least long fangs, and suck the blood out of any innocent victim who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can imagine what you are thinking. I agree. It sounds so silly. In my defense, I was only ten and loved to binge watch vampire movies on Halloween.
What was my surprise when a well-mannered, very good-looking and quite friendly man met us at Rome Fiumicino Airport. He was an ordinary person. I mean that, of course, in the broadest sense of the word as he had no item worth less than five thousand dollars on him, except maybe the huge bouquet of red roses he gave to my mother. But I can not be completely sure about that either. The thing was monstrous. Mom was barely able to hold it with both hands.
The count never allowed anyone in his Roman house or Palazzo di Angelis in Genova to say a single word of Italian without immediately translating it to me until he was sure I knew the language well enough to understand and communicate freely. Both family estates, by the way, were anything but grim or haunted. I was captivated by the exquisite works of art on the walls, the perfectly kept gardens with stone benches under orange trees and winding vines above cozy sheds where we drank caffe macchiato caldo* and aperitivo** with bruschetta alla romana*** every warm summer afternoon.
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RomanceSkylar Jones was adopted into an old Italian aristocratic family when he was ten. His life goes under the strict control of his stepfather, Count Massimiliano De Angelis. Sky is a good boy and obeys the rules. One thing only he keeps to himself, his...
