Watch Your Temper

Chapter Twenty-Three: And I Thought MY Family Was Dysfunctional

        I took a deep breath, straightened my dress and posture, and clutched my mother's homemade fruitcake to my chest before knocking three times on the door in front of me.

I heard several rushed whispers and shouts coming from within the apartment, and I took a few steps back.

Everything went silent for a moment, and the door finally cracked open a pinch.

"Eh? Oh, Apollo!" a woman's rough voice exclaimed, along with a long flow of fluent foreign words, before the tall oak portal to the house was slammed in my face.

Um... was this normal?

"Mama! Open the door!" a voice I could only recognize as my boyfriend's stood out from the rest.

Another string of foreign language, and the door swung wide open again.

"Oh, hello, dear!" she exclaimed, gathering me up into a big, bone-crushing hug. I shoved the fruitcake into Apollo's arms to save it from being squished. The red-faced, stocky woman kissed each of my cheeks before (thankfully!) releasing me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Temper. My son has been blabbing about you non-stop!" she declared in a thick Italian accent.

I blushed furiously and stared down at my feet, stuttering a bunch of incoherent words before I was ushered into the apartment.

"Welcome to our home! I'm Apollo's mother, Adelina. This is my husband, Frank, and my other children, Anthony and Arabella," she pointed to each of the people standing before me. Apollo's dad nodded politely and kept quiet, so I guessed he was the exact opposite of his bubbly wife.

The other Lombardi children both stared at me, but in different ways.

The boy, Anthony, who I guessed to be around eighteen or so, kept glancing down at my slightly revealing dress, a hint of a smirk twitching at the side of his mouth. I shifted uncomfortably and tried to casually lift up the front of my dress.

The girl, Arabella, looked to be in her early twenties, and was glaring at me with such intensity that I assumed I might melt.

She snarled something nasty, and I presumed she had probably just criticized me. It sucked that I didn't speak Italian, and I couldn't stand up for myself. I'd have to hope Apollo would intervene.

Mrs. Lombardi smacked her daughter's shoulder and gestured to the flashy ring on her finger.

"Arabella Francesca Lombardi-Botticelli! You are a married woman. You should know how to behave around other women," she scolded her daughter. Arabella grumbled, apparently not understanding what was said, and fortunately retreated from the room.

"I'm so very sorry. I'm sad to say that despite being raised well, two of my children have no manners!" she explained sympathetically, whacking Mr. Pervert on the back of the head.

"Aww, Mama!" he whined, rubbing his head in remorse.

"You think I couldn't see the way you were ostracizing the poor girl?" she growled, pushing him in the direction his sister had vanished to.

"Please don't mind them. I should have you know, Anthony has a girlfriend, who would be very disgusted by his actions. I would be more than happy to inform her about this if he continues," she threatened, shaking her head. I giggled nervously and waltzed into the dining room with Mr. and Mrs. Lombardi close on my heels.

Good Lord, where had Apollo vanished to? I could really use a knight in shining armour!

As if on cue, my boyfriend finally entered the room, looking oh-so-handsome. I felt my face basically catch on fire when he met my gaze, and I stuttered and stumbled my way over to the table before me. I sank down in the closest chair, Apollo plonking down next to me. Mr. L patted down his nice dress shirt and sat at the head of the table, and the other siblings hastily claimed two chairs across from us.