Chapter 5 Liana
Day Three arrives too quickly.
I'm standing in front of my closet at two in the afternoon, staring at my options for tonight's dinner with the Marcello family. Santino texted this morning with simple instructions: Be ready by five-thirty. Dress appropriately.
Appropriately.
I smile at my reflection. Time to redefine that word.
"You're enjoying this too much," Gia says from my doorway.
"I ate his entire dinner last night." I pull out a dress, hold it up, put it back. "He spent a fortune and left with his stomach growling from hunger. It was beautiful."
"You're terrible."
"I'm strategic." I pull out another dress. This one is almost right. "Tonight, I meet his whole family. His mother, his grandmother, probably aunts and uncles. I need to make an impression."
"The wrong impression."
"The sweet, but exhausting impression." I hold up the dress. It's nice. Too nice, actually. I put it back and grab something slightly less appropriate. "Perfect."
Gia walks in, sits on my bed. "What's the plan for tonight?"
"Be helpful." I start laying out accessories. "Be enthusiastic. Be absolutely overwhelming in my eagerness to please."
"That's it?"
"That's everything." I turn to face her. "His mother already probably thinks I'm odd. Tonight, I'm going to be so devoted, so eager to be part of their family, that she'll wonder what her son is getting himself into."
"And Santino?"
I think about last night. About his face when I kept trading lettuce for steak. About how he didn't say a word when I ate all four desserts. About the way he just watched me drink his cognac while I explained why Madison is definitely the villain this season.
"Santino is starting to realize this might not be as easy as he thought."
"You think he knows what you're doing?"
"No." I'm confident about this. "He thinks I'm just clueless. Enthusiastic but airheaded. Which is perfect."
"What if he figures it out?"
"He won't." I grab the dress and head for my bathroom. "Men like Santino don't expect women to have strategy. They think we're either compliant or difficult, nothing in between. He's trying to figure out which one I am."
"And you're neither."
"I'm both." I grin. "Depends on the moment."
I spend the next three hours getting ready. Hair, makeup, outfit. Everything needs to be just slightly off. Like I'm trying really hard but missing the mark.
The dress is too bright. The jewelry is too much. The shoes are too high.
I look like I'm trying to impress his family. Which means I look like I have no idea what I'm doing.
At five-thirty, the doorbell rings.
Right on time.
I make him wait fifteen minutes. When I finally come downstairs, Santino is standing in the foyer looking at his watch. He's wearing a dark suit, perfectly tailored, and he looks good. Annoyingly good.
He looks up when he hears my heels on the stairs. His expression shifts from impatient to something else. Resignation, maybe?
"You look nice," he says, but there's no warmth in it. Just courtesy.
"Thank you! I tried so hard to pick the right outfit. Do you think your mother will like it?"
He studies my dress. The too-bright color. The too-much jewelry. "I'm sure she'll have an opinion."
That's not a yes.
The drive to his family's house is quiet at first. He's not chatty tonight. Probably still recovering from last night's dinner.
"I'm so excited to meet your whole family!" I break the silence. "Your mother seems lovely. And you have a grandmother, right?"
"Nonna." His voice softens slightly when he says it. "She's ninety-two."
"Ninety-two! That's amazing. Is she doing well?"
"For her age, yes. She lives in the guest house on my parents' property. Has a caretaker who checks on her."
I file this information away. "It must be nice having her close."
"It is."
"I love old people," I say, and this part is actually true. "I volunteer at a senior center twice a month. Have for years."
He glances at me, surprised. "You do?"
"I read to the residents, play cards, just spend time with them." I look out the window. "They have the best stories. And they're happy to have company."
"That's..." He seems to struggle for words. "That's actually really nice."
"My grandmother lived with us until she passed when I was sixteen. I miss her every day." Also true. "Old people deserve respect. Care. Attention. Too many families just warehouse their elderly and forget about them."
Santino is quiet for a moment. "I didn't know that about you."
"You don't know a lot about me yet." I turn to smile at him. "That's what these forty days are for, right?"
"I suppose it is."
We pull up to his parents' house. It's impressive, traditional, with that old-world Italian architecture that screams old money and older values. The kind of place where everything has its place and everyone knows their role.
The kind of place where I'm about to cause chaos.
Santino's mother, Giovanna, greets us at the door. She takes one look at my outfit and I see the judgment in her eyes. Too much. Too bright. Too eager.
"Liana. How lovely to see you again."
"Mrs. Marcello! Thank you so much for having me!" I'm enthusiastic. Maybe too enthusiastic. "Your home is beautiful."
Santino touches my elbow, guiding me inside. His touch is gentle but firm. A warning, maybe. For me to be on my best behavior.
The house is full of people. Aunts, uncles, cousins. More Marcellos than I can count. They all stop talking when we enter, turning to look at me.
I wave at them like I’m a princess in a parade.
Several people blink in confusion.
Santino leans close. "We don't wave."
"Oh. Sorry." I smile at everyone instead.
His mother introduces me around. Aunt Maria. Uncle Giuseppe. Cousin Alessia. On and on. I try to remember names but there are too many.
"Don't worry if you don't remember everyone," Santino murmurs. "There are a lot of us."
"I love big families!" I say loudly. Too loudly. Several people look over. "It must be so wonderful, having everyone together like this."
Giovanna's smile is tight. "We value family above all else."
"That's so beautiful. Family is everything." I mean this, actually. Even if my family is currently trying to marry me off. "When Santino and I are married, I can't wait to be part of all this. Especially around the holidays and special occasions."
The room goes quiet. Santino's hand tightens on my elbow.
Did I say something wrong? I definitely said something wrong.
"Shall we move to the dining room?" Giovanna suggests, her voice strained.
We file into dinner. The table is enormous, clearly meant for gatherings like this. I'm seated next to Santino, of course. His mother is across from us. His father, Vincent, is at the head of the table.
And at the other end, in a high-backed chair that looks almost like a throne, sits his grandmother, Nonna.
She's tiny. Probably under five feet. Her hair is pure white, pulled back in a neat bun. She's wearing all black, traditional, and her eyes are sharp. Missing nothing.
She reminds me of my own grandmother.
I like her immediately.
Dinner is served. Multiple courses, traditional Italian, everything perfect. I'm on my best behavior. I eat slowly from my own plate. I use the right fork. I don't talk with my mouth full.
I'm being good.
Too good.
"Liana," Aunt Maria says from down the table. "Santino tells us you attended the Sorbonne?"
"Yes! I studied art history. It was wonderful."
"And what do you do now? Do you work?"
This is a trap. In their world, women don't work. Women manage households.
"I sit on several charity boards," I say carefully. "And I volunteer. The senior center, mostly. I spend time with the elderly residents."
Nonna's eyes sharpen. She's listening now.
"That's very kind of you," Maria says, though she sounds skeptical.
"I love it. Old people are so wise. So full of stories." I look down the table at Nonna. "I bet you have amazing stories, Nonna."
The old woman studies me for a long moment. "Some."
"I'd love to hear them sometime."
"Would you?"
"Absolutely. If you'd be willing to share."
Something shifts in her expression. Not warmth, exactly. But interest.
The dinner continues. I'm charming. I'm engaged. I ask questions. I laugh at jokes. I'm the perfect potential daughter-in-law.
Which means I'm doing something wrong.
After dinner, we move to the sitting room for coffee. This is my chance.
Nonna is seated in a chair by the window, slightly separated from the main group. I take my coffee and walk over to her.
"May I sit with you?"
She gestures to the chair beside her. "If you wish."
I sit, and for a moment we're quiet. Just two women drinking coffee, watching the family mingle.
"You volunteer with the elderly," Nonna says finally.
"I do. Every other Saturday."
"Why?"
"Because they deserve better than being forgotten." I'm honest now. "Because when my grandmother died, I realized how many old people don't have anyone. And because I genuinely enjoy their company."
Nonna nods slowly. "You were close to your grandmother."
"Very close. She lived with us. She taught me to cook, to play cards, to be strong." I smile at the memory. "She was the one who taught me that being underestimated is sometimes an advantage."
The old woman's eyes gleam. "A wise woman."
"The wisest. I miss her."
We talk for a while. About her life, her family. She tells me about watching her family grow.
She's sharp. Funny. Opinionated.
I genuinely like her. Which makes what I'm about to do feel slightly worse. But only slightly. This is war, after all.
"Nonna," I say quietly. "Do you live alone?"
"I have the guest house. A caretaker comes during the day."
"But at night? You're by yourself?"
"Yes." She says it simply. Factually. "I'm old, child. I'm used to being alone."
"You shouldn't have to be." I set down my coffee cup. "When Santino and I are married, you should come live with us."
The old woman goes very still. "What?"