“So,” she says, voice still raspy but somehow stronger than she sounded for months, “when do I get grandkids from this Riccardo boy?”
I groan and cover my face with both hands. Deep down, I’m smiling. Happy that my work at the restaurant led me to this moment. What would I have done without Riccardo?My Riccardo.“Mom, please. We are not having this conversation.”
“Oh, come on,” she says, tapping my arm with the hand that isn’t covered in wires. “He saved my life. He feeds you. He carries you around like a princess. He looks at you like you hung the moon. What more do you want?”
I laugh because I can’t help it. Her teasing is light and warm and so normal that it makes my chest tighten. A week ago I was begging hospital administrators not to let her die. Now she’s asking me about grandchildren.
“It’s too soon for all that,” I say, smoothing her blanket. “We’ve only been… whatever we are… for a couple of weeks.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced. “And how many times has he visited me?”
I shrug. “Every day.”
“And how many times has he brought you food because he said you ‘forget to eat’?”
“Too many.”
“And how many times has he kissed your cheek when you thought I was asleep?”
I hide my face again. “Mom!”
She laughs, the sound soft and full of life, and for a moment I just look at her—really look. Color in her skin. Warmth in her cheeks. Her breathing even and steady. A week ago her heart was failing. Now she’s teasing me again.
Emotion swells in my throat. I blink fast so I don’t cry in front of her.
A quiet knock comes at the door.
Mom’s eyebrows go up. “And speak of the devil.”
“Don’t say devil,” I whisper. “He takes that as a challenge.”
Riccardo steps inside wearing a dark coat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it all day. He smiles at Mom first—respectful, warm—then his eyes settle on me, and everything inside me loosens at once.
Something in the way he looks at me always feels like coming home.
Mom waves at him. “Well, look who’s here,” she says. “My future son-in-law.”
I nearly choke on air. “Mom!”
Riccardo’s mouth curves into the faintest smile, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he walks straight to me and cups the back of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw.
“You look tired,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice is already softer than I mean it to be.
He studies my face for a moment before leaning down to kiss my forehead. It’s steady, gentle, and it hits me in the chest like a warm ache. Every doubt I had about being too much, too complicated, too expensive—every single one of them feels stupid when he touches me like this.
Mom clears her throat loudly. “I’m awake, you know.”
Riccardo doesn’t look embarrassed at all. “Good,” he says politely. “I wanted to thank you.”
Mom raises a brow. “For what?”
“For giving me your daughter,” he says.
My breath catches.
Her too, I think—because she blinks at him, surprised for once. “Well,” she says slowly, “she’s a handful, but she’s a good girl.”
