When in Rome Read Online Free PDF Page A

on laser hair removal, met a Spanish guy, and now they’re getting married.”
    How appalling. So Beatrice got plastic surgery. I wonder if there’s anything original left on her body. “She must have really worked to keep it from me, since I’m finding out so late.”
    “But such controversy! Try to understand—that belly!”
    “She had a tummy tuck, too?”
    “I’m talking about the twins! Carlotta, have you been drinking?”
    “What? Twins? Mom, I don’t even know what you’re talking about—”
    “She’s six months pregnant and she’s huge. She wasn’t sure about getting married before giving birth, but Aunt Palma really got after her.”
    “Ah . . .”
    “Getting pregnant was a good thing for her. Time flies. You blink, and you’ve hit menopause! Don’t you think it’s time you got to it with some nice young man?”
    “Mom!” I blush and my eyes dart involuntarily toward Luca, who’s draining the spaghetti. Fortunately he can’t hear a single word of my mother’s delusional nonsense.
    “You’re not at all bad-looking, my dear!” she says in a burst of maternal generosity. “If you just committed yourself to it . . . But I’ve found you a perfect date for the wedding!”
    I shudder and my stomach churns. This same thing happened when I was eighteen. I didn’t have a date to the end-of-the-year dance at school—and I didn’t care—but my mother set me up with the seventeen-year-old son of one of her bridge friends and forced me to go. He was seemingly innocuous, but once we were alone, he kept trying to root around under my dress. The thought of the adult version of a guy like that accompanying me to Beatrice’s wedding makes my face burn. I fan myself with my hand.
    Luca passes by, ruffling my hair. He points to the pasta and spreads his arms wide, whispering something about how much my mother loves to talk. Meanwhile, my mother, mistaking my silence for respectful attention, is waxing on about the importance of sowing your seeds while you’re still young.
    “I had you at twenty-six! That’s only three years younger than you are now! Do you want your children to call you grandma?”
    “Gotta go, Mom,” I cut her off while Luca seasons the spaghetti and hang up the handset feeling sweaty, like I did the first time I saw The Exorcist . I’m on my way to the bathroom to rinse my face with cold water when the phone rings again. I’m tempted to ignore it, sure it’s my mother again, but I don’t want Luca to hear her ranting on the machine. I snatch up the phone. “If I get pregnant I’ll let you know, but I’ll decide who puts the bun in the oven!”
    I realize too late that my mother is not on the other end of the line.
    “Hello? Ms. Lieti? May I please speak to Ms. Carlotta Lieti?” It’s a man.
    “Yes, this is she. Who is this?”
    “This is Franz Eisner.”
    The executive producer. The blond guy that winked at me.
    “Oh, sure . . .”
    Luca stares at me with curiosity.
    “We met this morning, remember?”
    “Of course.” My mouth is wide open. I look like a fish gasping for breath. He’s probably about to tell me that the director wants to sue me for emotional distress. I don’t have the money to pay my lawyer. I don’t even have a lawyer.
    “We’d like to bring you on. If you’re still interested, the job’s yours.”
    “Wait, what?” I’m amazed that he hasn’t asked if I’m drunk. Who would hire someone who picks up the phone sounding like she’s sloshed at one in the afternoon?
    “As I said, your resume is interesting, and I know how to convince Rocky. By the way, he’s from Apulia, so you really are from the same area. Could you come sign your contract next week?”
    With the phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear, I dance a ridiculous Zumba move. Then a memory nags me like a pebble in my shoe.
    “Of course. But I have to ask you—what did you mean when you said I’ll have to find some unusual items?”
    I hear a laugh on the other