Franco makes a point of checking his watch as a waiter pours wine into his glass.

“Sorry we’re late, mom,” Sergio says, ignoring his father. “Natalie, this is my uncle, Roman.”

Roman stands, extends his hand to me. I pause. Sergio rubs my back and I try to stop my hand from shaking when I extend it to his. Roman is the man from the night at the warehouse. The one who asked if Sergio needed a cleaner.

His uncle smiles. It’s strange, like that night never happened. “Nice to meet you, Natalie,” he says cordially, sounding very different from how he’d sounded at the warehouse.

I don’t like him. I don’t like him even one little bit.

Sergio pulls out my chair and I sit down. He squeezes my hand under the table.

“You look beautiful, dear,” Sergio’s mom says.

“Thank you, Mrs. Benedetti.”

Mr. and Mrs. Benedetti are sitting across from me. Roman is on Franco’s right and Dominic is beside his mother. Salvatore is the cushion between me and Dominic and I’m grateful for it. There’s something about Dominic that makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Salvatore seems different. Franco and Roman outright terrify me.

Franco rings a bell and I’m startled to see a line of servants appear carrying dish after dish, and, beginning with Franco, serving him, then moving around the table.

Sergio gives me a wink when I glance at him, my eyebrows raised at this formality.

“My father can be elaborate. This is the first course so pace yourself,” he whispers in my ear.

I suddenly look at the place settings, wonder if I’m going to be expected to know which fork goes with which dish. When it’s my turn, I lean away as the servers fill my plate with a pasta dish that makes my mouth water.

It seems they all start talking at once then, Franco with Roman, Dominic with his mom, Salvatore and Sergio with each other as I sink backward in my seat. My stomach growls as I pick up my fork and am grateful for the fact that they’re so loud that no one would have heard.

I’m trying to participate but I’m engrossed just watching them so when Mrs. Benedetti asks me a question, the table goes quiet before I realize she’s talking to me.

“I’m sorry?” I set my fork down and wipe my mouth.

“Sergio tells me you’re studying architecture.”

“Oh. Yes. I’m at the University of Pennsylvania.”

“I majored in architecture way back when,” she says and smiles. I notice she’s barely eaten a bite of her food.

I smile back. “I love it, love houses, especially older homes like Sergio’s or this one.”

“You know, the family has some contacts, if you need help finding work,” Dominic says, shoving a huge mouthful of pasta into his mouth and watching me as he chews.