Swallowing her anxiety, Keira followed him through the living room, under the arch, along the corridor and out through the glass doors. The smell of burning wood floated into Keira’s nostrils, and she could feel the warmth of its firelight on her cheeks.

At last, she caught sight of what had been obscured from her view. Cristiano’s parents were sat on a comfortable wicker garden couch. There was a bottle of wine on the table, along with numerous glasses, and a fire pit burned before them. A young couple, who were sitting on the couch facing the other way, turned at the sound of their approaching footsteps.

Cristiano spoke first. “Mamma, Papa, questra a la Keira.”

His parents’ faces burst into delighted smiles, as warm and inviting as the fire burning before them. They looked too young to be Cristiano’s parents, Keira thought. Both had clear complexions, olive skin, and not a single wrinkle in sight.

Cristiano’s mom unfolded her legs from beneath her and stood. She was dressed in a loose tunic, and the several large metal bracelets she wore on her arms clanked loudly as she reached out and took Keira’s cheeks in her hands. She bestowed kisses on her, her scent as floral as the Italian countryside.

“I’m Sabrina,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She gestured to the man behind her. “This is my husband, Francesco.”

It was Cristiano’s father’s turn to kiss Keira’s cheeks in greeting. She blushed, unsure she’d ever get used to the intimacy. Finally, the young couple on the opposite seat stood.

“I’m Pippa, Cristiano’s baby sister,” the girl said, grinning widely, kissing Keira.

Her companion stood. “Raffaele,” he announced. “Husband.”

“Raff’s English is not very good,” Pippa said, laughing. “You must excuse him.”

Everyone sat, and Keira found a glass of wine placed in one hand, a ramekin of olives in the other.

Sabrina spoke first, tucking her legs beneath her on the sofa again and swilling her wine glass.

“I will embarrass my son now,” she said. “He speaks very highly of you.”

“And often,” Pippa added.

Far from embarrassed, Cristiano looked proud. Keira, on the other hand, blushed.

“That’s very flattering,” she said, tipping her gaze down to her wine glass.

“You’re a writer?” Pippa asked. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Keira said. “I’m a travel writer for a magazine. We take a slightly different approach to our articles. They’re somewhere between journals and memoirs. And travel information, of course.”

Pippa look enthralled. “What are you working on now?” she asked, placing her chin on her fist and looking at Keira with curiosity. “Florence?”

“Italy in general. Whether it really is the most romantic country in the world.”

Everyone laughed then, and Pippa translated quickly for Raffaele’s benefit. He spoke back to her, and Pippa turned to Keira.

“Raff says that there is no other country as romantic as Italy. We are the most passionate people in the world.”

Keira smiled. “I’m starting to get that impression.”

Francesco leaned forward then, addressing Keira with an expression of interest that matched the rest of his family.