I introduced myself and sat next to Nonni, avoiding my mom again. We’d had a good afternoon and she’d bought me a delicate bracelet with tiny gold balls that I loved. I was still pissed, but her fall had scared me, so I’d decided to be nice. She’d seemed different for those few hours—totally dialed in and not once checking her phone. But when we got back to the hotel, she got that distracted look in her eyes again and said she had to work before dinner, and we’d ended up being super late and almost missing the bus. So embarrassing. Then the entire ride she was texting and ignoring us, so it was like she reverted back.

I studied how the bracelet caught the light and watched Mom excuse herself from the table to hurry into the hallway, phone clutched in her hand. Irritation hit me, but I tried to ignore it. If she wanted to ruin dinner in a castle by worrying about work, that was her issue. She’d warned me already about being on my phone during social time, but now I didn’t care. If I wanted to call or text David twenty-four seven, she had no right to tell me no.

At least Nonni was having fun. She was swaying to the music—which was all old-fashioned Sinatra and Martin—and chatting with Dana and Steve while we were served our first dish of pasta.

The waiter placed the bowl, which was filled to the brim, in front of me. “This is too much,” I said, blinking at the huge portion.

“No too much,” he said with a wink. “Mangia.”

I shook my head, but he’d moved on. He was older, probably in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a handsome, chiseled face. Dressed in a clean white suit, he looked less like a server and more like the owner, but everything was so elegant here I shouldn’t be surprised at the staff outfits.

“I’ve never seen so much food in my life,” the woman to my right said.

I turned and smiled. “Me either. My grandmother taught me to make homemade pasta, but there’s something different about this.”

“I heard it was the water,” she said. “Each region tastes a bit different, from the pasta to the oils to the wine.”

“Yes, makes sense. Oh, I’m Allegra. I’m here with my mom and grandmother.”

“We’ve been meaning to introduce ourselves. I’m Hana, this is Dan”—she motioned toward her husband—“and this is our son, Kai.”

Hana had beautiful black hair and fair skin. She was petite and dressed in a black cocktail dress with sparkly heels. Her husband was much taller, with broad shoulders and big hands, like a football player. I waved at the boy, who smiled back. “Hi, Kai. How do you like Italy so far?”