Read Online Love & Gelato by Jenna Evans Welch - Free Book Online

for them.”
    â€œDid you guys have to kick out a cannibalistic witch?”
    He gave me a funny look.
    â€œYou know . . . like the witch in Hansel and Gretel?”
    â€œOh.” He laughed. “No, she still comes to visit on major holidays. You meant my grandmother, right?”
    â€œI’m so telling her you said that.”
    â€œGood luck. She doesn’t understand a single word of English. And whenever she’s around, my mom conveniently forgets how to speak Italian.”
    â€œWhere’s your mom from?”
    â€œTexas. We usually spend summers in the States with her family, but my dad had too much work for us to go this year.”
    â€œSo that’s why you sound so American?”
    â€œYep. I pretend to be one every summer.”
    â€œDoes it work?”
    He grinned. “Usually. You thought I was American, didn’t you?”
    â€œNot until you talked.”
    â€œThat’s what counts, though, right?”
    â€œI guess so.”
    He led me to the front door and we walked inside. “Welcome to Villa Caramella. ‘ Caramella’ means ‘candy.’ ”
    â€œHoly . . . books.”
    It was like a librarian’s worst nightmare. The entire room was lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, and hundreds—maybe thousands—of books were mashed haphazardly into the shelves.
    â€œMy parents are big readers,” Ren said. “Also, we want to be prepared if there’s ever a robot uprising and we need to hide out. Lots of books equals lots of kindling.”
    â€œSmart.”
    â€œCome on, she’s probably in her studio.” We made our way through the piles of books to a set of double doors that opened to a sunroom. The floor was shrouded in drop cloths and there was an ancient-looking table holding tubes of paint and a bunch of different ceramic tiles.
    â€œMom?”
    A female version of Ren lay curled up on a daybed, yellow paint streaked through her hair. She looked about twenty years old. Maybe thirty.
    â€œMom.” Ren reached down and shook her shoulder. “ Mamma . She’s kind of a deep sleeper, but watch this.” Bending close to her face, he whispered, “I just saw Bono in Tavarnuzze.”
    Her eyes snapped open and in about half a second she’d scrambled to a standing position. Ren cracked up.
    â€œLorenzo Ferrara! Don’t do that.”
    â€œCarolina, this is my mom, Odette. She was a U2 groupie. Followed them around for a while in the early nineties while they were on tour in Europe. Clearly she still has strong feelings for them.”
    â€œI’ll show you strong feelings.” She reached for a pair of glasses and slipped them onto her nose, giving me a once-over. “Oh, Lorenzo, where did you find her?”
    â€œWe just met on the hill behind the cemetery. She’s living here with her dad for the summer.”
    â€œYou’re one of us!”
    â€œAmerican?” I asked.
    â€œExpatriate.”
    â€œHostage” was more like it. But that wasn’t the sort of thing you told someone you’d just met.
    â€œWait a minute.” She leaned forward. “I heard you were coming. Are you Howard Mercer’s daughter?”
    â€œYes. I’m Lina.”
    â€œHer full name is ‘Carolina,’ ” Ren added.
    â€œJust call me Lina.”
    â€œWell, thank the heavens, Lina—we need more Americans here. Preferably live ones,” she said, waving her hand dismissively in the direction of the cemetery. “I’m so glad to meet you. Have you learned any Italian?”
    â€œI memorized like five phrases on the flight over.”
    â€œWhat are they?” Ren asked.
    â€œI’m not saying them in front of you. I’ll probably sound like an idiot.”
    He shrugged. “ Che peccato .”
    Odette grimaced. “Promise me you’ll never use even one of those phrases in this house. I’m