Her Italian Millionaire by Carol Grace

door. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring at her. He was wearing skin-tight black pants, a white shirt unbuttoned half way down his chest and a whole set of gold chains around his neck.
    “Ciao, bella,” he said at last. “Da dove viene?”
    At last, some Italian she could understand. A phrase right out of the book.
    “Sono di Stati Uniti,” she said carefully.
    He laughed loudly. “You're American,” he said. “I should have known.”
    The corners of her mouth drooped. Just when she'd found somebody to practice her Italian on, he started speaking English.
    He held out his hand. “I am Rocco,” he said as if she should know. As if she'd at least heard of him.
    She shook his hand. “How do you do. My name is Anne Marie.”
    “May I ask what you are doing in the house of my grandmother?” he asked.
    “Your grandmother?” she asked. Of course Marco wasn't her only grandson. There might be many others. This might be a family get-together that she didn't belong at. “I came with Marco, just stopping by for a moment on my way out of town.”
    He nodded, giving her a long, appraising look from head to toe. “Of course. So you are one of Marco's girls.”
    “I'm not a girl, and I'm not Marco's,” she said. “I'm a tourist, that's all. Just passing through.”
    He nodded as if that was always the case with “Marco's girls.” “Where are you from?” he asked.
    “California.”
    “My cousin Georgio lives in LA.”
    “I live near San Francisco.”
    He put one hand over his heart. “I left my heart in San Francisco,” he sang in a poor imitation of Tony Bennett. “Did you leave your heart there too?”
    “No,” she said. “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”
    “I'm just now returning from the States,” he said. “I go every summer to work for my uncle in Maryland. Do you know Ocean City?”
    She shook her head.
    “He has a cannoli stand on the boardwalk. Ocean City is a fantastic place in the summer. You would love it.”
    “I'm sure I would. I love cannoli.”
    Rocco sniffed the air. “I hope I'm in time for lunch. It smells like puttanesca sauce.” Then he sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and stretched his legs out in front of him. “So Ana Maria,” he said. “Sit down and tell me more about yourself. If you are not one of my cousin's girls, who are you?”
    She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and finally perched on the edge of the sofa across the room from him.
    “Just a tourist,” she repeated. “Traveling on my own.”
    “On your own? No husband? No family?”
    “I'm not married. And I'm old enough to be on my own, believe me. I have a son in college.”
    Rocco's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in surprise, or at least in mock surprise. Anne Marie almost laughed at his response, it was so dramatic.
    “I can't believe this,” he said.
    Inside her wallet was a recent picture of her with Tim at graduation. She crossed the room to show it to Rocco. “This is my son.” She couldn't help the pride that crept into her voice.
    “So, it is true,” Rocco said, staring at the picture. “I see the resemblance. He's a handsome boy. He takes after you.” He stood and handed back the photo, but caught Anne Marie's wrist between his thumb and forefinger. “You say Marco is not your boyfriend.”
    “Of course not,” she said. “I just met him yesterday.”
    “That means nothing to Marco. He's a fast worker.”
    Anne Marie sensed a certain amount of cousin rivalry in the air.
    “Do you have a boyfriend?” Rocco asked.
    “No.”
    “Marco doesn't bring just any girl to the house of our grandmother, so I am wondering....”
    “There's nothing to wonder about. I'm here only by accident.”
    “By accident? There was an accident? Was that how you met? Did you break the law or lose your passport or are you wanted by Interpol for some high crime?”
    “No,” she said with a laugh.