La bella luna, p.1
La Bella Luna, page 1
La Bella Luna by Nicole Sharp
Copyright © March 2024 The Writing Moose
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. Please respect the author’s hard work. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, and company names are the property of their respective owners. The Writing Moose is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
eBook: 979-8-9895734-3-1
Print: 979-8-9895734-2-4
Cover by A. M. Rasmussen
Editing by Ariane Kimlinger at Owl Focus Editing
Italian language Editing: Kathleen Sharp
For more information visit: www.nicolesharpwrites.com
Contents
Dedication
Title Page 2
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Bucket List
Note to the reader
Thank you!
Also by
About the Author
For all those facing ghosts and sifting through the old stories …
You're never too old and it's never too late.
Chapter One
Luciano’s restaurant did a good business on Thursday nights. They weren’t as generic or economic as the Olive Garden, but they weren’t as expensive as the four-star Italian restaurants across town with their hoity-toity, al dente, authentic homemade dishes that put on airs.
There were other options for Italian restaurants, but for those you had to drive forty-five minutes into the city and deal with traffic and parking and reimagined recipes that were often described as “East meets West” or “Italian inspired.”
Luciano’s didn’t make everything from scratch and some of their wait staff had trouble with the law every now and then. There were a few after-hours poker games that had turned raucously quarrelsome; but there was a level of consistent quality and treatment that kept customers returning.
Owner Rita Campitelli, a third-generation Italian, told people she named the restaurant for her grandfather, the first of her family to come to America. The truth was that it was cheaper to keep the name of the previous restaurant; it came with the proper business licenses and she liked the existing sign, a rectangle with yellow backing and a maroon flourish of script reading Luciano’s.
Years later it didn’t even matter, as no one recalled that there’d been a different owner of the restaurant. After twenty years, Rita had a loyal customer base that were like family.
She worked the room Thursday through Sunday night; shaking hands, inquiring as to whether or not her customers were having a good meal, and plugging in a few familial details of those she knew: “How’s your daughter? Ready to graduate high school soon, right?” “I saw your son and his fiancé in here the other night, you should be so proud to have raised such a well-mannered young man.”
Rita also used her third-generation Italian-ness to her advantage. She put on a bit of an accent when she pronounced the names of dishes and sprinkled her customers with overused Italian phrases like ‘mangia’ (eat) and ‘va bene’ (very good). Her superpower was putting her guests at such ease they offered their own declaration of ‘grazie’ and grinned at their attempts of being ‘Italian.’
Rita just finished a round of meet and greet and was headed back to the kitchen when she noticed one of her waiters peeking around the corner, staring intently at one of his tables.
“What are you doing?” she hissed in a whisper when she was close enough.
He pointed toward one of Luciano’s loyal customers with his nose. “Mr. Anthony, he’s gonna propose,” he said, still in shock.
“Really?”
Ten years ago, ‘Mr. Anthony’ started coming to Luciano’s twice a week. A year ago, he began coming in every Thursday night with Diana, a woman in her early fifties, maybe late forties; it was hard to tell. Rita felt Diana could be described with one adjective: average. Average height, maybe five six. Average face, drawn, showing signs of her age and indifference to makeup. Average body weight, maybe. She wore sensible, drab clothes that hung in straight shapes; clean and in place, but not flattering and without even the remotest hint of flare. And her dark auburn hair, always up in a tight, practical bun, showed more signs of age in the gray streaks throughout.
Diana was simply average. Which, in Rita’s opinion, made Diana a good fit for the doughy, fidgety, Mr. Anthony. It was only a matter of time before the lifelong bachelor figured out marrying the woman might be a good idea. In fact, looking between the couple, marriage might do them both some good. They’d have stability and comfort. Not passion though. Rita shook her head sadly, it wasn’t everyone who got passion.
“Do you think she’ll say yes?” the waiter whispered, covering his mouth as if the words might jinx Mr. Anthony’s chances.
“Probably.” Rita shrugged.
“She’ll probably start cooking for him. You think we’ll see them anymore if she says yes?”
Bachelors. Lonely, older bachelors, were the backbone of Rita’s business. Luciano’s bread and butter, she liked to joke.
The waiter didn’t wait for Rita to weigh in on his questions and continued his confused diatribe, “Why would a man get married so late in life?”
Rita thought about trying to explain human nature to her employee, but he was young and there wasn’t enough time; and really, she didn’t have the patience.
“Did he tell you he was going to propose?” she asked instead.
He gave a distracted nod. “He got my attention earlier when she was in the bathroom. He’s gonna propose and when she says yes, he wants me to bring two glasses of champagne over.”
“Not a whole bottle?” Rita raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Anthony …” the waiter glanced around as if he were trying to figure out how to explain it, “he’s not flashy.”
That was one way to put Mr. Anthony’s frugality.
“No, he’s not.” Rita hid a smile as she watched the moment unfold across the room. After several seconds, she slapped the waiter on the back and continued to the kitchen. She had better things to do than worry about losing one bachelor customer.
Anthony nervously wiped his hands on his napkin then gently set it down on the table beside his plate. “Diana. Do you ...” He cleared his throat as the question lodged itself in his esophagus. He took a drink of water and started again, “What I mean is … I mean … I know it’s Thursday, and I’m leaving tonight.” Another clearing of his throat gave Diana time to patiently ask, “What is it Anthony?”
He stuttered for a moment and then choked out, “Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you.” Diana smiled and took a bite.
Anthony leaned forward. “I know it’s two days late. I had that big project and then, with getting ready to go out of town …” He held out his hands in an apology.
Diana gave an understanding wave of her fork. “I know. It’s alright.”
“The flowers were nice?” He asked after the large bouquet he’d sent her.
“They were lovely.” She paused and tilted her head, watching as worry pulled his eyebrows up, unearthing his subtle charm; something others tended to miss about him. “It was such a big arrangement, it takes up the whole coffee table.”
“I told the florist you loved wildflowers and she said she had an idea.”
Diana reached out and patted his hand. “They’re beautiful.”
“Good.” Anthony nodded and again cleared his throat then licked his lips nervously.
Diana turned her attention back to her food. Anthony quietly tried to clear his throat, but made a strange sound, began to cough and stood abruptly, pushing the chair back so fast it fell over with a thud.
Diana’s ey es widened in alarm.
Continuing to cough and apologize with a nod to the people around him, he reorganized himself and the chair.
Concerned, Diana asked, “Are you okay?”
He took a shaky drink of his water and nodded. Gathered once more he assured her, “I’m okay.”
She narrowed her gaze and waited a moment. “You sure?”
“Yes. I’m okay.” He picked up his fork and twirled his pasta around with it.
Diana shook her head before turning her attention back to her food. So, it was out of the corner of her eye that she saw Anthony’s slight movement.
He slipped out of his chair and onto his knees. Slowly. Quite ungraceful. The movement was awkward; like a small child trying to sneak out of a chair without anyone noticing. Only, he was fifty years old and slightly overweight, so the table wobbled when he pressed against it and moved onto the floor. When he was finished with the maneuver, he was kneeling next to the table.
Diana’s frown increased as she watched the strange display. “What are you doing?”
He opened and closed his mouth but no words came, causing Diana to drop her fork and hold out her hands toward him. “Are you having a stroke?”
“What? No. No!” He took her hands in his. “Diana, I’m trying to ask if you … if you …” He took as deep a breath as he could muster before forcing words. “Diana, will you marry me?”
Diana raised an eyebrow in answer. She felt as if the rush of breath that held the question she’d not been expecting on a Thursday night, their usual date night, had flipped the tables and it was Dianna’s turn to feel unsure. But instead of forcing her chair back in shock, she took her time to consider Anthony.
The passing moments became so painfully awkward Anthony let her hand drop and pulled the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket to dab at the gathering sweat on his brow.
“Is there a ring?” Diana whispered the question when he put the handkerchief away.
“A ring?” He looked confused.
Diana patted the side of his face and instructed him to sit back in his chair. He did, then leaned forward with rapt attention, anxiously awaiting her reply.
“Anthony,” she began, “you know I was married before.”
“He left you widowed and alone with no money.” He recited her past with such a conciseness it shook Diana more than the proposal. Anthony quickly added, “I can take care of you. I want to take care of you and build a life with you.”
She shook her head to realign herself with the moment. “We eloped then, but I always regretted not having a wedding.”
Anthony nodded as if he understood, but the frown of confusion contradicted his agreement. Diana knew she wasn’t making much sense, so her face softened as she explained, “Anthony, I’d like a wedding this time. And a ring.” She winked at him.
“But you’re forty-five years old …” he stuttered, as if there was an expiration date on the age a person could have a wedding ceremony.
Diana’s smile faded and she pointed at Anthony. “And you’re fifty.” She was well aware of her age. She found proof of it every time she looked at herself in the mirror. Straightening her spine, she asked, “What’s wrong with being forty-five?”
“I just thought … aren’t we a little old …?”
“I’m not talking about something extravagant with hundreds of people and a dress that makes me look like a marshmallow. Just a small celebration. A wedding with our closest family and friends.”
“Your parents don’t like me,” he said.
Diana waved the truth away. “They like you fine.”
“Our closest family and friends …” He took another deep breath. “So, does this mean … that you’ll …” He raised his eyebrows in question.
Instead of answering, Diana asked, “Did you really plan on proposing to me without a ring?”
A blush crept up his cheeks as he shifted in his chair. “I couldn’t think about anything other than the question itself and taking you to dinner tonight.”
Just then Rita Campitelli stepped forward. “I’m so sorry, but when Anthony was on his knees, I was concerned. So I came over to see if everything was okay and overheard your conversation.”
Diana pursed her lips. Rita Campitelli didn’t just overhear any conversation, she made it her business to overhear. She was an accomplished gossip.
Rita held out a ring to Anthony. “If you’ll allow me to help. This was the ring my first husband gave me.” She looked at the ring lovingly. “Perhaps you could use it until you’re able to buy a proper ring for your fiancé?”
Wide-eyed, Anthony took the ring gently from Rita and gave her a nod of thanks, then holding it aloft between his thumb and index finger, he turned in slow motion and reverently held it out to Diana. His eyebrows pulled so far upward, his hope was tangible.
“Ask her again,” Rita instructed.
“Diana, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself a bit by the answer, but also finding strength in her reply. “Yes, Anthony, I will.”
Rita clapped her hands together and waved the waiter over to bring the champagne. The tables nearby began to clap and Diana held out her hand toward Anthony for the ring. When it didn’t fit her ring finger, she told him to put it on her pinky instead.
Once they were each handed a glass, they happily tapped them together. Anthony looked relieved and giddy. He was a good man, she thought as she watched him over the top of her glass. She enjoyed being with him and a thrill ran through her, realizing she was embarking on a new life, one of security and companionship. She wouldn’t be alone any longer.
Anthony set his glass down and called out to the waiter, “Could we get the check please?” Giving an apologetic smile to Diana, he admitted, “If I had more courage, I could have asked you earlier and we could have enjoyed our meal. Now,” he glanced at his watch, “I need to get going and the food …”
Diana shook her head. “I don’t care. I’m so happy.”
“You are?”
“I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t mean it.”
His grin widened as he picked up his glass. He gently touched it once again to hers. “You said yes.”
“I said yes.” She grinned.
Chapter Two
Anthony drove Diana back to her office where they’d decided to meet before dinner. During the fifteen-minute drive, he held her hand, and brought it to his lips several times to brush a kiss on her knuckles.
“I could have driven you to the airport,” she said.
“I know, but the company will pay for the Uber and that way you don’t have to deal with the traffic there and back.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.” She squeezed his hand.
He pulled to a stop next to her car in the now empty parking lot, but didn't turn it off immediately.
“Anthony?” Diana called, asking after the still idling car.
He turned toward her, a gleam in his eye, and put his hand on the back of her headrest. “You make me a better man.”
Diana felt a brief flutter twirl in her chest. “‘Thank you.”
He nodded and touched a finger to her cheek, shaking his head. “I’m a lucky man, thank you for saying yes.”
She smiled and touched his hand. “I’m a lucky woman.”
The alarm he’d set on his phone so he wouldn’t be late went off. He turned off the car and climbed out.
Diana joined him by the trunk as he attempted to free his suitcase, yanking it, then frowning when it wouldn’t budge.
She opened her mouth to say she could help just as he put most of his torso in the trunk to find the culprit. “The wheel’s stuck behind the carpeted wheel well,” he called. After freeing the case he stood and gave another forceful yank, but because the case was free from impediments, he lost his balance and stumbled backward a step.
Diana pressed a hand against his back. “Whoa.”
He caught himself and let the case drop next to him with a thump before turning his attention to the car with a neon Uber sign on the dash pulling into the parking lot.
“My ride.” He announced the obvious and closed the trunk.
Diana pulled Anthony’s attention back to her. He slid his arm around her waist and lowered his lips to hers. It was a soft kiss, filled with sweetness and promise.
