No Escape by Julie Moffett
Chapter Ten
Lexi Carmichael
“Don’t worry,” Slash murmured, patting my arm. “Oscar’s a good man.” He looked around the room, presumably waiting to introduce me to Oscar before we sat. He didn’t see him, and Lorenzo urged us to take our seats, so Slash kissed my hair and reluctantly left me gripping the back of my chair. I watched as he walked around to the other side of the table and sat between Stefan’s girlfriend, Alessa, and the bride-to-be, Vittoria. All three sat down, and both women began chatting with him immediately.
He made it look so easy.
“May I?” a male voice with a distinctly British accent said, breaking into my thoughts.
“May you what?” I turned around to see a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair. He was dressed in a navy three-piece suit and a vest that seemed slightly too tight across his waist. His bow tie was red and askew, as if he’d been tugging on it. He seemed as uncomfortable in fancy clothes as I was.
He pointed at my chair. I looked at the chair and then back at him, hope springing in my chest. “You want to sit here?”
“No. May I pull the chair out for you? I’m Oscar Thurlow-Davies, Romeo’s—or Slash’s, as he prefers to be called these days—stepfather. You’re Lexi, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” He stuck out his hand.
My cheeks heated as I took his hand and shook it. “Oh, hi, Mr. Thurlow-Davies. Yes, I’m Lexi. It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve been preparing myself to meet you. I mean, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you because you’re Slash’s stepfather.” I snapped my mouth shut. Seriously? Could I sound any more like a dork?
“Please, just call me Oscar.”
I stepped away from the chair. “Sure, Oscar, you can pull the chair out for me, if that’s what you want to do. Not that you’re going to want to do that every time we’re at a table, but if we are, you can feel free to do so.” I cringed at my babbling and wished someone would just shoot me.
Oscar gallantly pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit in it. After I was safely tucked in at the table, he did the same for Mia, who showed up on the other side of me, before seating himself.
Slash glanced over at me, a smile playing at his lips. I think he liked it when I was pushed out of my comfort zone on occasion. I didn’t mind a social challenge occasionally, but I was feeling overwhelmed in a room full of people, at least half of whom I didn’t know, and had to strongly resist the urge to disappear to the bathroom and stay there for the rest of the evening. But having him in sight helped a lot, even if we were separated by a rather large table.
I suspected he knew that, too.
A young man and woman began moving in tandem up and down the table, filling our wineglasses and water goblets and offering an aperitivo, a small glass of liqueur people often drank before the meal in Italy. Tonight, it was prosecco. I didn’t really care for it but downed it anyway because it was a small glass, and I was nervous and trying to fit in. Our glasses were quickly whisked away, and the next course, the antipasto, was served. Tonight, that was thick, crusty bread and an elegant selection of cheese and nuts on a small plate.
I glanced at Mia as she slipped her napkin on her lap. Following suit, I did the same with my napkin. I wasn’t proud of it, but I was glad she was sitting next to me. Maybe dinner wouldn’t be so difficult, as long as I had confidence the teenager had better table etiquette than me.
I tore into a piece of the bread and ate a small piece of cheese before Lorenzo rang the bell again to make another announcement. He stood to the right side of the table, near the door of what I assumed was the kitchen. Beside him stood several other people I hadn’t noticed before but presumed were the castle staff. Lorenzo had said we’d be meeting them at dinner.
“Once again, welcome to Castrum Augustus.” Lorenzo beamed as he looked around the table. “Our owner, Mr. Zachetti, is absolutely delighted you’ve decided to visit the castle and accept the exciting challenges locked within our walls.” He swept out a hand toward the portrait above the fireplace, and my eyes were drawn to his dark gaze again. There were quiet murmurs at the table before he continued. “I wanted to take a moment to introduce you to our staff, who you’ll likely see milling about the place during the day. If you require anything at all during your stay, please do not hesitate to reach out to any one of us.”
Slash met my eyes across the table again and gave me an encouraging nod. I smiled, hoping I was radiating calmness and self-confidence even as I wiped my damp hands on the napkin on my lap. I’m sure he knew better.
“First of all, I’d like to introduce you to your resident chef, Carlo,” Lorenzo continued. A handsome, dark-haired man dressed in an all-black outfit and apron stepped forward, lifting his hand in greeting. “Carlo has taken note of all potential allergies and food dislikes on the short online questionnaire you were asked to fill out before your arrival. But if anything has changed, please do not hesitate to let him know.”
There was a polite smattering of applause at the table, but I didn’t join in because Mia kept her hands firmly on her lap and Oscar didn’t clap, either.
“Carlo is married to Eleanora, our housekeeper,” Lorenzo said as a woman with a pretty smile and brown hair pulled back into a neat bun stepped forward. “If you require extra towels, sheets, toiletries, or anything else for your room, direct your needs to her. These two young and capable servers filling your wineglasses are their twins, Chiara and Ciro.” The twins, whom I presumed to be in their early twenties, gave us a happy wave.
“Standing beside Eleanora is Matteo, the castle groundskeeper, who is also quite handy with tools,” Lorenzo said. Matteo stood at least a half foot taller than Eleanora and was thin with a receding hairline. He looked supremely uncomfortable being highlighted and constantly wrung his gnarled hands together in front of him. I felt an immediate connection.
“You can thank Matteo for maintaining our beautiful gardens,” Lorenzo said. “Now, last, although by no means least, is Brando Porizio, your gamemaster. Brando will lead you through each of the challenges and respond to any questions you may have.”
Brando stood out from the others. He wore tinted glasses despite the fact it was night, and his shirt was forest green with an electric-blue tie. His stringy hair hung to his shoulders, and one piece was braided down the back. I immediately imagined him in a Volkswagen van wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and singing sixties music while strumming a guitar. Brando gave us a quick salute and flashed a smile. Was it my imagination or did his look in my direction linger before he stepped back in line?
“Well, he looks like a total nutter,” Oscar muttered. “This should be interesting.”
I agreed but didn’t say anything. If things went south this weekend, it would be on my shoulders, and I didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole when I was trying to stay focused on acting like a poised, socially competent, and normal daughter-in-law.
“Now, I’d like to play a welcome message from Mr. Zachetti himself,” Lorenzo said.
Eleanora, the housekeeper, rolled in a large flat-screen TV on a cart. She positioned it near Lorenzo, who angled the screen to make sure everyone at the table could see it before turning on the TV with a remote.
“Here you go,” he said, pushing another button. The screen leaped to life with classical music playing as a man with dark hair came into view. He sat at a giant mahogany desk with his back to the camera. On the wall behind him was an enormous image of the Roman Colosseum. Mr. Zachetti started to turn in his chair when the screen suddenly wavered and then froze.
“Oh, my,” Lorenzo said. “It seems we are having technical difficulties.” He pushed several additional buttons on the remote, but nothing worked.
I was just about to volunteer to help when Lorenzo turned off the television. “I’m terribly sorry it isn’t working, but Mr. Zachetti wanted you to know how delighted he is that you’re here and he hopes you will enjoy this one-of-a-kind experience over the next several days. Please, enjoy your dinner, and feel free to join us in the lounge afterward for a final nightcap.”
The staff dispersed, with Lorenzo following Carlo into the kitchen. Chatter started at the table and after a minute, the young man, Ciro, placed a bowl of soup in front of me.
“What kind of soup is this?” I asked him. I was fond of most Italian food, especially if cooked by Nonna, Slash’s grandmother, but I always felt better knowing what I was eating before I ate it.
“Minestrone, ma’am,” he answered softly.
Thank goodness it was something I’d heard of before. He presented Mia with a bowl. She scooped up a spoonful and tasted it before saying something to him in Italian, and he grinned.
“He’s as crazy as a cat in catnip,” Mia whispered to me with a strange southern drawl when he returned to the kitchen to get more soup bowls. “It’s not minestrone.”
I paused, my spoon inches from my lips. “It’s not?”
“It’s not. It’s a spicy version of pasta e fagioli, which is different from minestrone. He may be the son of the chef, but he obviously has no idea about food.” She took another bite, a thoughtful look on her face. “It’s excellent, by the way, if you like your soup spicy.”
I didn’t but wasn’t going to admit that to a teenager. “So, you corrected him?”
“No.” She ate another spoonful. “I told him you thought he was cute.”
“What?” I looked at her in astonishment. “Why would you say that?”
She laughed at the expression on my face. “I’m just joking. Of course, I told him it wasn’t minestrone soup. After that, I told him I liked his tie. I might have been flirting a little. Take a chill tablet.”
It took me a moment to get there. “You mean a chill pill?”
“Oh, yes!” She clapped her hands. “That’s it. I’m learning English slang at school. I’m an exchange student right now at Benjamin Franklin High School in New Orleans. That’s in Louisiana, by the way, which is in the southern part of your America. America is so much fun. I love how they talk in the South. Everyone is friendly and loud, kind of like us Italians. But I especially love Louisiana, because the people there love their food just like we Italians do.”
I had no idea if people from Louisiana liked their food more than people in any other state, but at the moment, I didn’t have a way to confirm that. “I’ve actually never been to Louisiana.”
“Never? Well, as my host mama likes to say, why, bless your heart,” Mia said, pressing a hand to her chest. “You know, the way you Americans talk is almost as much fun as the food. Maybe you’ll come visit me while I’m there.”
The thought of traveling to a state I’d never been to in order to visit a teenager I barely knew was a huge statistical improbability for me. But even I knew enough social convention not to say so aloud. “How old are you, Mia?”
“I’m almost seventeen. My host mama says she’s going to throw me a big shindig when it’s my birthday. I just love the way my host mama talks. It is so different from the English I learned in Italy. I’m really excited you’re here, Lexi. I hope you’ll help me improve my English. Vittoria just thinks I’m crazy most of the time, making up weird phrases.”
I was kind of leaning toward Vittoria’s way of thinking, but I didn’t say so. “Your English is good, Mia. Really good. Just take it easy on the slang.”
“But I want to fit in,” Mia said earnestly. “And be just like every other American teenager.”
She grinned and resumed eating, so I returned to my soup. Mia was right, it was a bit spicy but good, and I was hungrier than I’d thought. I ate another piece of bread and finished off the soup. When I was almost finished eating, I looked up and realized Oscar was staring at me. Maybe he thought it was rude that I’d single-mindedly focused on eating without saying a word to him. I hoped I hadn’t made any slurping noises.
I set down my spoon and quickly wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Is everything okay?”
Oscar’s face was rather flushed, and sweat had started to gather at his temples. I didn’t know if that meant he was hot, sick of me, nervous, or something else.
“The soup is a little spicy for me,” he said, dabbing his napkin at his upper lip. “I didn’t think to mention that on the food questionnaire.”
Now that I thought about it, neither had I. I’d kind of assumed I would like all the food in Italy. At least, so far, that had been my experience. “I’m not a huge fan of spicy, either, but this doesn’t seem too bad.”
“Yes, well, spicy foods and I are not a good mix.” There was an awkward pause, and then he cleared his throat. “By the way, I neglected to welcome you to the family, Lexi.”
Wasn’t that sweet? “Thanks, Oscar. I’m really glad to be a part of it.”
While I was proud of myself for my smooth response, the conversation abruptly came to a halt because I couldn’t think of what else to say and, apparently, neither could Oscar. I desperately searched for something to say when I remembered the guidelines for talking with the in-laws.
Get him to talk about himself.