The Scent and The Siren

‎♡‧₊˚nine ‎♡‧₊˚

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." The bigger and friendlier Prince Harry look-alike guy out of the three, sporting a dark beard, a ponytail, and an Australian accent, flashes me a warm, flirty smile. "Do you want to go out with me for a date tonight? Please say yes."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have a strict 'no dating' policy for the next 100 years." I wink, "Here's your order of ginger ale and 16" rustic double pepperoni. Amazingly crisp, bursting with flavors, loaded with cheese, and has a crust that doesn't feel like a chore when you eat. It's New York's finest. Enjoy!"

"I'll take it from here." The server whose fifteen minutes of extra break from the shift I was covering appears next to me and takes the notepad from my hand. "God, my roommate can be a real bitch at times. You're a lifesaver, Juliette. Thank you so much for covering up for me, and I'm so sorry. You came here to see Nonna, and I unnecessarily imposed myself on you."

"Don't worry about it. She wasn't here anyway." I remove the apron, handing it back to her.

"She just arrived. She uses the rear entrance these days."

"Well, I better say hi, or she'll be mad at me if she finds out I left without meeting her."

"Be prepared to get scolded. Celebrities are crowding the restaurant because of your recommendations. She's annoyed that common people can't eat in peace anymore with the paparazzi hanging outside the restaurant most of the time." She winks playfully.

I chuckle and walk past the dark red velvet curtain shielding the kitchen interior from public view. The space is crammed with chefs preparing the orders and the staff waiting to collect them. The owner of this 100-year-old Italian pizzeria Bella Napoli is standing in her loose-fitted colorful muumuu dress, helping her chefs and ranting about people's habit of wasting food.

I've been a frequenter since I was 14. My mother was a typical almond mom. Carefully curated diet prepared by her team of experts was all I was allowed to eat. So every time it became too much for me, I would sneak out and come here without anyone's knowledge. Nonna would serve her delicious pies that the rebellious me would eat heartily, something I wouldn't dare do under normal circumstances.

"I missed you, Nonna." I sneak a hug from behind.

"You're back!" She turns around, but her excitement dissolves, and her eyes narrow as she scans me from top to bottom. "Have you been skipping meals again?"

"Ew, stop making a fuss. Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am not happy you're thinner every time I see you. Not an ounce of decent fat on your body. You're not a model. Stop eating like one!" She snaps. "But I am happy you're no longer in the country of snobbish Frenchmen." Her hand reaches out to adjust my hair. "My father used to say never trust those French people. They're so arrogant as if they're god's gifts to humans."

"Hey Juliette, you should waitress here in your free time. Everyone's looking for that hot waitress in expensive haute couture," someone notes from behind with a laugh.

"How often do I have to tell you not to help any of the staff, Piccola?" Nonna snaps softly, smoothing the tiny crease around the waist area of my nude double-breasted Burberry trench-style mini dress that has developed from the apron I wore earlier. "These expensive clothes of yours do not deserve to be so recklessly treated. What if you end up spilling food on it?

"I am usually quite diligent about it, so stop moaning, old woman." I put my arms on her shoulders. "You looked so pleasant smiling next to the Obamas last week. He shared about his visit here on his social media profiles with a picture of you two and a long-ass note. Why don't you smile more often like that?"