I’ve never seen the resemblance with my mother apart from the color of my hair, maybe the same pouted lips and eye color. But my mother is beautiful, whereas I’m just average.  

“My mother got the looks, but I inherited all the brains,” I whisper back as my mother swans off to fill the coffee pot while still gushing and chattering animatedly about our arrival.  

“Bambina,” he whispers back, “You got the beauty too. More than your mother did.” He leans down and ...