Lucia called in the early evening.
Isabella was rinsing rice in the sink, sleeves rolled up, the apartment quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. She glanced at her phone and smiled before answering.
"Mama."
"Isabella," Lucia said warmly. Then, with a pause far too deliberate to be innocent, "are you busy cooking for someone again?"
Isabella frowned. "I'm cooking because people need to eat."
Lucia hummed. "Mm. People."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Mama?"
Lucia laughed softly. "I was just thinking… you know, you should get married soon."
Isabella nearly dropped the bowl.
"What?" she said, heat rushing to her face. "Mama!"
Lucia's voice danced with amusement. "What? Am I not allowed to think about my daughter's future?"
"I'm not even—" Isabella stopped herself, exhaling.
Lucia chuckled. "No, you're worse. You're pretending you're not in love."
Isabella shook her head even though her mother couldn't see her. "I'm not in love."
"Is that so?" Lucia asked gently. "Then why do you sound offended?"
Isabella leaned against the counter. "Because you're teasing me."
"Am I?" Lucia said lightly. "Or am I observant?"
Silence stretched.
Lucia continued, softer now. "I heard your voice last week. It was… brighter."
Isabella closed her eyes. "Mama, please."
Lucia didn't push. She never did when it mattered.
"I'm only saying," she said, "that when a good man stands beside you without asking for anything, it's worth noticing."
Isabella swallowed. "That doesn't mean love."
"No," Lucia agreed. "But it doesn't mean it isn't, either."
Isabella smiled despite herself. "You sound like Andrea."
Lucia laughed. "He learned from me."
They talked a little longer—about the restaurant, about Marcello's health, about nothing important.
Before hanging up, Lucia said quietly, "Just don't lie to yourself, my heart."
The call ended.
Isabella stood there for a moment, staring at the rice in the bowl.
She shook her head, muttering, "Ridiculous."
She went back to cooking.
But her cheeks were warm.
And when there was a knock at the door a few minutes later—and Xavier's voice greeted her from the hallway—her heart betrayed her all over again.
Not like a lovesick high school girl.
Like a woman afraid of naming something real.