Alex sat at the head of the table. He was 28, a multi-millionaire, and a global superstar. But here, he was just Alex.
His mum, Sarah, placed a giant bowl of peas on the table.
"Eat your greens," she said. "You look pale. Are you eating enough in Italy? Or just pasta?"
"I eat well, Mum," Alex said. "We have a nutritionist."
"Does this nutritionist know how to make gravy?" she asked, pouring a thick brown liquid over his plate. "I doubt it. Italians make sauce, not gravy."
"It is delicious, Mum," Alex said, taking a bite. It tasted like home.
Leo was sitting next to him. He was trying to build a mashed potato volcano.
"Grandma," Leo asked. "Did Dad eat his peas when he was little?"
"He tried to hide them in his pockets," Sarah laughed. "One day, I found a pocket full of mushy peas in his school trousers. It was disgusting."
"Tactical concealment," Alex muttered.
