fine, thank you.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m six. How old are you?”
She laughed softly. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“Dino,” Vincenzo whispered in Italian. “You should never ask a woman her age.”
He bit his lip.
“It’s all right,” she said to Dino, having understood without translation. “You’re a very smart, polite boy.” Her eyes lifted to Vincenzo, a question in them, and he saw a glint of something undecipherable; anxiety maybe. He decided to enlighten her.
“When you came to Riomaggiore two months ago, my son was with his mother and stepfather in Milan. I’ve been divorced five years.”
“I see.” She studied him intently. “Dare I tell you he’s adorable and that one day he’ll grow up to be even more handsome than his secretive father?”
Something about her was different. He had yet to discover what it was. “You mean as secretive as the almost Signorina Simonides? According to the newspaper, she hasn’t been available since the CEO himself sailed away with his new American bride.”
He thought she might blush, or at least look away. Instead she said, “Touché.”
Her lack of outrage was as surprising as it was intriguing.
Dino turned to him. “Papa? Can she come in?”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes. She’s nice.”
Agreed. “Then I’ll ask her.” He shot her a glance. “He wants to know if you would like to come in.”
She pondered the invitation for a moment. “Only if it doesn’t interfere with your plans.”
“Signorina Spiros wants to come in,” he whispered to Dino, then moved forward to unlock the door.
Irena went inside but she feared her heart was pounding so loud, Vincenzo could hear it. After spending the last night of her business trip here two months ago, she knew his apartment fairly well. Comfortably furnished with a view of the sea to die for from the balcony, she found it incredibly charming. But something new had been added.
On the kitchen counter was an assembly of little boys’ toys. The kitchen table had half a dozen board games sitting on top, one of matching cards still in progress. In the living room lay a soccer ball in one corner. A small golf club with plastic balls had been left in another corner. She saw a little bicycle propped against the outside railing near the telescope, all signs that a boy lived here.
Vincenzo had a son, but he’d never said a word about him. He came up behind her. His body was close enough she could feel his warmth. “Dino wants to show you his room.”
She walked down the hallway to the door he’d opened for her. When she’d been here before, Vincenzo had indicated it was the guest bedroom, but he’d carried her past the closed door to his own room.
Inside she saw a lot more toys placed around, but what she noticed were framed pictures, some small ones on the bedside table and two large ones on the wall. They showed Dino and his father taken at different times and seasons.
Irena walked over to one of the photos where they were up on the turret of a castle in winter. Father and son were so attractive in their ski gear, she smiled. “I like this one.”
“That is Svizzera.”
“Switzerland?” she clarified. When he nodded she said, “Do you like castles?”
Vincenzo stood in the doorway. He translated for his son. “She wants to know if you like castles.”
Dino looked up at her earnestly. “Yes.”
“Do you have any soldiers? Or should I say knights?”
His son looked to him for help. After another translation Dino said, “I have um…forty.”
“Forty?” she cried with a smile. “That’s molto!”
When she spoke the Italian word, Dino laughed and rushed to a large case that he opened to show her all of his toy knights inside. She picked out one in full body armor and held it up to examine closely before putting it back. “This is an amazing army of warriors you have here.” Vincenzo translated, causing Dino to beam. He was precious.
“Come in the living room,” her host murmured. She moved past him and felt his gaze sweep over her. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“Neither one, thank you. I ate at the Lido Hotel before I came here. It’s where I’m staying whilst I’m here.”
“Did you come to Riomaggiore by train?”
“No. I flew to Genoa, then rented a car.”
She moved through the apartment to the kitchen table. One of the games of jumping monkeys needed no translation; Irena wanted a little more time to gather her thoughts so she opened the box. When she smiled at Dino, he scrambled around the other side of the table to help set things up. He seemed eager to play.
After she took a seat, Vincenzo found his place at the end of the table and they started the game. For half an hour they scrambled to make the monkeys cling to the spinning trees. Dino taught her to say scimmia for monkey.
Irena really got into the game, causing Vincenzo to step up the competition. Dino let out a shriek of laughter, followed by Irena’s. Things came down to every man for himself with Vincenzo’s continual chuckle adding to the fun. Pretty soon all the monkeys lay on the table or had fallen on the floor.
As she helped put the game away, she checked her watch. She’d been here long enough. It was time for his boy to be in bed. So far Vincenzo had said nothing of a personal nature in front of Dino, but naturally he wouldn’t. Irena knew absolutely nothing about the dynamics between him and his ex-wife, he hadn’t even mentioned his marriage the last time she had been here. Doubt filled her that maybe she didn’t know Vincenzo as well as she had imagined. What if she had totally misjudged their relationship? She walked around the table and put a hand on Dino’s shoulder. “Thank you for letting me play. Now I have to go. Buonanotte, Dino.”
In the next instant he ran over to his father, letting go with a volley of Italian. A conversation ensued before Vincenzo eyed her in amusement. “My son doesn’t want you to leave. I told him we’d drive you down to your hotel.”
“That’s very kind, but not necessary.”
“I’m afraid it is,” he came back in an authoritative voice. “Now that it’s dark, a woman who looks like you out alone on a summer night is a target for every male from fourteen to a hundred years of age.”
Irena tried to repress a smile. “Only a hundred?”
His black brows quirked. “You’d be surprised.”
Actually she wasn’t. Young or old, the male of the species
