did you cook, Gio?”
“I helped. Ask Papa.”
She looked back over her shoulder at the silent man following their progress through the house.
“Indeed he did. He is a favorite with our housekeeper.”
“It’s easy to understand why. Gio’s a little charmer.”
“Signora!” Gio exclaimed in the long-suffering tone only an eight-year-old boy could affect so perfectly.
“Do not tell me it embarrasses you to discover your favorite teacher also holds you in high regard,” his father teased him.
The boy shrugged, blushing, but said nothing. Faith’s heart melted a little more toward him. He would make such a wonderful stepson and big brother. But she was getting ahead of herself. By light-years.
“So, what are we having for dinner?” she asked.
Especially after realizing Tino had not intended to invite her to dinner. That he had, in fact, been wholly ignorant of her relationship with his son and mother.
“Wait until you see. I got to stuff the manicotti. The filling is yummy.”
Giosue was right, the manicotti was delicious. As was everything else, and the company wasn’t bad, either. Tino started off a little stiff, but being around his son relaxed him. As hard as he so plainly tried to keep things between himself and Faith distant, his usual behavior got the better of him. He touched her when he talked to her, nothing overtly sexual. Just the normal affectionate-Sicilian-nature style, but it felt good—right.
Gio asked tons of questions about her art, questions there wasn’t time for during class. Several times she caught Tino looking surprised by her answers. But then, he knew almost nothing about that part of her life. For the first time that really bothered her. Her art made up the biggest part of her life and he was sadly ignorant of it.
That realization, more than anything else, put the nature of their relationship into perspective. While his behavior lately might indicate it was changing, theirs was still primarily a sexually based connection.
“You are asking so many questions, amorino, I am beginning to think you wish to grow up to be an artist.”
“Oh, no, Papa, I want to be a winemaker like Nonno.”
“Not a businessman and vintner like your papa?” Faith asked.
“He will have to have another son to do that. I want to get my hands dirty,” Giosue said with absolute certainty.
Rather than take offense, Tino laughed aloud. “He sounds just like my father.” He shook his head, the amusement still glittering in his eyes. “However, there will be no brothers, or sisters either. Perhaps Calogero will finally marry and have children, but if not—when I get too old to do my job, we will have to hire a business manager.”
“You will never be too old, Papa.”
Tino just smiled and ruffled his son’s hair. “You know there is nothing to stop you from making art a hobby while you follow in your grandfather’s footsteps. Isn’t that right, Faith?”
She was still reeling from the dead-on surety in Tino’s tone when he said there would be no sisters or brothers for Giosue, but she managed to nod and smile at the expectant little boy.
CHAPTER THREE
TINO rejoined Faith on the terrace after tucking his son into bed.
Gio had wheedled, pleaded and distracted every time Faith had started making noises about going home. When it was finally time for him to go to bed, he had even gone so far as to ask to have her come in and say good-night to him before going to sleep.
She’d done so without the slightest hesitation, kissing Gio’s head before wishing him a good sleep and pleasant dreams and then leaving the room. Tino found it disconcerting that she was so relaxed, not to mention good, with his son. Their friendship was of longstanding duration, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Except uncomfortable.
He didn’t like feeling unsettled. It made him irritable.
And it wasn’t at all cute, like his lover when she was woken to go home after an evening of lovemaking.
Faith stood on the edge of the stone terrace, looking out over the vineyard. The green, leafy vines looked black in the moonlight, but she glowed. The cool illumination of the night sky reflected off her porcelain features, lending her a disturbing, ethereal beauty. She looked like an angelic specter that could be snatched to the other realms in the blink of an eye.
It was not a thought he wanted to entertain. Not after that very thing had happened to Maura through her death. The one challenge to their life together that he could not fight.
He was frowning when he laid his hand on Faith’s shoulder. “He is on his way to dreamland.”
“He’s so incredibly sweet. You are a very blessed man, Valentino Grisafi.” She turned to face him.
“I know it.” He sighed. “But there are times he puts me in an inconvenient situation.”
“Like when he invites your current lover to dinner?”
“Yes.”
She winced. “You could have said no.”
“So could you.”
“I thought you wanted me here.”
“I thought he had invited his teacher from school.”
“I am his teacher,” she chided. “His art teacher, anyway.”
“Why did you never mention this to me?” It seemed almost contrived to him.
“How could you not know? I mean, I’m aware you are supremely uninterested in my life outside our time together, but I’ve mentioned teaching art to primary schoolers in Marsala.”
“I thought you did it to support your art hobby. My mother told me Gio’s teacher was a highly successful artist who donated her time.” Realizing how wrong he’d been made him feel like fool.
Another unpleasant and infrequent experience. Grisafi men did not make a habit of ignorance or stupid behavior. His pride stung at the knowledge he was guilty of both. Knowing more about Faith would have saved him the current situation.
“And in your eyes I could not be that woman?” Faith asked in that tone all men knew was very dangerous.
The one that said a husband would be sleeping on the sofa for the foreseeable future. Faith was not his wife, but he didn’t want to be cut off from her body, nevertheless. Nor did he wish to offend her in any case.
“In my eyes, that woman, Signora Guglielmo, was Sicilian—and you are not.”
“No, I’m not. Is that a problem for you, Tino?”
Where had that question come
