“What are you two doing here?” he asked, smiling at Dante.
“I came to take you up on your offer to use your computer. I need to check in with my clients.”
“Come on in.” He opened the door wide and she pushed the carriage in.
“It’s dark in here,” Mariella said, stepping into the living room. “Why is it all closed up?”
He looked around as if seeing the heavy drapes pulled over the windows for the first time.
“It suited me.”
“How odd.”
“They help insulate the windows.”
“It’s not that cold.”
He stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll get the laptop.”
In less than five minutes, Dante was happily kicking his legs from the baby seat playing with a spoon and plastic cup while Mariella booted up the computer on the kitchen table. Cristiano had hooked it to a phone line. It wouldn’t be the fastest connection, but at least she could check her email. Once Cristiano saw she was connected, he took off to give her privacy. She appreciated that, too aware of the man to concentrate on her work if he hovered nearby.
She gazed around the room while the computer booted up. It had a certain old-world charm that she loved. There was a huge fireplace, stone-cold now, at one end. She could envision a cheerful fire in the dead of winter when a sprinkle of snow might lie on the ground. How cozy this room would be. The large wooden table would seat a family of eight. The stone floor was cold, but, with a few rugs, could be comfortable in the winter months.
Which she would never see here in Lake Clarissa. For a moment the disappointment seemed too strong to bear.
Chapter Four
DANTE became fussy. Mariella prepared a mid-morning bottle and picked up the baby. She did not want to sit in one of the wooden chairs by the large table, balancing the baby and bottle, so she wandered into the living room. She’d like to tidy this room or at least open the curtains so she could see the magnificent views.
Sitting in a wing chair, she fed Dante, softly crooning to him as he ate. Maybe the dimness worked to her advantage as Dante began to fall asleep just as he finished the bottle.
Mariella continued to hold him after he fell asleep, relishing this quiet time with just the two of them. He was a beautiful child with dark brown eyes and dark hair. Ariana would have so loved this child of hers. Would Dante resemble her when he grew older? Or his unknown father? Tears threatened every time Mariella remembered her friend and her untimely death. How could she have borne having to leave this child behind? Love expanded within her heart and she wanted to hold the moment forever.
Cristiano came into the room from outside.
“Snack time?” he asked, studying her and Dante. He sat in the chair near her.
“Mid-morning feed.” She gazed down at her sleeping baby. “I’ll put him in the stroller and go when he wakes up. I still have to follow up on some work I was doing. I appreciate your letting me use your computer. We’ll stay out of your way.”
She rose and carefully placed the baby in the carrier, covering him lightly with a soft blanket.
“You’re not in the way. Finish your work, then stay for lunch.”
Cristiano knew he was grasping at straws, but he wanted her to stay. He wanted to talk to her, watch her laugh. Her skin was flushed slightly and looked soft and warm. Her hair curled around her cheeks, down her back. The sweater showed off the feminine body that awakened a need in his he’d thought long gone. When she was nearby, he had to fight the urge to find out more about her, see what she liked and didn’t like.
And fight not to kiss her.
When he realized his thoughts had stayed on that point, he quickly looked away.
“You know that fire scared me. What if something happens to me? Who will take care of Dante?” she asked, covering the baby with a light blanket.
Cristiano’s mother had died when he was a small boy. He remembered her smile, the fragrance she wore. The almost tangible love she’d given. No one got fully used to losing a parent. Had his father felt the same as Mariella? Worried about his children should something happen to him? Yet it wasn’t the same. His father’s sister lived in Monta Correnti, for most of his childhood Cristiano’s grandfather had lived in this cottage with the rest of the family. There had always been family around. But one never got over the loss of his mother.
“My mother’s dead, too,” he said slowly.
“But not your father?”
“No, he’s doing well.” He guessed he was. Surely someone would have told him if he weren’t. Not that he’d been very receptive to overtures from his family since he’d taken up residency in the cottage. His bossy sister had made sure he knew her thoughts on that from the messages she left.
The flashbacks happened without warning. He couldn’t be around people who knew him for long—they’d see how messed up he was and cosset him so much he’d never get his life back. He had to beat this thing.
Mariella gazed at him as if expecting him to say more. He stared at her for a moment, wondering if he was finally moving on. He had handled the cottage fire. He had not had a nightmare since that night. He drew a breath, smelling the sweet scent of Mariella. It brought a yearning that grew in strength every time he was with her. Yet he could not fall for this woman.
“Are you the oldest child?”
“Yes, Isabella is a close second, incredibly bossy. Our mother died when I was a child. She took on the household work, and tried to keep us in line.” For a moment he remembered some of the happy days they’d spent at the cottage, playing at the lake, just being with family. Life had thrown curves he’d never expected when he had been a child.
“Do your brother and sister still live close by?”
“Isabella still lives in Monta Correnti, along with Valentino,” he said, smiling at the thought of his family.
“So you get to see them a lot. Must be nice. I was an only child.”
He didn’t reply. He had not seen them since they had visited him in the hospital after the bombing. His hospital stay had been lengthy and he’d missed his brother’s wedding, and his cousin Lizzie’s. Since his release from hospital Isabella called every so often trying to get him to go to family events. Mostly he let the answering machine take her call.
A lot had happened in his family over the recent months, including the startling revelation that his father had two older children by a first marriage. Cristiano still wasn’t sure what to think about that. He had not met the two men—twins who had been raised in America. It was odd to think they shared the same father.
So far he’d found excuses that didn’t raise undue suspicions. He was running out of time, however. How long could he keep his problem from his family? He wanted it to go away, wanted life back the way it had been.
He
