met the woman’s gaze again when Emeliano left and didn’t look away. She flushed slightly and looked at the baby, smiling at his babbling and arm waving. Covering one small fist with her hand, she leaned over to kiss him. Just then she glanced up again.
“I saw you on the Jet Ski,” she said.
He nodded.
“You fell in the water.”
“But I didn’t fall.”
She shrugged, glancing at the infant. Then looked shyly at him again. “It looked like great fun.”
“It is. How old is your baby?” He looked at the child, trying to gauge if it were smaller than the one from last May. He wasn’t often around infants and couldn’t guess his age.
She smiled again, her eyes going all silvery. Nice combination of coloring. He wondered again who she was and why she was at Lake Clarissa.
“He’s almost five months.”
A boy. His father had two boys and a girl. Wait, make that four boys and a girl. He still couldn’t get used to the startling fact his sister shared a few months ago—about two older half-brothers who were Americans. Too surreal. Another reason to keep away from his family. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his father keeping that secret all his life.
The infant had dark hair and dark eyes. His chubby cheeks held no clue as to what he’d look like as an adult, but his coloring didn’t match hers at all.
“Does he look like his father?”
“I have no idea. But his mother had dark eyes and hair. Maybe when he’s older, I’ll see some resemblance to the man who fathered him. Right now to me he looks like his mom.” She reached out and brushed the baby’s head in a light caress.
“He’s not yours?”
She shook her head.
“A nanny?” So maybe there was no man in the picture. Was she watching the baby for a family? She seemed devoted to the child.
She shook her head again. “I’m his guardian. His mother died.” She blinked back tears and Cristiano again felt that discomforting shift in his mid section. He hoped she wasn’t going to cry. He never knew how to handle a woman in tears. He wanted to slay dragons or race away. Unfortunately he all too often had to comfort women—and men sometimes—in tears at their loss. He always did his best. Always felt it fell short.
Emeliano arrived with a tray laden with rigatoni, big salad and hot garlic bread. He glanced at the woman, then Cristiano. “Want to sit together?”
“No,” Cristiano said.
At the same time she replied, “That would be fine, if he doesn’t mind.”
“Oops,” she said immediately. “I guess you do mind.” She put on a bright smile. “I’ll be going soon.”
He felt like a jerk. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “Come, sit with me. I could use the company while I eat.” He tried to make up for the faux pas, but she just gave a polite smile and said, “No, thanks anyway, I have to be going. This guy likes to ride in the stroller to see the sights.” She fumbled for her wallet and began pulling out the euros to pay her bill.
Emeliano served Cristiano, gave him a wry look and hurried away to look after another customer.
By the high color in her cheeks, he knew she was embarrassed. They’d been talking; it seemed churlish to refuse when his friend made the suggestion. Now he wished he had waited a second, thought before he spoke.
She rose and gathered her purse and a diaper bag and quickly carried the baby to the front of the restaurant without looking at him again. There he saw the stroller he’d missed when he first entered. In a heartbeat, they were gone.
His sister would have scolded him for his bad manners. His father would have looked at him with sadness. Of course his father seemed perpetually sad since their mother had died so long ago. He’d never found another woman to share his life with.
Cristiano began to eat. The food was good, not excellent, but good. What did it matter? Seeing the baby reminded him of his friend Stephano’s young daughter. Too young to have lost her father. Cristiano still couldn’t believe his best friend had perished in the instant the second bomb had exploded. Many days he could almost believe he was on leave and would go back to work to find Stephano and the others on his squad ready to fight whatever fires came their way.
But his friend was gone. Forever.
Cristiano ate slowly, regretting his hasty refusal of sitting with the woman with the baby. Learning more about her would have kept his mind off his friend and his other worries.
Mariella bundled Dante up and placed him in the stroller. She couldn’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. She felt the wave of embarrassment wash over her as she remembered offering to have the man sit at her table. He had definitely been annoyed. He probably had women falling over themselves to gain his attention with those dark compelling eyes and the tanned skin. He looked as if he brought the outdoors inside with him. He towered over the waiter. When he’d sat at the table next to hers she’d been impressed with his trim physique, wide shoulders and masculine air. He had such vitality around him.
She’d also been too flustered to ask the waiter if he’d ever seen Ariana in the restaurant. She’d even brought the picture of her friend to show around.
A moment later the thought popped into her head that the man talking to the waiter could even have been Dante’s father. He had the dark eyes and hair for it.
“So who’s your daddy, sweetie? Did he live around here or only bring your mother for a visit?” she asked the baby as they moved along the worn sidewalk. Shops enticed, but it was difficult to maneuver the stroller through the narrow aisles of the small stores. She needed a better plan to try to find Dante’s father than simply showing Ariana’s photograph to every man she saw and asking if he’d known her. Why ever would anyone admit to it if there’d been a problem with their relationship?
Stopping near the church, she sat on one of the wooden benches facing the town square. It was peaceful here. Dressed warmly, she was comfortable on this sunny afternoon despite the cooler temperatures. Checking on Dante, she was pleased he was warm and animated, looking around at the different buildings, up at the leaves on the tree partially shading the bench.
“Tree,” she said. She knew Dante probably couldn’t care less what that was called as long as she fed him on time and kept him dry and warm.
She still felt stressed dealing with the baby and hoped this trip would not only help her find out more about his father, but bring them closer together, too. She’d read every book she could get her hands on about newborns, had enlisted the help of a couple of friends who had children. But nothing had prepared her for the task of being an instant mom twenty-four-seven. At least most mothers had months to get used to the idea. Plans and dreams—usually with a partner—centered on the new life arriving. Psyching themselves up for the challenges.
Instead, Dante had been Mariella’s instant baby. She had known about him for less than a month before she became his mother. No warning, no preparation, and definitely no partner to share the task.
Dante
