visits with the older woman. What she hadn’t known was how overwhelming she would find the familiar home now that she was here to share dinner with Tino and his son. She sat in her car, staring at the proof of generations of Grisafis living in the same area. Proof of Tino’s roots and his wealth. Proof that he already had what she had most craved her whole life.
A family.
The prospect that he might be willing to share all that with her was almost more than she could take. Terrifying didn’t begin to describe it. Because even if Valentino Grisafi wanted her in his life, she of all people knew there was no guarantee she could keep him. No more than she’d kept the father she never knew, or her mother, or the first family that said they would adopt her, or Taylish…or her unborn son, Kaden.
Dwelling on the pain of the past had never helped her before; she knew it wasn’t about to start now. She needed to let the past go and hope for the future, or her own fears were going to destroy her chance at happiness.
With that resolved, she opened her car door. Her phone trilled Tino’s ringtone again as she stepped out of the car.
She flipped it open. “Wow, I know you’re impatient, but this is borderline obsessive, Tino. I’m here already.”
“I merely wished to—”
She rang the bell and he stopped talking.
“It is the doorbell. I must let you go.”
Shaking her head at that, she shrugged and disconnected the call.
He opened the door and then stood there staring at her as if she was an apparition—of not particularly friendly aspect. In truth, he looked absolutely horrified.
“Faith!”
“The last time I looked, yes.”
“What are you doing here?” He shook his head. “It does not matter. You need to leave. Now.”
“What? Why?”
“This is my fault.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I can see where my phone calls may have given you the wrong impression.”
“That you might be impatient to see me?”
“Yes, I am. I was. But not here. Not now.”
“Tino, you aren’t making any sense.”
“This is not a good time, Faith. I need you to leave now.”
“Won’t Gio be disappointed?”
“Gio…why would you ask about my son? Look, it doesn’t matter, we have a dinner guest coming.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. I’m here.”
“This is no time for jokes, carina.”
“Tino, you’re starting to worry me.” Really. Definitely. Positive that Giosue would not lie and say his father had approved inviting her for dinner, she was flummoxed. Besides, hadn’t Tino helped his son make the map? What was going on? “Tino—”
“Signora!” An excited little boy voice broke into the bizarre conversation. “You are here!”
Giosue rushed past his father to throw his arms around Faith in a hug. She returned the embrace with a smile, loving the naturally affectionate nature of most of the Sicilians she had met.
Tino stood there looking at them in abject horror.
Giosue stepped back, self-consciously straightening his button-up shirt. He’d dressed up for the dinner in an outfit close to the uniform he wore to school of obviously higher quality and minus the tie. He looked like a miniature version of his father, who was wearing custom-tailored brown slacks with a champagne colored dress shirt—untucked, the top button undone.
The clothes were absolutely yummy on the father and adorable on the son.
Faith was glad she’d taken the time to change from the clothing she wore to teach in. Her dress was made from yellow silk batiked by a fellow artist with strands of peacock blue, sunset orange and even a metallic dye with a gold cast. Faith had fallen in love with the silk when she’d seen it at an artists’ fair and had to buy it. She’d had it made into a dress of simple design with spaghetti straps that highlighted her curves and made her feel deliciously feminine. A new addition to her wardrobe, Tino had not yet seen it.
Regardless of his other reactions to her arrival, that certain gleam she knew so well in her lover’s eyes said he approved her choice.
Unaware of the strange overtones to the adults’ conversation, Gio took her hand and held it. “Papa, this is Signora Guglielmo.” Then the boy smiled up at her with pure innocence. “Signora, this is my papa, Signor Valentino Grisafi.”
“Your papa and I have met,” Faith said, when Tino remained silent and frozen like a statue. An appalled statue.
“You have?” Gio looked confused, maybe even a little hurt. “Papa told me he did not know you. Nonna told him he would like you though.”
“I did not realize that Signora Guglielmo was the woman I know as Faith Williams.” He looked at her accusingly, as if it was her fault.
“You are friends?” Giosue asked.
Faith waited to hear what her lover would say to that.
Tino looked from her to his son, his expression impossible to read. “Si. We are friends.”
Giosue’s face broke out into a grin and he giggled. “You didn’t know? Truly?”
“Truly.”
“That is a good joke, isn’t it, Papa?”
“A good joke indeed,” Tino agreed, sounding anything but amused.
Faith wasn’t feeling too lighthearted, either. Tino hadn’t approved inviting her for dinner. He hadn’t written those directions out with her in mind to use them. He’d had no intention of inviting her into an aspect of his life he had heretofore kept separate from her. In fact, he was clearly dismayed and not at all happy by this evening’s turn of events.
He’d approved inviting his son’s teacher. Another woman. A woman who Tino would have been told by his son and mother was single, near him in age and attractive (or so Agata said every time she lamented Faith’s unwed state). If the fact that Giosue had been matchmaking was obvious to Faith, it had to have been just as apparent to his father. Add to that the little detail that Agata had patently put her two cents in, and Faith was painting a picture in her mind that held no gratification for her.
Tino had approved inviting to dinner a woman his son and mother were obviously hoping he would find more than a little interesting.
All of the little pipe dreams Faith had been building since spending the night for the first time at Tino’s flat, crashed and burned.
But she wasn’t a wimp. Far from it. She’d taken a lot more that life had to dish out without giving up. She was here now.
