or wherever you wanted to put it. I kept it cold. Delicious, even better made fresh. Still, I think your family could ship it frozen within the country at least. I think the sauce would do quite well—maybe they could send pasta, too. I printed a picture of Ariana, but no one I showed it to yesterday recognized her.”
“Did you even take a breath in all that?” he commented, following her into the house and back to the kitchen. He put the sack on the counter, laid the flowers down and rummaged for something to put them in. Finally he settled on a tall glass. The flowers did look nice. But he wasn’t used to getting gifts from women and wasn’t sure how to handle this.
“I thought they’d look good on the table,” she said.
“Sure.” He set the flowers on the old table, struck by a memory of his mother doing the same thing. Now the forgotten memory flashed into his mind.
“My mother liked flowers,” he said slowly.
“Most people do. I think they look happy. When we stopped at Rosa for lunch after our checkup yesterday, I told the waiter I’d had the sauce before and he apparently told your sister. She came out to meet me.”
For a moment Cristiano wished he had given them a ride, though he wasn’t sure about visiting Rosa just yet. He realized he longed to see his father and sister. Find out how things were going at the restaurant. He had to make sure he was all right before risking it. “The outcome from the doctor?”
“We’re both healthy. Though I still cough from time to time. The doctor said that would fade. So we had most of the day free after seeing him, so we set out to explore Monta Correnti. I recognized the restaurant as soon as I saw the sign. The food was superb. That’s where I met Isabella. There’s a letter in the sack for you as well.”
Cristiano looked in the sack and took out the envelope. It was from the minister of the interior. Cristiano stared at it. It was addressed to his apartment in Rome and had been forwarded to the restaurant.
“Is it bad news?” Mariella asked, watching him.
“I have no idea.” Although deep down Cristiano knew what this letter contained, but did not want to accept it.
“So open it and find out what it says.”
He did. The letter confirmed what Cristiano had already known for a long time. He was being awarded a medal of valor for his rescue of the injured from the bombing. Immediately, he crushed the letter and threw it on the counter.
“Um, bad news,” she guessed.
He shook his head. “It’s a mistake, that’s all.”
Cristiano didn’t want the medal, never had. Why him? Stephano had died. Others from his station had helped with the rescue. There had been so many who died. They had not been able to rescue everyone. Why would anyone want to award him a medal of valor? Especially if they knew of the flashbacks and attacks of sheer terror that gripped him. What kind of man deserved a medal when he couldn’t handle all life threw his way?
“What’s a mistake?” she asked.
“Never mind. Are you staying?”
“Gee, after such a kind invitation to visit and give you my impressions of Monta Correnti how can I refuse?”
She grinned that cheeky grin and Cristiano almost groaned at the sight. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until he forgot all the pain of the past. He wanted to feel that slim body against his, driving out the memories and offering an optimistic hope of the future. He wanted to lose himself in her and find that shining optimism she displayed.
He flat out wanted her.
Yet he had deliberately come to Lake Clarissa to avoid people until he could be sure the flashbacks had gone. Wasn’t it risky to spend so much time with her? Yet she made him feel normal again, complete. And the baby was adorable. Cristiano wished he could remember when he was so young and innocent the future looked nothing but bright.
Dante began fussing and Mariella shrugged out of her sweater, tossing it on the counter, knocking off the letter. She picked it up and smoothed it out, her eyes drawn to the fancy letterhead. Skimming quickly, she widened them in shock.
“You’re getting a medal! How cool is this!”
“I told you, it’s a mistake. I don’t deserve a medal. I certainly am not a hero!”
Mariella wasn’t listening to him. Or attending to Dante, who looked as if he were working up to a fully-fledged screaming bout. She was reading every word in the letter.
“You saved seven people.”
“Others saved lives as well.”
“And at great personal risk you continued on with the last two even though you were severely injured,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
He didn’t need the reminder. He saw it over and over every time he had a flashback. The shock, the anguish, the horror.
She looked at him, her eyes shining. “I knew you were a hero. Now it’s been confirmed, and not just because of me and Dante. Wow, you must be so proud.”
“I’m not going to accept it. It would be a farce.”
“But—”
He snatched the paper from her hand, balled it up and tossed it into the trash before storming out of the kitchen.
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