Italy's Most Scandalous Virgin - Carol Marinelli Page 0,44

bitch here?’

‘God help him!’ Dante said by way of response, and his sister’s angry tirade was briefly halted.

‘Who?’

‘Whoever ends up with you!’ Dante responded, and then watched as Ariana shook her hands free and with a sob ran back towards the helicopter.

‘Damn!’ Dante hissed, loathing his sister’s anguish, while angry at her too and knowing there was still more hurt to come when she found out about the baby.

The baby!

He still jolted at the very thought he was to be a father.

A father.

He looked towards the holm oaks and knew he needed to speak with his own. He turned and walked towards the lake.

Dante stood at his father’s grave and truly did not know what to say.

Sorry for the scandal with your wife?

Sorry that we are having a baby?

Sorry for bringing shame to the family?

Except he wasn’t entirely sorry for the scandal. Dante was well aware that he would love another repeat of the mistake with Mia.

And as for the baby...

No, he would not apologise for a life made.

But for bringing shame to the family he would apologise. Except even that confused him, because his father had always smiled at Dante’s reckless ways and had told him to live his own life, as long as he hurt no one.

Except a relationship between him and Mia could only cause hurt all round.

So he stood, hoping for answers, or inspiration, or a feeling of forgiveness to descend, but there were only more questions.

‘I thought you blew up your marriage over Mia,’ Dante said. ‘I thought you were drunk on lust and had lost your mind. It would seem I was wrong and for that I am sorry.’

Dante didn’t get it.

Perhaps he never would.

‘Was it my mother who had an affair?’ Dante asked, but of course there was only silence.

‘Was Mia supposed to appear as your revenge affair?’

He was met with silence again.

CHAPTER TEN

‘SHOULD I TAKE lunch up to Signora Romano?’ Sylvia asked, when Mia failed to put in an appearance for lunch.

‘Perhaps ask Mia what she wants,’ Dante said. ‘After all, she is not my Signora Romano.’ He smiled up at Sylvia who, of course, would have seen the news. And such was Dante’s smile that when she tried to fire him even a slight look of reproach, she was completely disarmed and instead clipped him over the head with a far friendlier hand than Ariana’s had been.

‘You need ice on that cheek,’ Sylvia said, for she had of course been witness to Ariana’s brief visit.

She had always been far more than a housekeeper.

‘Always making trouble,’ she fondly scolded Dante.

Sylvia had been good to them. When his mamma had left for Roma on one of her many trips, Sylvia had taken over the role of matrona with the twins.

But then Dante found that he frowned, his good mood tainted with the impossible thought that Sylvia and his father...

No.

Instantly he dismissed that thought. Sylvia and her husband were happy, but though he dismissed it, one unsettling thought as to that scenario remained: his mother had not been happy. Even during long, endless summers, when her husband and children had been here, she would find reasons to flit back to the city...

There was more to it, Dante was sure, and today he intended to find out what had truly caused the demise of his parents’ marriage. That meant he and Mia needed to talk.

‘Sylvia, why don’t you take the rest of the day off once lunch is done?’

‘But what about dinner?’

‘I’m sure we can manage. In fact, can you please tell all the staff to finish up for the day?’

Dante wanted absolute privacy; he wanted to have things out with Mia.

Lunch was a rather more casual affair when Mia finally descended than the one just before the funeral, but the table had been set up with the same exquisite care. Mia took a seat opposite Dante, her eyes drawn to the livid fingerprints on his cheek.

He looked stunning, even bruised. He wore black jeans and a thin black jumper and was unshaven, and it dawned on Mia she had never seen him in anything other than a suit. Even when he’d used to visit the hospital or drop by the house to visit his father, it had always been on his way back from or headed to work.

It felt odd to see him casually dressed, but in an unsettlingly nice way.

Why did she have to fancy him so? Why couldn’t she deal with him in more familiar, practical ways?

‘What did Ariana have to say?’