A Moment on the Lips - By Kate Hardy Page 0,51

you, if you’d let me. Not that she said the words. She knew they’d make him back away from her even faster.

He kissed her lightly. ‘I’d better go. The taxi’s waiting for me. Goodnight, Princess.’

And that was it.

He was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ON THURSDAY evening Dante arrived at his mother’s house with flowers and chocolates.

‘Dante, amore.’ Gianna hugged him warmly when she opened the door to him. ‘And you didn’t need to bring me anything.’

‘I know, Mamma, but I wanted to.’ He hugged her back.

‘So did you have a good time in Paris?’ Gianna asked.

‘Wonderful.’ Though it had left him yearning. Wishing for something he couldn’t have. Wishing things were different. Not that he’d tell her that. She didn’t need the extra guilt.

‘Happy belated birthday, little brother,’ his sister said, pinching his cheek.

‘Less of the “little”, Rachele. I’ve been bigger than you since I was twelve,’ he said with a grin.

‘I know, but you’re still the baby.’

And, talking of babies … ‘Is Fiorella still up?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Oh, yes. No going to bed until she’s seen Zio Dante,’ Rachele told him, smiling. ‘Especially as there’s cake involved.’

But as soon as he walked into the living room he could see that his niece was already being entertained. She was having a story read to her—one of her favourites, he recognised, and the little girl was joining in with the refrain. Though the person reading the story was the last person he’d expected to see: Carenza.

‘Hi,’ she said, giving him a shy smile.

Fiorella looked up. ‘Zio Dante!’ She wriggled off Carenza’s lap and ran to him; he caught her up and swung her round.

‘Hello, bellezza,’ he said with a smile. ‘Missed me?’

‘Yes,’ she lisped. ‘Renza read story.’

‘I’d better let her finish, then, while I help Mamma and Nonna.’

To his surprise, Fiorella ran over to Carenza again and climbed back onto her lap. Carenza was a stranger, and Fiorella was usually wary of strangers; and yet the little girl seemed to have accepted Carenza immediately. So did this mean Carenza had spent time with his sister and his niece? Or was it that Fiorella responded to Carenza’s natural warmth?

He’d never seen Carenza with children before. From what she’d said, Lucia was the first of her friends to have a baby on the way; and Carenza was an only child. As far as he knew, she’d had practically nothing to do with kids. Yet she was patiently telling the story, getting Fiorella to join in with the refrains, and using different voices for each character.

How could he not be charmed?

Then he remembered the other night. In Paris. When they’d had unprotected sex. Despite her protests that everything was fine and her insistence that she couldn’t be pregnant, he knew that it was still a possibility. Again, he had that weird kind of flash-forward. He could imagine her holding their baby. Or holding their toddler and reading a story, just as she was doing right now with Fiorella.

He shook himself. Now he was being absolutely ridiculous, and it annoyed him that he reacted to Carenza in this way. He’d never felt like this before about anyone. And it really, really bothered him.

‘Mamma, let me help,’ he said, fleeing to the safety of the kitchen.

She shooed him out. ‘No. Go and sit with Carenza.’

Was she matchmaking? Dante thought suspiciously. And since when had Carenza been invited to his birthday dinner anyway? His mother hadn’t mentioned it. And neither had Carenza.

There was no way he could ask without making a fuss. So he gave in and went back into the living room.

‘Zio Dante!’ Fiorella pointed to the space on the sofa next to them, and smiled. ‘Read story, too.’

What could he do? And then he found himself drawn into the story, reading it with Carenza and taking over the voices of some of the characters. Fiorella’s eyes were shining with joy, and Dante’s chest felt tight.

This was how it could be. Himself, Carenza and their own child. If he were a different person.

If only.

His mother had made her usual fabulous dinner. Carenza joined in with everyone else in helping to clear the dishes between courses. Gianna must really like her, he thought, to allow the younger woman in her kitchen. And Carenza fitted right in. As if she were already part of the family. Which scared him even more.

Then his mother came in with a birthday cake, the candles lit. Everyone sang ‘Buon Compleanno’ to him, even little Fiorella. He smiled, and blew out the candles.

‘You have to make