“Well, we’re not your friends. We’re your family.” She paused, scrunching her nose. “Kind of. I mean, we’re not really your family. But we are related, so I guess, well…you know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean.” He kept his gaze fixed on Anna, but he could sense Megan’s stillness as powerfully as a punch to the gut. He kept a smile in his voice as he whispered to Anna, “It’s a little awkward meeting a parent for the first time when you’re almost done with fourth grade, isn’t it?”
“Totally awkward!” She picked a mushroom off the top of her pizza, popped it into her mouth, then shrugged. “But it’s not a big deal, right? I mean, that you’re my father. Not if no one knows.”
He couldn’t lie to her. “It won’t be an easy secret to keep. I imagine someone will find out eventually, even if none of us say a word. Maybe not soon, but someday. Whether anyone knows or not, though, I do think it’s a big deal to be your father. That’s why I asked your mom if I could come to lunch today. I want to get to know you and I want you to get to know me.”
She radiated skepticism as only a pre-teen could. “You want to get to know me?”
“I do.”
“Huh.” She took another bite of her pizza, contemplating that, then washed it down with a long sip of lemonade. Her plastic cup clunked against the tabletop as she set it down. “But I bet you never wanted kids. Like, if you didn’t know I existed and a friend asked you if you wanted kids, you’d probably say no way. Right?”
Megan’s voice was simultaneously chastising and understanding as she said, “Anna, honey, that’s not really a fair question.”
“I’d have said yes,” Stefano replied. He suspected that Anna didn’t really want to know his thoughts on becoming a parent, but whether he considered her a mistake. “Truth is, I’ve always wanted kids.”
“But you don’t have any. Other than me, I mean, and I don’t count.” There was no accusation in her tone. Her manner remained straightforward as she shook Parmesan cheese onto a fresh slice of pizza. “You aren’t even married.”
“No, I’m not married. But you do count. At least as far as I’m concerned.”
That earned him a merry laugh. “If you want kids so much, how come you’re not married? Most people who have kids get married.”
This time Megan let the question go, though Stefano could feel Megan’s uneasiness with both her daughter’s blunt tone and the direction of the conversation. It didn’t bother him as much as it might. Instead, he found himself drawn to Anna’s straightforward nature.
“I’m not married because I haven’t met the right person.”
“In other words, my mom wasn’t the right person.”
Chapter Ten
She may have been.
He studied Anna for a moment, trying to determine whether her statement was one of hope, of accusation, or of simple fact. It was impossible to know, yet he suspected his response could make or break the girl’s first impression of him. He knew it shouldn’t matter—kids’ opinions changed with the wind, and now that he knew of her existence, he planned to build a long-term relationship with her—yet he found he truly, deeply cared what Anna thought of him today.
“Your mom and I never had the chance to find out,” he finally said. “Sometimes that happens in life. When it does, you do the best you can if you’re fortunate enough to get a second chance. Your mom and I can’t change the fact that I didn’t know about you” —he shot a glance at Megan— “which wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just happened. But now that I do know, I’m here. That all right with you?”
She looked him up and down, as if she could read his mind by scrutinizing him, then gave a firm nod. A moment later, she said, “You know my mom made me see you today, right?”
Megan pinned her daughter with a glare. “Anna, you know that’s not true.”
Anna groaned. “Well she would’ve made me, but I said it was fine when she asked so she wouldn’t have to make me. I wasn’t sure if I’d like you or not, and I was afraid if I didn’t then my mom would get all upset and everything would suck. Um, stink. But so far, this has been more fun than I thought it’d be. You’re okay, Stefano.”
Stefano bit back a teasing response, suspecting Anna might not appreciate it. “Glad to hear it.”
“Me, too,” Megan replied, turning to Anna to add, “though I wish you’d use more appropriate language, honey. We’ve talked about using ‘sucks’ more than once.” She stood to clear the table, causing Anna to grab the final piece of pizza from the center of the table before her mother removed the tray. Stefano pushed back to help, but Megan waved for him to remain seated. “It’s only a couple of plates and the salad. You and Anna keep talking.”
He paused, ensuring she truly had it handled, then relaxed in the chair once more.
“That really was incredible pizza, Anna. Thank you.” He gestured toward the slice still on her plate. “The crust was delicious and I could tell the mushrooms and peppers were fresh.”
“Mom and I bought them yesterday afternoon at a market off La Rambla called La Boqueria. It’s been around for hundreds of years. The stalls have fresh fish, eggs, veggies, spices, even soap and candles. There’s a guy who makes pizza that’s almost as good as mine, and one stall has a dozen different kinds of ham hanging from the ceiling, which is creepy but cool.” She held her hands over her head as she spoke, as if showing off varieties of ham. “I didn’t even know there was more than one kind of ham until we moved here. Oh, and there’s a great place to get breakfast if you’re at the market early. They cook it right in front of you and if you go more than once, they’ll remember your name and what you ordered. My mom usually gets espresso and an omelet, but I like the toasted cheese sandwiches.”
“I’ve heard of La Boqueria.” The sprawling covered marketplace was a favorite of both tourists and locals. Photos of the lively vendors hawking their products regularly appeared in travel magazines. It struck him as a wonderful spot for strolling and people-watching. “Sounds like you visit fairly often.”
“Tons. My favorite stall sells fruit juice smoothies. They sound boring, but they’re not. The owners mash the fruit with ice in gigantic blenders early in the morning, then stack the smoothie cups in long rows by flavor so it looks like a rainbow.” Her gestures became more expansive as she grew more and more excited by her own description. “My favorites are strawberry guava and banana coconut, but they have every flavor you can imagine. I swear, it’ll make you hungry just looking at them!”
“Hearing you describe them makes me hungry and I just ate.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, a wicked smile slowly spreading across her face, as if she’d trapped him. “You should go with me. I’ll show you all the best stuff, then we can have smoothies for dessert. Want to? It’s not far.”
Warmth spread through him. He’d love to have Anna show him the market, if only such a thing were possible. La Boqueria was a tourist mecca and the local media knew he was in town. Though he could sometimes negotiate public areas unrecognized while away from Sarcaccia, in this particular case he didn’t stand a chance. “I appreciate that, Anna. Unfortunately—”
“Anna, you’re going to the beach with Julia and her mom later this afternoon, remember?” Megan’s interruption was so smooth, Stefano doubted Anna grasped that her request could be problematic. “But maybe another time.”
“Oh, shoot!” Anna sprung from the table, eyes widening. “I totally forgot! Julia’s mom called this morning while you were in the shower and asked if she could pick me up at two instead of three-thirty and I told her I thought that’d be fine.”
Megan glanced at the oven’s digital clock. “Anna, it’s nearly two now. You’re just remembering this?”
“It’s okay. My stuff is packed.”
Irritation flashed in Megan’s eyes. “That doesn’t make it okay. You have a guest—”
A triple chime sounded. Megan shook her head at Anna as she crossed the r
oom to a small, wall-mounted intercom where the kitchen ended and the entry hall began. “Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Hallberg,” the front desk clerk’s voice came from the speaker. “I have Julia and Marta Pettite here for Anna. Should I send them up?”
Megan glanced toward Anna and Stefano, shooting daggers at her daughter. “Anna’s already on her way down. If you could ask them to wait in the rotunda by the center table, she’ll be there in just a minute. Save them the elevator ride.”
“Will do.”
She thanked him, then waved for Anna to grab her gear as she clicked off the speaker. As the girl scooted into one of the two bedrooms off the living area, Megan called, “Hurry! And next time, Anna, remember to give me my messages. I would’ve told you that you couldn’t go until later.”
“I will! Sorry!”
When Anna emerged from her room, Megan checked the bag for a swimsuit, towel, hat, and sunscreen. She pulled a few Euros from a drawer in the living room’s bureau and tucked them into a zippered side pocket. “That’s for water and a snack. Do you have your cell phone?”
She patted her pocket. “Yes, Mom.”
“Okay. Hustle down and thank Julia’s mother. Is she still bringing you home at six?”
“She said she’ll call. We might go out to dinner on the way home because she says it’s too hot to cook.” Anna had the smarts to look sheepish. “If that’s all right with you.”
On an exhale, Megan replied, “All right. Whatever’s easiest for Julia’s mom. But if Mrs. Pettite doesn’t call me, then I expect you to do it as soon as you know your plans. Understood?”
“Understood.” Anna slung the straps of her beach bag over her shoulder and headed for the door, then spun around and beamed at Stefano. “Thanks for coming to lunch. That was cool. Think you’ll be back here anytime soon?”
He couldn’t help but return her impish grin. “If you’d like.”
“Definitely! I will so take you shopping.”
“In that case, it’s a date.” He’d figure out a way.
“Can you bring a picture of the clock tower when you come? Oooh, or pictures from inside your palace?”
“Anna!”
“Fine. I’m going, I’m going.” She tilted her head back and rolled her eyes, then walked to the door with exaggerated footfalls as if belabored by her mother’s chastisement. “Bye! Oh, and Stefano, you can take the leftover pizza if you want. It’s okay with me.”
Once the door clicked shut, Megan leaned her head back and stomped in a circle, mimicking Anna’s march to the door. “Is this what you expected when you asked to meet her?”
“No. “He laughed at Megan’s spot-on impression. “But I can’t say I’m surprised, either. She’s a pistol, isn’t she?”
“That’s a nice way of putting it. I would’ve said ‘handful’ rather than ‘pistol.’” She moved to the sofa, eyeing him as she eased into one corner and folded her legs beneath her. Her red toenails peeked out over the sofa’s edge. “Handful or not, I love her to pieces. I couldn’t imagine my life without being caught in her whirlwind.”
The description stunned him, momentarily catapulting him back to his own youth.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, then corrected himself. “It’s only…that’s exactly the way my mother used to describe me. She told people I was like a whirlwind moving through the house. Not because I was messy, but because I was so active I wore out both her and the nanny.” He could still picture the way his mother would sit on a garden bench and watch him whenever he could convince his siblings to join him in a race through the palace gardens. By mid-afternoon, his mother’s eyes always drifted closed, yet Stefano would beg and beg her to wake up and watch him run. “When I came home during one of my college breaks, she said it had been too quiet without me around. She’d gotten used to finishing each day with the satisfaction of having survived a storm.”
“Are you saying I have you to blame for my perpetual motion machine?”
“I suppose.” He moved to take a spot beside Megan on the long beige sofa. There were bright orange throw pillows in the center which he moved aside so he could sit knee-to-knee with her. “I’m not handy in a kitchen, though. Her pizza really was quite good. Better than most restaurants serve, even in Sarcaccia or Italy. She has real talent.”
Megan’s face lit with pride. “That’s all my mother. Anna loves cooking with her. My parents have come to Barcelona five times since I moved here, but they have yet to visit the Picasso Museum because my mother ends up spending so much time in the kitchen.”
He felt a pang of jealousy. Cooking with Anna would make for an entertaining afternoon. How many of them had he missed? How many might there be left? “I bet she enjoys every second of it.”
“I hope so. It’s a long flight from Minnesota just to make pizza.”
“True.” A thought occurred to him. “Have you considered cooking lessons? There’s a world-class culinary school right here in Barcelona. I know Anna’s too young for a formal program, but I’m sure they offer classes for children. If they saw her talent—“ The expression on Megan’s face stopped him. “Bad idea?”
“She doesn’t need cooking school.”
He spread his hands wide. “Why not give it a try, if it’s an option? I’ve heard that the facilities are spectacular. In fact, the head chef at the palace studied there, as have several other members of my family’s staff. Anna would love it.”
“I’m sure she would. But she doesn’t need it.”
“She doesn’t need a lot of things. But if it interests her and it’s within your capability to provide it, why wouldn’t you?”
A bemused smile perked up the edges of her mouth. When Stefano asked what was so funny, she laughed as if she’d heard a terrific joke but Stefano had missed the punch line, making it all the funnier.
“Oh.” He ran his hand along the back of the sofa, feeling the bumpy texture of the fabric’s tight weave. He shouldn’t make assumptions about what Megan could and couldn’t provide. “Well, I’d certainly be happy to pay for the lessons.”
That only made her laugh so hard she couldn’t speak. A tear ran out the corner of one of her eyes, which she swiped away. He stared at her, befuddled, then spread his hands wide. “I give up. What’s so funny?”
“What do you think?” she managed. “You’re doing it again.”
Ah. Now he understood. He relaxed into the cushions, his knee bumping against hers as he did so. “You think I’m trying to take over her parenting? Or, excuse me, ‘contribute something of value’ to her upbringing? Weren’t those were your words yesterday when I questioned your parenting choices?”
“Good memory.”
“That wasn’t my intent. It’s clear to me now that you’ve made good choices with her. I only want her to have the best, if the best is within reach.”
“I realize that. But suggesting culinary lessons at the place your head chef studied after Anna served you pizza on a kiddie party plate? Tell me that’s not hilarious.” She leaned forward, the movement allowing him a breath of her light, citrusy perfume. “Look, I’m glad you care about her well being. The fact you didn’t know she existed until this weekend, yet you feel compelled to ensure she’s happy speaks volumes about the kind of man you are. And I deeply appreciate that. But she doesn’t need to be handed everything on a silver platter to be happy. She’s happy already.”
“Cooking lessons aren’t being handed everything on a silver platter.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to argue. “But I understand your point. Cooking is off the table. So to speak.”
That earned him another smile. “So to speak.”
“Still, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to give her everything it’s within my power to give. And by that, I don’t mean material things. I mean experiences that will enrich her life and satisfy her intellectual curiosity. It’s no different than what you said you did by accepting a job in Barcelona.”
Megan sucke
d in a breath, making him wonder if he’d overstepped. “We need to take this slowly. She may have been fairly comfortable with you today, but there’s going to be a period of adjustment for her.”
“I know.” He thought of the way Anna held her breath as he’d first tasted her pizza, waiting for his reaction, then trying to disguise her pride by looking down at her own slice when he’d complimented her. “I like her. A lot. Not simply because she’s my daughter—or because she’s yours—but for who she is. She’s entertaining. And direct.”
“Like when she asked you why you aren’t married, despite the fact she knows better than to ask a question like that?” She screwed up her mouth. “It’s tough sometimes, given her age, but she’s been working on thinking first, speaking and acting second. I’m sorry if she offended you. I figured she’d have questions, but not precisely those questions.”
Megan wrapped her hands around her knees as she spoke. The sun highlighted the beading in her red bracelet, making him think of that red bikini all over again. He wondered if he’d ever get that image out of his head.
He hoped not.
“She didn’t offend me at all.” He forced his gaze from Megan’s hands and wrists to her face. “I’m afraid she gets any impetuousness from me, at least according to my parents.”
“You must be joking. Calling you a whirlwind of activity, that I understand. Within five minutes of meeting you, I realized you couldn’t stand to be still.”
He frowned at her. “How so?”
“Whenever you found yourself with a free minute, you’d track down extra parts for a water pump or you’d jump to help someone else finish their project. You spent hours and hours playing stickball or soccer with the local kids rather than relax during your time off.” Her eyes sparkled at the memory. “But impetuous? No. You always think before you speak or act.”
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