by Robena Grant
“No,” he said quickly.
“Good. I’m relieved. I thought maybe you had heard about some uprisings or something like that.”
“You’ll be fine. You’ll both have an amazing time.”
Susan grinned. Dia imagined the whole day had been quite a shock to Carlo.
“So tell us why Corsica?” Carlo asked. “What intrigues you about the island?”
“Oh, um…well it came about from a conversation with Frank.” She looked at the Antonelli’s, the senior ones. There was no way she’d mention a magical gate. “Frank is my mother’s partner.”
“Oh yes, charming fellow,” Mr. Antonelli said. “We talked for a long while at the wedding.”
“Yes, I do remember him,” Mrs. Antonelli said, icily.
Carlo frowned. “What did he say?”
Dia shrugged. “Just that he has relatives there. He described the place, saying his cousin would transport me to and from the island on a yacht.”
“A yacht?” Mrs. Antonelli’s shoulders went back and she sat tall and alert.
“What kind of a yacht? How big?” Mr Antonelli asked. “I haven’t been on a yacht in years. Love the high seas. We should take a cruise, hon.”
Mrs. Antonelli smiled. “Go on,” she said to Dia.
“Well, yes. Um, it’s quite large, Frank said. He mentioned six berths.” She frowned, turning to Susan. “I forgot to tell you that part. You are a seafaring gal, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. I’m so excited about this. I can’t sit still.”
“Six berths?” Mrs. Antonelli’s voice took on a more respectful tone.
“Where will you stay on the island?” Carlo asked.
“At the family villa, which Frank said is extensive. Nico is calling me tomorrow to go over final plans.”
“A villa,” Susan said with a gasp. “It’s so…so Italian.”
Mrs. Antonelli jumped up from her seat, her smile wide. “I’ll make some snacks. Drinks anyone? Dia, you must be thirsty after your morning at the beach.” She smiled at Carlo.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Dia said. Sheesh, the woman was so easy to read. Throw in a relative with a yacht and a villa, and you suddenly gained some respect. Everyone else agreed they needed nothing, but Mrs. Antonelli hurried into the kitchen.
“By the way, Corsica is not Italian, it’s French,” Carlo said dryly, and whacked his sister on the top of her arm.
“I don’t care. It’s a villa, a yacht, and I’m going.” Susan laughed and collapsed back against the cushions.
Dia shot Carlo a glance. He’d picked up a magazine and idly flipped through it. He didn’t appear too happy. At least he hadn’t asked Nico’s age, probably thinking being Frank’s cousin he’d be in that age range. Sixty, plus. Come to think of it, she didn’t know Nico’s age. Frank had said Nico Ventimiglia was a bit of a Lothario, and that she should watch out for him, so she’d assumed youngish.
She glanced at Susan. She’d have to watch over her…closely.
****
Dia figured Carlo’s mother had had a complete about-face when it came to accepting her. Not that they would ever be friends. Dia and Carlo sat side by side on the couch, their thighs sometimes accidentally, but most often purposefully, touching. Sometime through the afternoon, Mrs. Antonelli had insisted on being called Christina and her husband, Gino. She’d explained his real name was Giancarlo but that everyone called him Gino.
Angie, who had fallen asleep around three, exhausted from her early morning beach activities, woke with a whine. “I’m firsty.” She rubbed her eyes.
“Wait a minute, sweetie. I’ll get you some juice.” Susan stood. “Go use Grandma’s bathroom.”
“Does she need help?” Dia asked Carlo as Susan walked toward the kitchen.
Angie gave her a severe glance. “I’m a big girl.”
“Of course you are.” Carlo shook his head.
Dia resisted smiling. “How old are you?”
Angie rose to her full height. “Free and a half.”
“That’s really big,” Dia said. “Better go. Do what mommy said.”
Angie’s curly hair had matted on one side of her head, and her eyes were sleepy. She looked adorable, dragging her blankie as she walked down the hall. Dia wanted to reach out and pull her onto her lap. She liked Angie, liked the idea of being a parent one day.
“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” Christina asked, from the doorway.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Carlo said. “We’ll grab something on the way home. No fuss—”
“Well, I wasn’t about to. I figured pizza.”
“Yeah. That’s a good idea. It’ll save you and Susan some trouble. I’ll get the menus.” Gino jumped up and headed for the kitchen.
Christina waved a hand in Gino’s direction. “Wait. Don’t forget—”
“I know.” He kept moving. “You want an order of chicken wings.”
Carlo looked up from the magazine he’d been browsing through, and chuckled. Dia looked toward Christina in awe. Deep down, despite all her airs and graces, this woman was just like Mama. No way Jason’s mother would ever eat a wing. She thought finger foods were vulgar, something that inebriated football fanatics ate while squatting in front of a large screen television, on rainy Sunday afternoons.
“You will stay, won’t you, dear?” Christina looked first toward Carlo, and then giving Dia a quick glance. “It’s not fancy fare, but—”
“Mom, it’s fine,” Carlo said.
“Are you kidding? I’m already salivating over the thought of pizza.” Dia won herself a slight smile. “Can I help in any way?”
“No. Stay and enjoy yourself. It’ll be a paper plate night.” Christina bustled out to the kitchen.
Carlo stole a tiny kiss, and then traced the tip of one finger down her neck, stopping just above the top of her tee-shirt. “My mother is warming up to you.”
“Yeah, just because I know someone with a yacht and a villa,” she whispered, and then she kissed him at the corner of his mouth. “Believe me it will be short-lived.”
Carlo suppressed a laugh, his mouth tight, dimples showing.
Susan came back into the room carrying a sippy-cup. “Okay, enough of that,” she said, and then laughed. She looked around. “Where’s Angie?”
Dia felt a moment of panic. Good lord, one kiss and she’d forgotten the kid already. What the hell kind of parent would she make?
A small voice spoke from somewhere behind her. “I’m colorwing—”
“Uh-oh.” A frown furrowed Susan’s brow, as she hurried around the couch. “Oh, thank goodness—”
“What, it isn’t one of Dad’s collectibles, a favorite book being scribbled in with his best fountain pen?” Carlo lifted up and looked over the back of the couch.
“No. It’s a kid’s coloring book, and a small box of crayons.”
Carlo raised his eyebrows.
“Where did you find these?” Susan asked.
“Ganma leaveses them in a bafwoom,” Angie said in a booming voice. “In a box.”
Susan shook her head. “Well, let’s bring them around here to the table. You can finish your picture and have a drink.”
Angie stood up and came around to join the group. Gino followed Christina into the room with plates and napkins. He fluttered several menus in their direction. “Now, is there any topping anyone can’t have on pizza?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Okay, what will you have to drink?” Christina asked.
“Soda for me,” Carlo said. “What about you, Dia?”
“Anything diet?” she asked, making a face. “Vacation…you know.”
“We have a selection.” Susan laughed. “And I’ll have to join you Dia, seeing as how we’ll both have to squeeze into a bikini next week.”
Carlo’s head shot up.
“Me too,” Angie said.
Dia wasn’t certain of which Angie agreed with, the diet soda or the bikini. But she really, really loved this
kid. Gino left the room, mumbling things about pizza toppings.
“Yes, you’ve got your diet apple juice right here.” Susan handed Angie the cup and gave her mother a quizzical glance. “You leave crayons in the bathroom?”
“Why not?” Christina asked.
“Ever hear of a frieze…a wall mural?”
Carlo chuckled.
“Don’t be silly. She knows the rules. Besides, there are coloring books in the box too.”
“Well, just know that I warned you,” Susan said. “Are you sure you can handle her for a whole week?”
“Absolutely,” Gino said, coming in from the kitchen. “Two weeks, even.”
“Have you told her yet?” Christina asked softly, nodding toward her granddaughter.
“No. But I guess now is as good a time as any.” Susan sat next to Angie. “Be prepared for hysterics.”
“Don’t be silly.” Christina pursed her lips. Gino looped an arm around Christina’s waist, and pulled her close.
“Angie, honey,” Susan said. “Mommy has something to ask you.”
“‘K.”
“If I took a little holiday by myself, would you—”
“I stay wiv Ganma and Ganpa!” Angie shouted.
“Yes, you would. And we could talk and see each other on Grandpa’s computer, and—”
“I sleep in a pink bed?”
“Absolutely,” Christina said. “That pink bedroom is kept especially for you. It’s my special baby girl’s room. We can bring over some of your favorite toys—”
“My twicycle, and—”
“Definitely,” Gino said. “And your new bathing suit.”
Angie dropped her crayon and clasped her hands in front of her chest. Her smile was wide and radiant, but not quite as wide as Christina’s or Gino’s. Pain registered on Susan’s face. This would be Susan’s first vacation since her honeymoon. Dia dropped her gaze, hoping she hadn’t done the wrong thing by her new friend. When she looked back, Susan had regained her composure.
“You’ll have fun, sweetie,” Susan said. “I’ll bring you a present.”
Christina shot Susan a triumphant glance, but at least she didn’t say, “I told you so.” And like Susan, she’d quickly hidden her emotions. Not at all like Dia’s family. They’d be shouting over the top of each other’s head and chortling about their major coup. The Antonellis had a certain reserve that her family didn’t have—except of course for Carlo because he’d shown his true colors this morning.
She took a quick look up at him. Not that his emotional outburst had been that offensive. She’d thought at first that he’d been overreacting. Now with the attention he’d showered on her today, his thoughtfulness for his sister’s wellbeing, his understanding of and loyalty to his nutsy mother—well, she was not so averse to things Italian.
“Can Angie have a vacation? Or should she stick to the schedule at nursery school?” Christina asked. “I’m good, either way.”
“It’s your call, Mom,” Susan said, softly.
“Okay.”
“I’ll pay for the week, and you can decide. See how it plays out.”
“That sounds good. We’ll be flexible,” Christina said. “It’s so smart of you, dear.”
Susan ruffled Angie’s hair, fluffing the matted part, and then sat on the couch on the other side of Carlo. “She loves school, so any time away won’t be a problem.”
Carlo nodded. “I’ll take care of her on the weekend.”
“No, you won’t,” Christina said. “You can come visit her here.”
“Yes, it’s probably better to have her stay at one place.” Susan shrugged. “It will be less confusing. But you could take her out to the park or something.”
Carlo frowned. “I was planning on teaching her how to make her sounds. Ribbit, ribbit, said the frog. Rabbit, rabbit, said the, ah, hare—”
“Wibitt, wibitt.” Angie laughed.
Everyone laughed along with her.
Dia laughed too, and dug Carlo in the ribs. “I often wondered what rabbits said.”
“Wabbit, wabbit,” Angie said in a loud voice, as she stood. She laughed again, obviously going for a second round of applause and admiration.
“Settle down,” Susan said, and gave her daughter a warning glance. “Don’t get silly.”
“You know, Carlo, you didn’t pronounce words properly until you were nearly five,” Christina said, coming to her granddaughter’s defense. “And look how smart you are today.”
He raised his hands, rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “It. Was. A. Joke.”
Susan laughed. “You guys are nuts. I don’t want you fighting over her.”
“We won’t,” Carlo said. “Don’t worry about anything.”
“Don’t spoil her rotten, either,” Susan said. “This will be your special time together, so I’m going to trust you all to do whatever you need to do…within reason.”
“I think we’ll all have a vacation to remember,” Gino said. “Good times all around.”
Chapter Eleven
Carlo wasn’t too sure about the good times yet to be experienced. He’d been left out in the cold on both fronts. He’d tried to be understanding, he’d tried to stay big-hearted, but gloom moved in through his thoughts like early morning coastal fog.
He flipped through the magazine that he’d already finished reading, focusing on what two weeks without Dia would be like. That only served to make him gloomier. She’d gone into the dining room to help his mother with the drinks. And while they weren’t exactly laughing and talking like they were old friends, his mother had come to some kind of understanding regarding Dia. He knew his mother’s desire for status. To be able to tell her country-club pals that Susan was going on an interesting journey took precedence over the fact that her travelling companion came from Little Italy.
The doorbell rang. A flurry of activity and an increase in noise level ensued as the pizza boxes were carried inside and opened. The dining room filled with the enticing aromas of cheese, pepperoni, peppers, onions, and sausage. Minutes later hardly a sound, other than the moans of pleasure, most of which came from him and his dad, could be heard.
“Awesome pizza.” Susan eased back from the table and clasped her abdomen. “I’ve always loved Avanti’s pizza, but if I eat any more I’ll burst.”
“Me too.” Carlo reached over with his napkin, and wiped a tiny bit of sauce from Angie’s chin. “You’re a mess, kiddo.”
Angie chuckled, so he scrubbed a bit harder until she went into a fit of giggles and he got a warning glance from Susan. After his fill of pizza, he’d begun to see the world as far less gloomy. He loved his family, and wanted Dia to continue to fit in with them. But he also knew his mother. It would be a rough road.
Dia nudged his thigh. “I’ll help with the tidy up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Go spend some time with your dad.”
He did as she said, for a while, then he strolled to the kitchen doorway. Dia looked so pretty standing next to the kitchen sink rinsing out glasses. A far cry from when he’d seen her at another sink earlier in the day. Hard to imagine that had been this morning. What did she really think about his meltdown? Their plan to discuss it had changed several times. He sure as hell wouldn’t bring the subject up again. Not after her suggestion that they had the night to spend together. Who needed talk?
Two weeks will zip by in a flash. He could wait. He would wait.
It always amused him to see his mother doing domestic chores on a Sunday, the housekeeper’s day off. He’d grown up watching her do chores every day, until five years ago. He sidled up to Dia and drew her away by one wet soapy hand.
She started to laugh. “I’m not done yet.”
“Go,” his mother said. “I’ll finish this later.”
That surprised him. He raised an eyebrow at his mother, but she turned away.
“Ready for home?” he whispered to Dia as they entered the living room. She nodded. He dropped a kiss onto
her earlobe, and another to the side of her face. Better not to go anywhere near those lips. She looked up at him, face flushed, brown eyes sparkling. She smiled, and squeezed his hand. A rush of blood left his head.
No words were necessary. He knew the promise would be upheld. He just wondered if he could get home fast enough.
****
Dia could hardly breathe. The tension in the car had risen. Without a doubt, she wanted this guy naked…and in the next ten minutes if possible. Music filled the car, the pulse of it drumming into her thoughts and seeming to add to her own pounding heartbeat.
“I’ll give Mama a call,” she said.
Carlo nodded, leaned forward, and turned down the music.
She pulled out her cell phone, pressed the autodial and waited for the message to finish. She didn’t have to tell Mama if she was coming home or not, they had no rules on such things. Not since she’d moved away years ago. But the subject of “sleepovers” hadn’t had to be addressed since she’d come back to her childhood home six months ago. Still, after the stress of this morning, it seemed the right thing to do.
“Ciao, Mama. I’m staying the night with a friend. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you.”
Carlo drove carefully, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. She wondered what he thought about her not saying outright who she would spend the night with. Why had she done that anyway? Mama would spend the night with Frank. Dia refocused when Carlo exited the freeway and drove toward his building.
“Here we are. Home at last.” He lowered the window, and slid a card key into a security gate.
Home.
Dia swallowed hard. He drove down a ramp. She didn’t wait for him to open the door, but grabbed her purse and jumped out into the dark, quiet garage. A few golden lights shone from the corners of the gray walls; a couple of video cameras were angled toward them.
Their footsteps echoed as they walked toward the elevator. Carlo pressed the up button. Dia swallowed hard again. She adjusted the purse on her shoulder.
This is it. No going back. Not that she wanted to change her mind. They didn’t touch in the elevator, both standing a few feet apart, rigid as soldiers. If he felt anything like she did, then one touch would cause combustion. When the door opened at the third floor, Carlo took her by the elbow and hurried her to his front door. His fingertips seemed to burn holes into her arm.