The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(72)

She went into the water closet to change, though she had dressed before him countless times. Here, in her home, she felt shy and young. She brushed her hair and twisted it back at the nape of her neck. When she came out, Quillan caressed her with his eyes. He must know how important this was, this first meal together. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, but before they walked down together she said, “I’ll be in the kitchen with Mamma and the others. You will have to wait with the men.”

“All right.”

She meant it as a warning, but he was trying hard to look unconcerned. Maybe nothing would happen. They went down and separated at the foot of the stairs. Already Carina heard her brothers in the smoking room. Papa would be there, too, but she didn’t hear him. She went through the narrow walkway to the kitchen behind the house and tied a stiff white apron over her dress. “What can I do?”

Her sister-in-law Rosa handed her a knife and a bowl of peppers. Joseph’s wife had been the first to marry into the family and had fought the battle of acceptance because Mamma thought she wasn’t good enough for Joseph. Now, plump and familiar, she moved to a corner with two-year-old Giovanni on her hip and watched Carina as though she were the stranger.

The kitchen was warm with redwood beams and creamy plastered walls. The lamps that hung at regular intervals sent a glow to the ceiling, which reflected back over the long marble worktable and stove. An icebox and pastry safe stood at opposite ends, but most of the beige tile floor was open, making it easy for many women to work together. Even those not working, Nonna in her later years and the mothers of infants, gathered in the kitchen at mealtime.

“Gelsomina has taken a Chinese cook,” Tia Marta said to break the awkward silence.

“No.” Carina glanced from Tia Marta to Mamma, who had stopped crying in order to cook, but made no effort to hide her misery. “Veramente?”

Marta nodded. “It’s true. A male Chinese.”

Carina tried to picture one of the pigtailed men in Tia Gelsomina’s kitchen. But then, her godmother had never liked to cook. She would think it a good joke on the rest of them. Carina would have to go and see for herself. Maybe Gelsomina could help with Quillan, as well. She was not as rigid as Mamma and Papa.

Angelo’s wife, Renata, leaned close to Lorenzo’s petite wife, Sophie, and murmured something. Those two had experienced an easier time since Rosa took the brunt of Mamma’s disfavor, though neither was perfect. Maybe that’s all it was with Quillan. A little disapproval for a while . . . bene, a healthy disapproval. Then everyone would see he wasn’t so different.

Or was he? Carina raised her head and listened. The voices from the back room carried, but they were moderate, tempered. Either they were ignoring Quillan, or he was holding his own.

Mamma sniffed loudly and carried a pan of meat pastries to the oven. Already a pot of marinara sauce steamed on the stove with spaghetti drying over the chair backs. Plump purple sausages lay ready to fry in olive oil with the peppers Carina was cutting. Renata floured carp filets and laid them in a skillet already popping with oil. The aroma of crusty bread came from the oven. Mamma may be upset, but she was preparing a feast.

Carina thought of Nonna. It brought a fresh ache to see the kitchen without her, but for the moment her tears were spent. She wondered what her grandmother’s reaction would have been. No, she knew. Nonna would have been shocked and angry that Carina had thrown away her match with Flavio. She had been partial to him from his youth, as she’d been to Carina. Nonna would have wept for her lost chance, but she would have seen Carina’s love for Quillan, would have accepted it. Wouldn’t she? Carina had to believe someone would.

The back door opened, and there was Divina with a basket. A red shawl crossed over her chest and tied around her waist over the white blouse tucked into a gathered gray skirt. Carina had spent so many nights in painful fury over Divina’s betrayal, but now she felt only sisterly love. Spreading her arms, Carina went to hug her sister and felt the protruding stomach against her own empty womb. Divina seemed full for four months.

She kissed Divina’s cheek. “Oh, Divina, I missed you.”

Divina stepped back. “Nicolo says you’re married.”

“Yes.” Carina released her.

Divina’s face squinched up, and she hissed, “How could you?”

Carina froze. Surely Divina understood? But her sister stalked past her to the marble table, laid out the apples from her basket, and set it aside. What right had she to bitterness, when Carina had stripped off her own and forgiven Divina’s betrayal? In what way had she hurt Divina? In what way caused the breach between them?

Flavio. It was there in Divina’s face. Divina loved Flavio. Because he was the one she couldn’t have? But she had! Carina had seen them together, confronted them, and Divina had laughed. Carina’s heart seized with the memory. That was why she’d fled. And Flavio did not come after her. So there was Divina’s chance, yet she married Nicolo—solid, stocky Nicolo with a face like a bear. Bene. It was not Carina’s part to figure it out. She had her own troubles.

The voices from the house grew louder, but Nicolo would have joined them and maybe another brother or two. Carina went back to cutting. She sliced the peppers into long thin strips and removed the stems, thick with seeds.

“How are you feeling?” Mamma asked Divina.

“Sick in the mornings. Nicolo has to fetch me bread before I can sit up.”