The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(90)

Carina could stand it no longer. She crossed over to them in spite of the discourtesy to the poor man singing at the front of the long room. She bent and kissed Gelsomina’s cheeks. “Madrina.”

“Look at you, so beautiful.” Her godmother wrapped her tightly in her arms. “But, tesora, you’re so thin!” she whispered. “You’ve been ill.”

“Only for a while. I’m so much better now.”

Gelsomina grasped her arms and held her out. “How can you be, this terrible business.” There was true compassion in her eyes. Gelsomina understood, hurt for her. “But there, now. It will come right.”

“How, Madrina?” She gave her mamma a sorrowful look. “Everyone is against me.”

Gelsomina stroked her arm. “No, no.”

“Only you understand.”

“Of course.” Gelsomina’s eyes were clear blue skies. “I am your godmother. I love you.”

Carina’s heart soared. If Gelsomina could— “As soon as this trouble is behind you—”

“Behind me?”

“Your papa will figure it out. He is wise.”

Papa, wise? Didn’t Gelsomina know it was his stubbornness that was causing all the trouble? “He is proud.”

“Of course he is, friend to the king. Such an important man.”

Carina frowned. Oh yes, Angelo Pasquale DiGratia, physician and advisor to Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont. And now all of Italy. She knew it like a litany, had recited it herself often enough. Now it irked her. “There is no king in America, Madrina.”

“In Italy, my love.”

“We don’t live in Italy.”

Mamma said, “It lives in us. Forever our home.”

The singer finished and all applauded except Carina. She fixed her gaze on Mamma. “Then why did Papa leave? If it meant so much and he was so important, why did Papa leave?” Carina had been a little girl when her family and entourage had left Italy for Argentina. She had thought it a great adventure. But if Papa were so important, why did he leave what he had?

Mamma and Gelsomina shared a glance, and Carina looked from one to the other. For all the stories bantered about, that one she hadn’t heard. She had unintentionally hit on something. “Why, Mamma?”

Mamma waved her hand. “He wanted something better.”

“Better than friend to the king?” She knew how it worked. There were those with pedigree and power, and others without.

“You were too little to remember. Things were hard, unstable.”

Mamma was lying. Carina had seen it many times. Mamma colored the truth, brushed over it whenever it suited her.

Carina looked at Gelsomina. “Madrina?”

“In Argentina there was great opportunity.”

Carina jutted her chin. “Then why did he leave there, too?”

Mamma said, “To be part of the great America. For you and Divina and your brothers especially.”

Carina flung up her hand. “What is so great about America?”

“Two things.” Mamma’s expression intensified. “Freedom and land.”

“Papa had land.”

Mamma shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

They could go on in circles all night. Mamma did not want to tell her. If Gelsomina knew, she, too, would keep it secret. Why did it even matter? What did it have to do with her and Quillan? She felt a hand on her waist and knew without turning it was Flavio. Mamma’s face had a beatific glow, and Gelsomina nodded knowingly.

The music started, and Flavio leaned his mouth to her ear. “Do you remember the first time we danced, tesora mia?” He took her hand in his. “At Joseph’s wedding.”

She remembered. How her heart had soared! They’d been playmates, but that, that had been a turning point. She turned, met his melting gaze. Why did he persist? She saw the people watching them. It would be a terrible insult to refuse. She would incite Flavio’s wrath if she embarrassed him now, in front of everyone. So she allowed him to escort her to the floor. His hand on her waist was warm as they began the saltarello with a skipping step.

As they danced, his hands never left her, nor did his eyes. “You are beautiful tonight, my love.”

She swallowed her retort. She must not make a scene. Had he not heard her, not understood? Did he forget she loved another? No, there was something dark and taunting in his gaze. She spun, trying to ignore the warmth of his touch, which once had left her dizzy with dreams. What was this magnetism he had over all her family?

“You are my angel tonight. My cupid. I am under your spell.”

Words like that, from his lips, from his pen, had captivated her once. He took her into a twirl with his lips at her neck. She thought of Quillan in the plaza, alone.

“I love you, Carina. It consumes me.”

Madonna mia! What am I to do?

“The flames burn my heart, and I am helpless to resist.”

“Flavio . . .” Her voice broke. She didn’t want to hurt him. What she had dreamed of once was painful now. Signore, help me. Had she set it all in motion with her vengeful desire to strike back, to make him pay? How far would he go, driven by such fire?

She said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”