A Moment on the Lips(54)

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 a wish,’ Carenza said.

Yeah. And he knew what he would wish for.

But he saw their faces round the table, all full of hope—and he remembered all the times his mother had a black eye or a tooth knocked out or a broken arm. All given to her by the man who was supposed to love her. The man who’d made those vows in front of their joined families. Nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia. In joy and in sorrow, in health and in sickness. Except his father had been the one to cause the sorrow and the sickness.

E di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita. And to love you and honour you, all the days of my life. His father had broken that vow, too.

And the wish turned to ashes in Dante’s head.

He’d inherited his father’s genes. So it followed that, even if he started with all the good intentions in the world, he could end up hurting Carenza, the same way his father had hurt his mother. And he really couldn’t take that risk. For both their sakes.

‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ Gianna said.

‘I’m fine,’ he fibbed.

‘You work too hard.’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘And, knowing you, you’re trying to catch up with the work you didn’t do when you were in Paris. Even though Carenza says Mariella moved all your meetings so you’re not actually behind at all.’

‘I’m fine, Mamma,’ he repeated, and forced himself to smile. ‘It’s Fiorella’s bedtime. Let me do the washing up, and then I’ll leave you in peace.’

‘No, it’s your birthday and you’re not washing up today.’

‘Will you let me wash up?’ Carenza asked.

‘No, tesoro,’ Gianna said with a smile. ‘Thank you, but it’s fine.’ She gave Dante a pointed look, and he knew that if he didn’t offer to give Carenza a lift, his mother would nag him about it for weeks.

‘Can I give you a lift home, Carenza?’ Dante asked politely.

‘On the bike?’ she asked.

He couldn’t help smiling, then. ‘My mother banned me from riding the bike here.’

‘Because it’s dangerous,’ Gianna interjected.

Dante rolled his eyes. ‘It’s as safe as a car.’

‘Not the way you drive, it isn’t.’

He shrugged. ‘I hate waiting in queues. It’s more efficient than a car. But tonight, to keep my mother happy, I’m using a taxi. And your flat’s on my way home, Carenza, so if you’d like a lift?’