The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(20)
It was only as a pause came while Erminia cleared the table in preparation for dessert that the girl spoke up. Her voice was soft and engaging but carried an obvious question in its lilting syllables.
“Carisa! If you please!” Aunt Filomena exclaimed. “Per piacere!”
The girl stared at Nicholas, putting her question again in puzzled tones. After a moment, he gave a short laugh before answering in quiet reassurance, “Si, si, little one.”
Carisa sprang to her feet with sudden joy in her face. She ran to fling her arms around his neck while glancing toward Amanda and then back again, chattering happily. In that flood of Italian, Amanda caught only a single word, one which sounded like bambino.
Nicholas laughed again, returning the hug. Talking in low tones, he smoothed the girl’s shining hair as if to calm her exuberance.
Nonna, smiling with a slight tremor at the corners of her mouth, reached to pat Carisa’s arm with caressing fingertips then indicated that she should return to her seat. At the same time, Aunt Filomena signaled to Erminia that she was to serve Carisa’s desert at once. When that was done, she slipped her own dolce of cake and nuts with sweet cream onto the girl’s plate.
Obediently, Carisa seated herself once more and dug into the food in front of her. It seemed some small crisis had been averted.
Amanda could not imagine anything too unusual had been said, still she was curious. She turned to Nicholas with a smile. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing of importance.” His voice was distant, dismissive.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He looked away, drew a controlled breath, then turned back again. “Carisa asked if you were a special lady, my fiancée.”
Amanda’s heart somersaulted in her chest, while her stomach muscles clenched. Still it took less than a moment to realize Carisa could only suspect that state of affairs if she was unaware of the accident and Amanda’s connection to it. But what, then, had that been about a bambino? Everyone recognized the word for baby.
“She doesn’t know I’m Jonathan’s sister.”
“No.” He made a staying gesture with one hand, lowering his voice as he went on. “Please. I will explain later.”
Carisa might have some small disability, but her understanding seemed more than adequate when people spoke to her directly. At least her lack of knowledge explained why no one had mentioned Carita or Jonathan since they’d sat down at the table.
Nicholas must have spoken to his grandmother and aunt earlier, and they’d agreed among themselves to avoid the subject in front of Carita’s twin. This meant no one could express sympathy for her brother’s injuries or address her natural concern for him. The knowledge eased a small ache in Amanda’s heart that she had not realized was there.
When the dessert was eaten, a young Polish woman appeared who was introduced as Carisa’s companion, Yolanda. With her flaxen hair, sky blue eyes, and rather vapid expression, she appeared the perfect model for a child’s doll. Looks were perhaps deceiving, however, as she was not only greeted with affection by Carisa, but spoke to her charge in Italian, greeted Amanda in English on being introduced and muttered an soft oath in her own language when a lizard darted across her path.
Yolanda drew the girl into the house for her afternoon rest with the promise of a chapter from the book they seemed to be reading. A short time later, Nicholas’s grandmother drifted away with a similar idea in mind, or so it seemed, and his Aunt Filomena excused herself for a hairdresser’s appointment. Left alone with Nicholas, Amanda drank the last of her mineral water as she sought an excuse for her own escape.
Nicholas sent a brooding glance her way as he leaned back in his chair, fingering the rim of his coffee cup. Abruptly, he pushed cup and saucer away and got to his feet. “Come,” he said as he offered his hand, “let me show you the garden while I tell you a thing or two about this business with Carisa.”
She might not have agreed so readily except for the riddle of Carita’s twin. As it was, she allowed him to place her hand in the bend of his arm as they left the table and descended the steps that led from one terrace level to another. It was surprisingly difficult to let go when they reached flat ground, not just of the firm, warm muscles under her fingers but of the odd sense of security it provided.
The gardens were formal, with tree-shaded alleyways that arrowed toward a sea vista in one direction and the purple line of the distant hills in the other. Geometric beds centered by statuary and edged with low evergreens lay between them. Nicholas led the way down the main path that was lined with the dark green cylinders of cypress trees and had a giant olive oil urn at its end. The urn had been turned into a fountain that flowed into the swimming pool which lay across the entire bottom of the garden, set like a great aquamarine jewel within its surround of lapis tiles.
The garden was lovely, well-kept, filled with birdsong and the drone of insects, a place designed for rest and repose. Amanda might have found those things except for the man who walked at her side.
“Carisa was of course born as you see her,” he said, breaking the silence at last. “Carita, on the other hand, was and is perfectly normal in all respects. There is no reason to think the child she carries will be like Carisa.”
“The thought had not crossed my mind.” It really hadn’t, though there’d been little time, of course, and so much else to consider.