Compromising Positions(10)

“No Mamma, no experiments, just an unfortunate accident. I managed to spill my drink earlier, but la dottoressa kindly forgave my clumsiness.”

Mina squeezed his arm again in thanks. It was bad enough to be a mess, but to be a klutz who couldn’t keep her own drink under control? Well, she didn’t want to think what Mamma Genovese would say to that.

Dark eyes turned to her son. “That is what happens when you spend all your time locked up in one of those laboratories of yours. You forget how to behave like a civilized human being.”

Giovanni sighed dramatically, playing the joker again. “Mamma’s right--it’s a terrible sight. Physicists are so uncivilized. White coats askew, sniffing whiteboard markers, smashing particles left and right.”

Mina could tell it was an old argument, but Bianca wasn’t playing. She lifted her chin and sniffed delicately before turning her back on Giovanni.

“Since my son refuses to tend to his duties as host, please allow me to escort you to your rooms so that you can change.” She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and took a less than complimentary look at Mina’s ruined dress. “With all of Marco’s guests here you wouldn’t want to look…” she paused a little too long before finishing, “underdressed.”

Two spots of color burned on Mina’s cheeks. “Yes, of course,” she untangled her arm from Giovanni’s, not meeting his gaze. She didn’t need his sympathy; she just needed to make her escape. “But there is no need for you to accompany me, Signora. I can take care of myself.” She gathered her skirt in her hands and nodded as gracefully as she could to the woman in front of her. “Perhaps we can continue our discussion after I’ve made repairs?” She stood straight and proud, refusing to look like she was running away even if she was. A little. “If it wouldn’t be an imposition, of course.”

Bianca gave her one last calculating look and nodded her agreement. “I look forward to your return.”

Strangely, Mina believed her. She watched the older woman walk away through the crowd, her back straight, her black hair shimmering with threads of silver, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Maybe there was a chance for her to be accepted after all.

Giovanni was strangely tense beside her, and she smiled at him impulsively. “Don’t worry--I’ll only be a minute. Will you still be around?” Mina was already casting through her mind for another suitable dress--with underwear this time--when he answered.

“Perhaps I should walk you upstairs.” A faint line appeared between his eyebrows and Mina thought how nice it was of him to be concerned for her.

“No, no… I can find my way. You could do me a favor, though.” She looked around the room, but couldn’t see Marco anywhere.

“Certainly. What can I do?”

“Let Marco know what happened.” She rolled her eyes a little at the necessity. Damn possessive Italian men. “I don’t want him to go looking for me and be angry that he can’t find me.”

Giovanni nodded once, understanding clear on his face. “I’ll make sure to let him know where you are if I see him.”

With another smile, she was off, wandering through the crowd of unfamiliar faces. She made it through the lounge and the hall, she ducked through a side door to avoid a rotund little man who smiled a little too broadly at her as she approached, and then, with a sigh of relief she realized she’d made her way around to the main entry hall. A flight of stairs and a dash down the hall and she would be home free.

“Tesoro mio,” a voice sounded behind her, coming from the door to Marco’s office, “perché non mi baci come prima?” The feminine voice was low, and throaty, and Mina shook her head in disbelief--there was no getting away from these Latin lovers. Had they no shame? It was Marco’s office for Pete’s sake, and some woman was in there talking about kisses.

What did it say about Italy that kisses was one of the few words she’d come to recognize?

She’d taken two steps up the stairs when a second voice sounded. Marco’s voice.

Marco’s voice? Mina stopped dead in her tracks, her head swinging back towards the office door.

The spate of Italian that fell into the hallway was way beyond her understanding, but there was no mistaking that voice. Mina crept back down the stairs and around the corner, approaching the open door. The woman was speaking again, her voice now a purr, Marco’s name clear amidst the foreign phrases.

One step, and then another, and Mina could see into the room. The leather bound books still lined the shelves, and the desk still dominated the room, but there was a disconnect somehow. She knew it was the same, but her mind wouldn’t accept it. She’d spent hours there over the past week, head bent over Marco’s desk with him, making plans, stealing kisses. The same kisses this woman was asking for.