‘Be a good girl for Gramma and Tom,’ Rose reminded her.
‘She always is,’ said Tom, bending the truth a little.
* * *
Rose waved as the trio went down the garden path then closed the door and turned to face her visitor.
‘Why did you not tell me you had a daughter?’ Dante demanded before she could say a word.
Rose’s chin lifted. ‘If you’re inferring that I’m in any way ashamed of her, I assure you I’m not!’
He held up a hand. ‘Pace, pace. How could you be ashamed of such a beautiful child? Yet if I had not ignored your refusal to see me I would not have met her. You did not want me to?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Because her father objects?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Rose sighed. ‘Oh, well, now you’re here, come into the kitchen. I’ll make coffee.’
Dante shrugged off his suede jacket as he followed her. ‘Permesso?’
‘Of course. Do sit down.’
He took a chair at the table, his eyes on the artwork adorning the walls. ‘These are by Beatrice?’
Rose nodded. ‘Yes. As you can see, she’s heavily into red and orange. And, as she informed you, we call her Bea.’ She made coffee, then laid a tray and brought it all over to the table. ‘Would you like something to eat?’
‘Nothing, grazie.’ Dante’s eyes met hers. ‘You are angry with me for intruding, Rose?’
‘Only because I would have preferred to tell you about Bea before you met her.’
‘But since you refused to see me again, when would you have done that?’ he demanded, looking down his nose with hauteur. ‘You are obviously uneasy because I have come here against your wish. Is there a jealous lover or, worse, a husband, who would object to my presence here?’
‘Neither.’ She sat down wearily. ‘I suppose you may as well know the truth. Bea is the result of a one-night stand with someone who has no idea he’s a father. I’m not ashamed of my child, only of the circumstances that brought her into the world.’
Dante sat down abruptly, colour draining from his olive skin. He leaned forward and grasped her hand. ‘You were—forced, cara?’
‘No, nothing like that! I just drank one glass of wine too many one night to celebrate my results.’
‘And you did not tell this man what happened?’
‘No.’ Rose felt her face heat. ‘At the time I was working as a waitress while I applied for jobs, and put my lack of energy—and other things—down to being on my feet so much. It was a couple of months before it even dawned on me that I could be pregnant.’
Dante’s grasp tightened. ‘What happened then?’
Rose drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I told my mother and gave her the glad news that I had no intention of contacting the father. Tom, of course, was ready to hunt him down and force him to take responsibility. Fabio and Charlotte too.’