‘You look very beautiful, Rose,’ said Dante.
‘Thank you.’
‘Because this is a special occasion, Silvia has stayed to serve dinner.’
‘She doesn’t live in?’ said Rose, surprised.
‘She did in my grandmother’s day, but after Nonna died Silvia surprised everyone by marrying a man she’d known in her youth. So now she comes here for an hour or two in the day, and then goes home to Mario.’ Dante eyed her warily. ‘She assured me that if we wish to go out any evening she will stay with Bea, but I did not think you would allow that.’
‘No, indeed. Not,’ added Rose hastily, ‘that I don’t think she’s trustworthy, but—’
‘You could not leave your child with a stranger who speaks no English.’
‘Put like that, it sounds very cold, but yes, I suppose I do mean that.’ She sighed. ‘It was a big step for me to bring Bea here at all, Dante.’
‘I know this. And now you are here, how do you feel?’ The blue eyes lit with heat as they locked on hers. ‘For me, it feels so natural, so right, to see you sitting here with me. As we should have done long ago if Elsa had not lied to me,’ he said bitterly.
Rose held up a hand. ‘Let’s not talk about the past.’
He nodded. ‘Va bene. We shall discuss the future instead.’
‘No, not tonight, Dante. Let’s just sit here and enjoy Silvia’s dinner together.’
His eyes softened. ‘Does this mean you are enjoying your time here with me, Rose?’
She grinned. ‘It beats an evening spent with my computer.’
Having eaten very little all day, Rose was more than ready for the soup Silvia served, and for the chicken roasted with herbs and vegetables that followed. She thanked the beaming woman when she came to clear away, and assured her, via Dante, that the meal had been delicious.
‘Grazie tante, Silvia,’ she said, smiling.
This prompted a voluble response Dante translated as great pleasure, that coffee and biscotti awaited them in the salone and Silvia wished them both good night.
Dante led Rose to a sitting room with a painted ceiling and furniture upholstered in ruby velvet. By the abundance of gilt-framed mirrors and pictures, it had obviously remained unchanged since his grandmother’s day.
‘How lovely, Dante. You’ve kept everything the same?’
He nodded as they sat down together on the sofa. ‘My family says I should buy new things, express my own personality, but I preferred to wait.’
‘Until you’d stopped grieving for your grandmother?’ she said gently.
‘No. Until you and I could make the changes together, Rose. Perche,’ he said, his voice deepening, ‘now I know I have a daughter, nothing will come between us this time.’
CHAPTER NINE
ROSE STIFFENED. ‘ONLY because you’re so desperate to be her father you’re willing to take me as part of the deal!’