by L. D. Davis
“We’ll show you where you will be staying now. You can refresh yourselves before we gorge you with good Italian cooking.”
“I like to cook,” Cora said quietly, the first real sentence I’d heard her say since we arrived.
Sofia beamed at her as she took her hand and began to lead her away. “Then you and I will get along good, principessa.”
I glanced at Marco, who stared in the direction Celia had gone with concern. There was an ugly twisting in my chest as I watched him for a couple seconds.
“Are you coming?” I finally asked.
His head whipped toward me, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Yes.”
He gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, took my hand in his, and led me out of the crowd.
Chapter Five
Walking through the Mangini mansion blew my mind. I felt like I was on a tour in a museum. Ornately designed iron chandeliers hung from the high ceilings while marble busts were perched on tables and credenzas. I stopped to admire one of a young woman so perfectly sculpted that it was almost life-like, right down to the puffs of her sleeves. The demure way she gazed off to the side and down was as if she were receiving attention from a male. Her hair was long, draped over one shoulder, and a gold chain adorned her delicate neck. The table she sat on had a round top and was supported by what seemed to be a silver cornucopia, with a gilded cherub wrapping its chubby arms around the narrow end.
At the end of the wide corridor we were in was a small seating area under a large stained-glass window. There were an old but beautiful settee and armchair and a small wooden table. I imagined myself sitting there in the middle of the night, reading by the light of the candles in the sconces that hung on the wall.
My attention was drawn away from the seating area when Sofia opened a door and immediately went inside. We followed her into the spacious bedroom. It was twice as big as Lily’s and Kyle’s at the penthouse, and that was the size of a small apartment.
Sofia gestured around us. “My mother thought since the children are in a strange place far from home, they might want to share Massimo’s old room instead of being apart. There are two beds—a big one for the little girls and a smaller one for Gavin.”
Gavi shrugged. “I don’t care. As long as I don’t have to share with either one of the stink sisters. They both kick, and Mandy pees the bed!”
In response to this accusation, Mandy stretched in Sofia’s arms and whacked her brother on the top of the head. It took a moment to get the animals under control before a whole brawl ensued.
“You will be staying in the connecting room. Sofia, stai con i bambini.” Marco issued an order to his sister to watch the kids before leading me to another door.
I thought it was a closet, but I was surprised to find a short corridor.
“This used to be a secret passage,” Marco explained. “Both entrances used to be flush with the walls, but in the early nineteen hundreds, my grandparents put in real doors.”
He stopped halfway down the corridor with his hand on a handle to another door.
“This used to lead to a hidden compartment that led to a secret stairway. My parents made it into a bathroom instead.”
The door swung open to reveal a fairly large bathroom, complete with a tub and a shower, and shelving stocked with towels and toiletries.
“The steps are still there behind that wall.”
“That’s creepy and cool at the same time. Where do the steps lead to?”
He grinned. “The wine cellar.”
“So, anyone in the wine cellar can take the steps to this wall, and just stand on the other side while I’m showering or on the toilet?”
Marco chuckled. “No. The steps were sealed off at the other end.”
I shivered. “Still creepy. Reminds me of haunted house stories.”
He took my hand and led me away. “It is a very old house. There will be noises you are not accustomed to, but I promise you, none of it is supernatural. Here is where you will be staying.”
We walked into another room, and the moment I crossed the threshold, I recognized the space from my FaceTime calls with Marco. I spun in a slow circle, a smile on my face.
“It’s your bedroom.”
The walls were painted royal blue with gold trim. The armoire was antique, as well as the matching dresser. The bed was something out of the Renaissance era—large, dark walnut wood, cherub faces, flowers, and leaves carved into the head and footboard. When my brain began to conjure up images of him and me naked in that big ass bed, I quickly glanced away.
Other than the antique furniture, the rest of the room was that of a young man. Soccer—or football—posters hung on the walls with a foosball table dominating one corner of the space. Framed pictures were scattered across various surfaces. I looked more closely at some of the photos, grinning at ones of a younger Marco with his friends, teammates, and family. There were different long-forgotten gadgets and baubles, things he’d put down years ago and never touched again.
I’d been in three of Marco’s bedrooms, and none of them carried the same weight as this one. Although they all had expressions of the man he was within them, this one had the strongest connection to who he was at his core than any other, even if it was two decades removed from his life.
“I like it,” I said softly before taking a seat on a wooden trunk at the foot of the bed.
Marco’s gaze remained steady on me, eyes slightly hooded. His voice was husky, full of desire. “I like you in my room.”
“Will you be in here with me?”
He kneeled in front of me. His big palms landed gently on my knees before slowly moving up my legs and stopping on my outer thighs.
“My parents are very old fashioned. Even though I am a man of near forty, and you are a widowed mother of three, they want us to sleep separately.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t hide my disappointment fast enough.
His thumbs stroked my thighs through my jeans, and his already husky voice lowered more. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be in here with you.”
I tried to ignore the warmth his touch sent between my legs. “I don’t want to disrespect your parents in their own home.”
“They don’t have to know. And…” He gently gripped my chin and pulled me halfway until our mouths were almost touching. “We wouldn’t necessarily be sleeping.”
The kiss sent flames racing through my veins. So soft, so sensual, so hot. His hands moved to my knees, and he pushed them apart before reaching for my ass and dragging me to the edge of the trunk. His fingers climbed up the back of my shirt onto my skin. I stroked his face with my fingers as we kissed, still feeling that ache from missing him, missing this, missing us.
“I can lock the door,” he murmured against my lips.
I rested my forehead against his and took a deep breath. “No, you can’t. The kids are right next door, wide awake, with your sister. Plus, there are a million people in the house right now. Why must you have so many relatives?”
He chuckled and kissed my nose. “Once a month, my mother hosts a family meal. She postponed it from last Sunday once she knew I was going to bring you back.”
“I didn’t know you were bringing me back. Everyone would have been very disappointed if I’d said no. By the way, where is your brother? How is he? Do you know yet?”
“When we first arrived, Maria told me he was resting in his room, but that is all I really know. You and I are going to go visit with him in a few minutes. Sofia can watch the children. She is very good with them.”
He stood, and I instantly missed his warmth and closeness. I still meant everything I’d said to him at the wedding reception. I hadn’t quite forgiven him yet, and I knew that to be true when just the thought of Celia made me want to fight, but it was terribly clear that I couldn’t stand to be separated from the man by even a few inches. It was like every deep emotion I’d ever had for him was now on the surface, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it other t
han go with it.
Then again, maybe it was just my hormones making me feel things I wouldn’t normally feel, or maybe not as strongly as I normally would. So far, this pregnancy had me all out of whack, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Marco gently pulled me to my feet. After another fast—but no less salacious—kiss, we headed back through the passageway to the other room. Hormones or not, I couldn’t wait to be alone with him later.
Massimo and Celia lived in the south wing of the Mangini manor. It could be accessed from the second floor where Marco’s bedroom was, but he wanted to show me a little more of the house as we went. He promised to give me a better tour later when we weren’t pressed for time.
We returned to the first floor on a different staircase than the one we originally used. All the while, Marco pointed out different rooms and pieces of art and other fascinating details of the house. We stopped for a moment so he could show me the conservatory, a room bursting with sunlight through the walls of windows and skylights. I hoped I got to spend some time in that space.
Directly across from the conservatory was a pair of doors that led out into a courtyard. Several kids played outside, including Celia’s kids, I quickly noted. The courtyard was immense and beautiful. There were plenty of places to sit, a table long enough to fit at least twenty people, and archways that led to places unknown to me. A few trees, barren for the winter lined the perimeter, and there were miniature gardens and pots that would probably bloom in spring. A fountain sat at the center of the courtyard, complete with a stone statue depicting the famous painting The Birth of Venus.
Marco and I walked through an arch and out into the open. Just like the entrance on the north side, there were steps that led to a set of heavy, wooden double doors. Massimo and Celia had their own official entrance, and they even had their own driveway. They had the same privacy they would have if they lived in a single-family dwelling.
Marco rang the bell. We heard it chime, and about a minute later, a young man opened the door.
“Salve, Signor Mangini.” He smiled welcomingly at us and stood aside for us to enter.
Marco did a quick introduction, mostly in Italian, but I gathered Michael was Massimo’s nurse. As we followed him through the house, the two men spoke in low murmurs. I caught a few words here and there, understanding that Marco had asked about his brother’s condition. Just like I’d done in the main part of the house, I marveled over almost everything I saw. There were some differences, as if Massimo and Celia added their own touches to the décor, but much of it was the same, with antique pieces, scenes painted across entire walls, and a mix of modern items.
I thought we would go to the second floor, but the room Michael led us to was on the first floor. We paused before going inside as the nurse reached for a box of masks set on a table. He explained something in Italian while he handed one to each of us. Marco quickly translated.
“In the past, my brother refused to wear a mask or have his visitors wear one, but now with the pneumonia, his immune system can’t afford to fight off another illness, even something minor. Michael has put his foot down and will not let anyone enter without protection.”
I donned my mask and gave Michael two thumbs up. He grinned, returned the gesture, and pulled up his own before pushing open the door.
Suddenly, I was nervous again. Despite their differences when they were younger, and what Massimo had done to his brother by stealing his fiancée, I knew Marco loved and admired his brother. I also knew that it was Massimo who had insisted on meeting me. No pressure.
I expected to find a moderate-sized room with a bed and maybe a chair or two, but when I entered, I had to remember I was no longer in the middle-class neighborhoods of Columbus, Ohio. It wasn’t just a bedroom, but an entire suite. To my left, there was a living area with couches and chairs, a kitchenette, an area to dine in, and beyond that I could see a bathroom at the end of a short hallway.
To my right was a huge bed, and in the center of it, sat Massimo. He had a knit hat on his head, but I knew from my conversations with Marco that he was bald. With his slightly gray coloring and the I.V. hooked into his arm, it was apparent he was ill; however, even though he seemed rather small in the big bed, he didn’t look frail. He sat up straight against a stack of pillows, and even from several feet away, I could see a strange, smiling light in his eyes that did not match the situation. He had cancer, as well as a case of pneumonia that could kill him before the disease, and I could swear he was smiling and happy beneath his mask. Maybe it was because he wasn’t alone. Although, it wasn’t Celia sitting beside the sick man.
She was very attractive, and even seated, I saw that she had a curvy, full figure I’d kill for. Her skin was gorgeous, a golden brown, and her dark hair sat in a messy bun atop of her head. Like everyone else, she wore a mask, but she, like her companion, seemed to have that happy light in her brown eyes.
“I thought we agreed no sleepover parties without me,” Marco said in English.
“No one like you, marshmallow,” the woman retorted, her English heavily accented.
Smoothly, Marco gave her the finger before touching his brother’s shoulder.
“How are you, brother?”
Massimo released a series of juicy coughs that had everyone in the room cringing. I couldn’t see half their faces, of course, but I could sense the collective cringe. The woman passed him a wad of tissues. After he expelled what was probably something gross and green into the tissues, she took it from him without hesitation and got out of the bed to dispose of it.
I only saw Marco in profile, but I could see the worry plain as day on his face. It wasn’t just worry, though. It was…helplessness and fear, but it was only there for a couple seconds before his expression went neutral. Massimo had seen it though, just as I had.
“You are always so serious, Marcello. I am not dead yet. Cheer up.”
Marco scowled. “I would appreciate it if you would stop taking death so flippantly, especially your own.”
Massimo looked past his brother and met my eyes. “Is he always this miserable?”
I took a couple tentative steps forward. “Actually, he’s usually annoyingly optimistic and bright and cheery. It’s sickening.”
“That does sound annoying,” the woman said, stepping up beside me. “He also has a lot of opinions.”
I agreed, smiling at her even though she couldn’t see it. “So many opinions. He’s really quite irritating.”
“Naí! Always.”
I tilted my head, gazing curiously at her. “Was that Greek?”
She nodded, and her cheeks rose as her smile grew. “Naí. Sono mezza greca e mezza italiana. I talk in both languages sometimes. Very confusing for some.”
“It’s like speaking Spanglish—Spanish and English. I’m Lydia, by the way.”
I held out my hand to her, but in true Italian style, she put her arms around me. Instead of kissing my cheeks, though, she touched hers to both of mine.
“I am Tessa, a friend of the Mangini family.”
I hid my reaction. She was the other woman Celeste told me I could trust.
“She is family,” Massimo said after a bit more coughing. He beckoned me with his hands. “Avvicinati.”
As I approached the side of the bed, Marco finally made formal introductions.
“Lydia, this is my brother, Massimo. Massimo, questa è la mia splendida, Lydia.”
Massimo patted the edge of the bed next to him. I was hesitant to get too close. I didn’t think I was sick, but I didn’t know what I could be carrying.
“It is okay. Vieni qui.”
Marco didn’t appear to like the idea, but he backed away without a word as I sat. Massimo stared at me as if I were a wonder. My cheeks heated.
“I finally get to meet you and cannot even give you a hug or kiss your beautiful face.”
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a hugger anyway, and your family kissed my face enough today to last me for years.”
“Me too.”
The four of us chatted for about fifteen or twenty minutes. Tess reclaimed her spot beside Massimo like it was the most natural thing in the world. They sat close, not touching, but intimately close. It was apparent she was like family to them, but I sensed she didn’t have the same relationship with Marco that she had with Massimo. The concern on her face when he wasn’t paying attention was deeper and more sorrowful than even Marco’s. It was a different kind of sorrow I couldn’t quite place. When they looked at each other, though, I saw that light I’d seen in both their eyes when I first arrived. I didn’t want to read too much into it, however. I barely knew them—or anything about them—and it would be easy for me to completely misunderstand everything.
As the minutes marched on, Massimo had more coughing fits and sunk farther and farther into his pillows. His eyes, which had been wide and alert, became hooded. His cheeks began to turn pink, and his speech slowed and occasionally slurred. I moved out of the way when Michael wanted to check his vitals.
“His temperature is rising again,” Marco whispered to me after an exchange of words with the nurse. “They haven’t been able to keep it down.”
Michael put something Massimo’s I.V. line. When he moved away, Marco took my spot on the bed beside his brother. Tess was closer to him, tenderly rubbing his arm through his shirt as she murmured in Italian to him. I felt like an outsider, like I shouldn’t be there, and for the first time, I wondered if it had been a mistake to come.
I’d just made the decision to quietly exit the room when the door swung open. I turned to see who had entered and wished I hadn’t. Then again, no one in their right mind would want Celia Mangini at their back.
She paused when she came in—without a mask, I realized—and took in the scene, her icy eyes zeroing in on Tess. Then that smile appeared, the one that was beautiful and perfect. The one that lied.
