A Dark Sicilian Secret

She glanced admiringly into the interior with its dark red leather seats and dash. “My dad loved cars. He was always buying new cars and living in Detroit—” She broke off, horrified by what she’d just revealed and then panicked, she babbled on as she slid into the passenger seat. “Dad still watches car auctions on TV.”

Vittorio closed the door behind her and moved to the driver’s seat. “You never mentioned your father’s interest at Bellagio.”

She glanced up at the chiseled features of his face to see if he’d caught her slip, but Vittorio looked relaxed, his expression almost happy. “I didn’t realize you liked old cars, too,” she said, thinking that her mention of Detroit hadn’t registered, “because all of your cars at the lake villa were new.”

“And what do you prefer?” he asked, closing his door.

“I do love classic cars best.”

“Sounds like you are your father’s daughter,” he said, starting the car.

Jillian grew hot, her skin prickly. She’d definitely been her father’s daughter the first twelve years of her life. She’d loved his energy and charm and ready laugh. “Growing up I was very close to him,” she said quietly. “I was proud of being a Daddy’s girl.”

“What changed?” Vittorio asked, shifting gears and heading down the driveway to the cas

tle’s impressive gates.

She was silent a long moment as Vittorio pulled away from the Normandy castle with its turret and tower to head down the drive toward town.

The sun shone brightly and Jillian lifted a hand to shield her eyes. “His job,” she said at length. “He had problems at work.”

“What sort of problems?” Vitt asked, sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

“Financial.”

Vitt shot her a glance. “Did he embezzle money?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. We never talked about it at home. My father wasn’t open and my mother didn’t ask questions. They had a very traditional marriage. Dad was the head of the family and made all the decisions. It was Mom’s job to agree with him.”

Vitt shot her a brief glance. “You’re nothing like your mother.”

She laughed despite herself. “No, I’m not. Maybe that’s why we’re not close.” But then her smile disappeared as she thought of her sister, a beautiful brunette who’d taken after their mother. Mom and Katie had been close, practically been best friends. “My sister and Mom talked every single day though, sometimes three or four times a day. Even when Katie was at college she called Mom to get her advice, ask her opinion. I used to tell Katie to grow up, become independent but she said Mom needed her, and now, looking back, I realize Katie was probably right. Mom hasn’t had much of a life.”

“When is the last time you saw them then? Your sister’s funeral?”

Jillian dug her nails into her hands and looked away. “I wasn’t able to make the funeral.”

“What?”

She felt Vitt’s stare and she lifted her shoulders. “I was in Switzerland working. There was no graveside service. Mom and Dad just took Katie’s ashes home.”

“That’s just strange.”

“As I said, we’re not close.” She turned to look at him, eyes huge in her pale face. “I haven’t seen them since I graduated from college, and that was five years ago.”

“Don’t you want to see them?”

“Yes.” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. “But there are reasons we don’t get together, and I have to respect those reasons.” Jillian grabbed her long hair in her hand to keep it from blowing in her face. “I’m not saying it’s easy, because it’s not. I wanted to go home and see them after Katie’s death. I wanted to be with the people who loved Katie as much as I did, but I couldn’t go, and I grieved on my own, and it was horrible.” She blinked back tears. “But then I changed jobs and moved from Zurich to Istanbul and that helped. Helped distract me from always thinking about losing Katie.”

Vittorio glanced at her again, his sunglasses hiding his eyes and yet from the set of his mouth she knew he was thinking over every word she’d said.

She’d said a lot, too.

“Can we talk about something else?” she said huskily. “Talking about my family just makes me miss Katie even more.”

They drove along the lower slopes of Mount Etna, passing through acres of black lava only to arrive at terraced fields of vineyards and almond and hazelnut groves.

They stopped at Roman ruins an hour and a half outside Paterno and Vittorio held her hand as they walked down stone stairs cut from the hillside to the bottom of what once must have been a very grand amphitheater. In places the rows of stone seats climbed perfectly up the grassy hillside. In other areas the stones had been broken and toppled and lay in pieces on the ground.