The Italian's Christmas Child

‘It’s not an order, Holly, it’s advice. I’m not dropping a lifelong friend because you don’t like him.’

‘And isn’t there some excuse for that dislike?’

‘Apollo didn’t tell any lies about how we met. Remember that,’ Vito retorted with succinct bite.

A painful flush illuminated Holly’s face.

‘Why shouldn’t we have a night out?’ Vito fired at her in exasperation. ‘I thought you would enjoy getting dressed up and socialising—most women do.’

‘That’s not my world,’ Holly breathed in taut objection.

‘It is now,’ Vito pointed out without hesitation, his impatience unconcealed. ‘You need to make an effort to fit in. Why do you think I bought you all those clothes? I want you to have the expensive trappings and to enjoy having them.’

As Vito strode out Holly held her breath, feeling a little like someone trying to fight off a panic attack. He had voiced truths she didn’t really want to face. This was his world and, in marrying him, she had become part of that world. He saw no reason why his life shouldn’t continue the way it always had and he was making no allowances for Holly’s insecurities. No, it was her job to swallow her ire with Apollo and be nice. Well, that certainly put her in her place, didn’t it? Vito’s long-standing friendship with the Greek billionaire meant more to him than his wife’s loss of face at her own wedding. Just as work still meant more to him than settling into marriage and fatherhood. Vito, she recognised painfully, was highly resistant to change of any kind…

CHAPTER NINE

AFTER LUNCH THE same day, Holly lifted Angelo out of the high chair in the dining room and walked outside to settle the baby on a rug already spread across the grass. Her son beamed as she arranged several toys within his reach, enjoying the change of scene.

‘Tea,’ Silvestro pronounced with decision, having followed her, and he sped off again. Holly made no comment, having already learned that Silvestro liked to foresee needs and fulfil them before anyone could make a request and, truthfully, she did fancy a cup of tea.

She cuddled Angelo and studied the bird’s-eye view of the gardens spread out below in an embroidered carpet of multi-hued greens with occasional splashes of colourful spring flowers. Daily life at the Castello Zaffari promised to be pretty much idyllic, she reflected ruefully, feeling ashamed of her negative thoughts earlier in the day when Vito had left her to go to work.

Here she was on a permanent holiday in a virtual palace where she ate fabulous food and was waited on hand and foot. She had beautiful clothes, an incredibly handsome, sexy husband and a very cute baby. What was she complaining about? For the first time ever since Angelo’s birth she also had free time to spend with her son. As for the dinner outing? That was a minor hiccup and, having examined her new wardrobe, she had decided to follow the ‘little black dress rule’ rather than risk being over-or underdressed for the occasion.

A woman in a sunhat with a basket over her arm walked up a gravelled path towards her. Holly tensed, recognising her motherin-law, Concetta Zaffari.

‘Are you on your own?’ the small brunette asked. ‘I thought I had seen Vito’s car drive past earlier but I assumed I was mistaken.’

‘No, you weren’t mistaken. He’s at the bank,’ Holly confirmed, as the older woman settled down beside her to make immediate overtures to Angelo.

‘Today? My son went into work today?’ his mother exclaimed in dismay.

Holly gave a rueful nod.

‘He should be here with you,’ Concetta told her, surprising her.

The rattle of china and the sound of footsteps approaching prompted Holly to scramble upright again. She handed Angelo to Concetta, who was extending her arms hopefully and chattering in Italian baby talk. The two women sat down by the wrought iron table in the shade while Silvestro poured the tea. He had magically contrived to anticipate the arrival of Vito’s mother because he had brought an extra cup and a plate of tiny English biscuits.

‘A honeymoon isn’t negotiable. It should be a given,’ Concetta pronounced without hesitation.

‘If Vito wants to work, well, then he wants to work,’ Holly parried, tactfully non-committal.

‘You and this darling little boy are Vito’s family and you must ensure that my son puts you first,’ Vito’s mother countered. ‘That is very important.’

Holly breathed in deep. ‘Vito loves to work. I don’t feel I have the right to ask him to change something so basic about himself.’

‘Priorities have to change once you’re married and a parent. As for having the right…’ The older woman sipped her tea thoughtfully. ‘I will be open with you. I saw your distress after Apollo made that unsuitable speech at the wedding yesterday.’

Holly winced. ‘I was more embarrassed than distressed…I think.’

‘But why should you be embarrassed by this gorgeous little boy?’ Concetta demanded. ‘Let me tell you something… When I married Vito’s father, Ciccio, thirty-odd years ago, I was already pregnant…’

Holly’s blue eyes widened in surprise at that frank admission.

Concetta compressed her lips. ‘My father would never have allowed me to marry a man like Ciccio in any other circumstances. He knew that Ciccio was a fortune hunter but I was too naive to see the obvious. I was eighteen and in love for the first time. Ciccio was in his thirties.’

‘That’s a big age gap,’ Holly remarked carefully.