The Italian's Christmas Child

‘I knew you would make a fuss,’ Vito would be able to point out quite rightly.

She was a jealous cow and he probably sensed that. Although she had never been competitive with other women, having a rival that beautiful and sophisticated could only be hurtful and intimidating. She loved Vito so much and was painfully aware that he did not love her. In addition, she was always guiltily conscious that she had won her wedding ring purely by default. Vito had married her because she was the mother of his son.

Mother of his son, Holly repeated inw

ardly. Not a very sexy label, certainly not very glamorous. But it didn’t have to be that way, she reasoned ruefully. She could walk that extra mile, she could make the effort and dress up too. But she needed the excuse of an occasion, didn’t she? Well, at least to begin with… On her passage across the hall, she spoke to Silvestro and told him that she would like a special romantic meal to be served for dinner.

Silvestro positively glowed with approval and she went upstairs to go through her new wardrobe and select the fanciest dress she owned. In the oddest way she would have liked to put on a Santa outfit for Vito again but it wouldn’t work out of season. She would tackle Vito the moment he came home. She wouldn’t give him time to regroup and come up with evasions or excuses. What she wanted most of all was honesty. He needed to tell her how he truly felt about Marzia and they would proceed from that point.

Did he still have feelings for the beautiful blonde? How would she cope if he admitted that? Well, she would have to cope. Her life, Vito’s and Angelo’s were inextricably bound to the stability of their marriage. Would he want a separation? A divorce? Her brain was making giant leaps into disaster zones and she told herself off for the catastrophic effect that photo had had on her imagination and her confidence. Since when had she chosen to lie down and die rather than fight?

From the dressing room she extracted the hand-embroidered full-length dress, which glittered with sparkling beads below the lights. It definitely belonged in the glamour category.

*

Vito knew something strange was afoot the instant he walked into the hall of the castello and Silvestro gave him a huge smile. Silvestro had the face of a sad sheepdog and was not prone to smiling.

‘The signora is on the way downstairs…’ he was informed.

Vito blinked and then he saw Holly as he had only seen her on their wedding day, and quite naturally he stared. She drifted down the staircase in a fantastic dress that seemed to float airily round her hourglass curves. It was the sort of gown a woman wore to a ball and Vito suffered a stark instant of very male panic. Why was she all dressed up? What had he forgotten? Were they supposed to be going out somewhere? What special date had slipped past him unnoticed?

Silvestro spread wide the dining-room door and Vito saw the table set in a pool of candlelight and flowers and thought…what the hell? He spun back as Holly drew level with him, her blue eyes bright but her small face oddly tight and expressionless. A pang ran through Vito’s long, lean frame because he was accustomed to his wife greeting him at the end of the day as though he had been absent for a week…and in truth he thoroughly enjoyed the wholehearted affection she showered on both him and his son.

‘You look magnificent, bellezza mia,’ Vito declared, while frantically wondering what occasion he had overlooked and how he could possibly cover up that reality rather than hurt Holly’s feelings by admitting his ignorance.

She was so vulnerable sometimes. He saw that sensitivity in her and marvelled that she retained it even after all the disappointments life had faced her with. His primary role was to protect Holly from hurt and disillusionment. He didn’t want her to lose her innocence. He didn’t want her to turn cynical or bitter. But most of all he never ever wanted to be the man who disillusioned her.

‘Glad you like the dress,’ Holly said a tad woodenly. ‘Shall we sit down?’

‘I’m no match for your elegance without a shower and a change of clothes,’ Vito pointed out with a slight line dividing his black brows into the beginnings of a frown because her odd behaviour was frustrating him.

‘Please sit down. We’ll have a drink,’ Holly suggested, because she had laid that photo of Marzia and him at his place at the table and she was keen for him to see it before she lost her nerve at confronting him in what was starting to feel a little like a badly planned head-on collision.

Maybe she should have been less confrontational and given him warning. Only not if the price of that was Vito coming up with a polite story that went nowhere near the actual truth. She didn’t believe he would lie to her but he wouldn’t want to upset her and he would pick and choose words to persuade her in a devious way that her concerns were nonsensical.

Vito was on the edge of arguing until he glimpsed the photo, and its appearance was so unexpected that it stupefied him. He stared down at the photo of himself dancing with Marzia in wonderment while Silvestro poured his wine. Why were they apparently celebrating this inappropriate photograph with rose petals scattered across the table and the finest wine? His frown of incomprehension deepened.

‘What is this?’ he demanded with an abruptness that startled Holly as he swept up the photo.

Consternation gripped Holly because he didn’t sound puzzled, he sounded downright angry. ‘I wanted to ask you to explain that picture,’ she muttered warily.

‘So you set me up with some sort of a romantic dinner and tell me I can’t have a shower? And sit me down with a photo of my ex?’ Vito exclaimed incredulously. ‘This is more than a little weird, Holly!’

Legs turning wobbly as she encountered scorching dark golden eyes of enquiry, Holly dropped reluctantly down into her chair. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to get it over with and I wanted you to say exactly what’s on your mind.’

‘Weird!’ Vito repeated with an emphatic lack of inhibition, crumpling the photo into a ball of crushed paper and firing it into the fire burning merrily across the room. ‘Where did you get that photograph from and when did you see it?’

Holly sketched out the details, her heart beating very fast. She hadn’t expected to feel guilty but now she did because taking Vito by surprise had only annoyed him.

‘Today?’ Vito stressed in astonishment. ‘But that photo is at least three years old!’

‘Three years old…’ Holly’s voice trailed off as she studied him in disbelief.

‘It was taken at our engagement party. Why on earth would it be printed again now?’ he questioned.

Holly scrambled out of her seat and pelted off to find the magazine she had cut the photo from. Reappearing, she planted it into Vito’s outstretched hand while Silvestro struggled to set out the first course of the meal.

‘Per l’amor di Dio…’ Vito groaned. ‘You need to learn to read Italian!’