Valentino's Love-Child

“I merely wished to—”

She rang the bell and he stopped talking.

“It is the doorbell. I must let you go.”

Shaking her head at that, she shrugged and disconnected the call.

He opened the door and then stood there staring at her as if she was an apparition—of not particularly friendly aspect. In truth, he looked absolutely horrified.

“Faith!”

“The last time I looked, yes.”

“What are you doing here?” He shook his head. “It does not matter. You need to leave. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“This is my fault.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I can see where my phone calls may have given you the wrong impression.”

“That you might be impatient to see me?”

“Yes, I am. I was. But not here. Not now.”

“Tino, you aren’t making any sense.”

“This is not a good time, Faith. I need you to leave now.”

“Won’t Gio be disappointed?”

“Gio…why would you ask about my son? Look, it doesn’t matter, we have a dinner guest coming.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. I’m here.”

“This is no time for jokes, carina.”

“Tino, you’re starting to worry me.” Really. Definitely. Positive that Giosue would not lie and say his father had approved inviting her for dinner, she was flummoxed. Besides, hadn’t Tino helped his son make the map? What was going on? “Tino—”

“Signora!” An excited little boy voice broke into the bizarre conversation. “You are here!”

Giosue rushed past his father to throw his arms around Faith in a hug. She returned the embrace with a smile, loving the naturally affectionate nature of most of the Sicilians she had met.

Tino stood there looking at them in abject horror.

Giosue stepped back, self-consciously straightening his button-up shirt. He’d dressed up for the dinner in an outfit close to the uniform he wore to school of obviously higher quality and minus the tie. He looked like a miniature version of his father, who was wearing custom-tailored brown slacks with a champagne colored dress shirt—untucked, the top button undone.

The clothes were absolutely yummy on the father and adorable on the son.

Faith was glad she’d taken the time to change from the clothing she wore to teach in. Her dress was made from yellow silk batiked by a fellow artist with strands of peacock blue, sunset orange and even a metallic dye with a gold cast. Faith had fallen in love with the silk when she’d seen it at an artists’ fair and had to buy it. She’d had it made into a dress of simple design with spaghetti straps that highlighted her curves and made her feel deliciously feminine. A new addition to her wardrobe, Tino had not yet seen it.

Regardless of his other reactions to her arrival, that certain gleam she knew so well in her lover’s eyes said he approved her choice.

Unaware of the strange overtones to the adults’ conversation, Gio took her hand and held it. “Papa, this is Signora Guglielmo.” Then the boy smiled up at her with pure innocence. “Signora, this is my papa, Signor Valentino Grisafi.”

“Your papa and I have met,” Faith said, when Tino remained silent and frozen like a statue. An appalled statue.

“You have?” Gio looked confused, maybe even a little hurt. “Papa told me he did not know you. Nonna told him he would like you though.”

“I did not realize that Signora Guglielmo was the woman I know as Faith Williams.” He looked at her accusingly, as if it was her fault.

“You are friends?” Giosue asked.

Faith waited to hear what her lover would say to that.

Tino looked from her to his son, his expression impossible to read. “Si. We are friends.”

Giosue’s face broke out into a grin and he giggled. “You didn’t know? Truly?”

“Truly.”

“That is a good joke, isn’t it, Papa?”

“A good joke indeed,” Tino agreed, sounding anything but amused.

Faith wasn’t feeling too lighthearted, either. Tino hadn’t approved inviting her for dinner. He hadn’t written those directions out with her in mind to use them. He’d had no intention of inviting her into an aspect of his life he had heretofore kept separate from her. In fact, he was clearly dismayed and not at all happy by this evening’s turn of events.

He’d approved inviting his son’s teacher. Another woman. A woman who Tino would have been told by his son and mother was single, near him in age and attractive (or so Agata said every time she lamented Faith’s unwed state). If the fact that Giosue had been matchmaking was obvious to Faith, it had to have been just as apparent to his father. Add to that the little detail that Agata had patently put her two cents in, and Faith was painting a picture in her mind that held no gratification for her.

Tino had approved inviting to dinner a woman his son and mother were obviously hoping he would find more than a little interesting.

All of the little pipe dreams Faith had been building since spending the night for the first time at Tino’s flat, crashed and burned.

But she wasn’t a wimp. Far from it. She’d taken a lot more that life had to dish out without giving up. She was here now. And she had important motivation to make this evening work in spite of her lover’s negative reaction to her appearance.

Perhaps if Tino saw how good they could be together around his family, he’d rethink the parameters on their relationship. Then telling him about the baby wouldn’t be so hard.

And maybe the Peruvian rain forest would freeze over in a freak weather anomaly tonight, too.

Okay, that kind of negative thinking wasn’t going to do her any good. She had to think positive. No matter what, she wasn’t about to beg off dinner. That would hurt Giosue, and Faith didn’t let children down. Ever.

She’d experienced that particular phenomenon too many times herself to inflict it on the young people in her life.

She gave both males her best winning smile and asked, “May I come in now, or were you planning to have dinner on the front porch?”

Giosue laughed and dragged her over the threshold, forcing his father to move out of the way or get knocked into. “We’re eating outside, but in back, silly signora.”

“And did you cook, Gio?”

“I helped. Ask Papa.”

She looked back over her shoulder at the silent man following their progress through the house.

“Indeed he did. He is a favorite with our housekeeper.”

“It’s easy to understand why. Gio’s a little charmer.”

“Signora!” Gio exclaimed in the long-suffering tone only an eight-year-old boy could affect so perfectly.

“Do not tell me it embarrasses you to discover your favorite teacher also holds you in high regard,” his father teased him.

The boy shrugged, blushing, but said nothing. Faith’s heart melted a little more toward him. He would make such a wonderful stepson and big brother. But she was getting ahead of herself. By light-years.

“So, what are we having for dinner?” she asked.

Especially after realizing Tino had not intended to invite her to dinner. That he had, in fact, been wholly ignorant of her relationship with his son and mother.

“Wait until you see. I got to stuff the manicotti. The filling is yummy.”

Giosue was right, the manicotti was delicious. As was everything else, and the company wasn’t bad, either. Tino started off a little stiff, but being around his son relaxed him. As hard as he so plainly tried to keep things between himself and Faith distant, his usual behavior got the better of him. He touched her when he talked to her, nothing overtly sexual. Just the normal affectionate-Sicilian-nature style, but it felt good—right.

Gio asked tons of questions about her art, questions there wasn’t time for during class. Several times she caught Tino looking surprised by her answers. But then, he knew almost nothing about that part of her life. For the first time that really

bothered her. Her art made up the biggest part of her life and he was sadly ignorant of it.

That realization, more than anything else, put the nature of their relationship into perspective. While his behavior lately might indicate it was changing, theirs was still primarily a sexually based connection.

“You are asking so many questions, amorino, I am beginning to think you wish to grow up to be an artist.”

“Oh, no, Papa, I want to be a winemaker like Nonno.”

“Not a businessman and vintner like your papa?” Faith asked.

“He will have to have another son to do that. I want to get my hands dirty,” Giosue said with absolute certainty.

Rather than take offense, Tino laughed aloud. “He sounds just like my father.” He shook his head, the amusement still glittering in his eyes. “However, there will be no brothers, or sisters either. Perhaps Calogero will finally marry and have children, but if not—when I get too old to do my job, we will have to hire a business manager.”

“You will never be too old, Papa.”

Tino just smiled and ruffled his son’s hair. “You know there is nothing to stop you from making art a hobby while you follow in your grandfather’s footsteps. Isn’t that right, Faith?”

She was still reeling from the dead-on surety in Tino’s tone when he said there would be no sisters or brothers for Giosue, but she managed to nod and smile at the expectant little boy.