Daughter of Light (Kindred 2)

He leaned over as we entered the hallway to whisper, “I’m not sharing you with anyone just yet.”

He kissed me on the cheek and hurried me ou

t to his car, as if we were making some sort of escape. I looked back at the house. We hadn’t closed the front door properly, I guessed. Mrs. Wakefield was there looking out at us. She closed the door, shaking her head as she did so, like someone who believed we would come to no good.

I was able to put all dark thoughts out of my mind once we were in the small restaurant, cozily seated in a red imitation-leather booth with Italian sopranos singing through the wall speakers and the warm, friendly family atmosphere hovering around us. All around us were pictures of small Italian villages, some on the sea and some in areas like Tuscany. On one wall were shelves of wines on display, and on another wall were what I assumed to be actual old photographs of family, some obviously taken in Italy. The owners were very happy to see Liam. Apparently, he had not been there for some time.

“I thought this was your favorite restaurant,” I said when Francesca left us. “You made it sound like you’re here very often.”

He looked guilty for a moment and then smiled and said, “The kind of girls I was with recently wouldn’t have appreciated this.”

“How did you know I would?”

“We both have a longing for family,” he replied. “This feels like someone’s home dining room and kitchen. Smell the garlic?”

I smiled. Daddy used to enjoy making fun of the idea that garlic would be dangerous.

“Think I’m funny?”

“No, you’re right,” I said, looking around. “I was just thinking about something someone once said about garlic.”

“I’ve got a lot to learn about you, Lorelei Patio, but I don’t mind how long it will take if you don’t mind.”

“Let’s—”

“Take it a step at a time. I know,” he said. “For now, that means ordering a bottle of Chianti and something to eat.”

It was a great dinner, one I was sure Mrs. Fennel would disapprove of, especially when we were served homemade tiramisu. The owners treated us to a glass of limoncello. The other customers were naturally curious about us because of all the attention we were getting.

During the meal, Liam was more forthcoming about his youth, growing up without his mother, and how distant he felt from his father.

“It was almost as if he was blaming my mother’s desertion on us, or me,” he said. “Like if I hadn’t been born, she wouldn’t have had the right to leave or something.”

“That makes no sense, and you know it,” I said. “More likely the things you heard, what you saw, and how it all made you feel fed your own anger and poor self-image.”

“Me? Poor self-image? From what my father and Mrs. Wakefield say, you’d think I was a walking egotist.”

“That’s all show,” I said.

The way he looked at me made me wonder for a moment if he was growing angry. Was his male ego damaged? Did he think I was putting him down? Was I too truthful about what I saw?

“Do you care to explain that, please?”

I shrugged, trying to make it seem simple. “You didn’t do poorly in school and college because you’re not up to the challenges, Liam. Sometimes we feel the need to live up to the impressions people have of us, to shove it back into their faces . . . defiance born of an inner rage that seems far beyond our control.”

“Our? What about you?”

“In my way, I wasn’t much different. I suppose we’re both trying to escape ourselves or what we think we are.”

He crinkled his eyebrows and shook his head. “You’re right in front of me,” he said. “I can reach out and touch you. I’ve kissed you, held you, but most of the time, it’s almost as if you’re not really there. You’re an image or like a virtual you.”

“It takes time,” I said, hoping I was right. “Sometimes the time it takes is too much and it’s easier to give up.”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head emphatically. “Don’t even think it. I’m in for the long haul.”

He finished his limoncello as a toast, and I smiled. Liam came with his own personal baggage, I thought. Any relationship I would dream of having with any man was going to be hard enough. Was I foolish for even thinking of starting one with him? Maybe not, I thought. Maybe my spending more time on building him up would help me worry less about myself.

Francesca came over to give me a hug good night and then hugged Liam, shaking her finger at him for staying away so long. He promised he wouldn’t do it again, and we left holding hands.