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‘Shall we get on with this?’
‘So impatient,’ he commented, a smirk playing around his lips. ‘You haven’t even mentioned what you think of the house.’
Her shoulder felt leaden as she shrugged. ‘It’ll make a gorgeous home for someone once you get bored of it, I’m sure.’
His mocking expression evaporated and his jaw clenched once but Mia didn’t congratulate herself on landing the blow. Not when her insides were clenched tight with the need to hold herself together.
‘Perhaps I’ll hang onto it, set down roots for Gianni. He’s half English, after all,’ he drawled.
‘Are we really discussing real estate? I would’ve thought you’d be upset by the events of the last few hours.’
He lifted one masculine shoulder, drawing her attention to the sheer breadth and magnificence of his towering body. ‘I’m learning not to sweat the details. My investigators will uncover the truth in due time.’
‘You’re just prepared to shrug it off until it all comes together for you?’
‘What’s the point of stressing about it? Like you’re so eager to, we need to get on with other discussions. But first things first.’ He strolled over to a console table, lifted the phone and spoke in Italian. Almost immediately, Mia heard the click of approaching footsteps.
The middle-aged woman who entered the room was conservatively dressed, and pleasant-looking. She greeted Rocco before glancing at her.
‘This is my Mrs Simpson, my housekeeper,’ Rocco introduced. ‘She’s already prepared Gianni’s lunch.’
The older woman smiled at Mia. ‘I have three grandchildren of my own so I know just what a two-year-old likes to eat. It’s all set up in the kitchen. If you don’t mind him coming with me?’
To respond any other way would have been discourteous. So Mia nodded. ‘Thank you. If you need me, I’ll be...’ She paused, glancing at Rocco.
‘We’ll be in the dining room, having our own lunch. But Gianni is going to be a good boy for Mrs Simpson, aren’t you, mio figlio?’
Gianni, who had looked up from his drawing with interest when the housekeeper entered, nodded at his father. She’d been concerned about how her son would take to having a male figure in his life. Judging from the look that passed between father and son, he was coping brilliantly. A part of her wanted to be disappointed but it was a small, selfish part that she managed to smother as Mrs Simpson and Gianni walked away, hand in hand.
‘He’s only going to the other room, Mia, not Outer Mongolia,’ Rocco quipped.
She sent him a sharp look. ‘I’m not used to other people taking care of him, okay?’
He regarded her steadily. ‘I’m becoming aware of that. I recall you disliked talking about your family. Do I assume hiding away in your little village was by choice?’
‘If by choice you mean was I alone once my grandmother passed away soon after Gianni was born, then yes.’
His eyes shadowed. ‘Were you close?’
A swell of sadness filled her heart. ‘Close enough to make me regret not spending more time with her,’ she said before she could trap the revealing words.
‘Meaning?’ Rocco pressed.
‘Meaning we all have regrets. Less time with my grandmother is one of mine.’
His gaze probed. Deep. Making his next words unexpected. ‘Le mie condoglianze.’
Condolences.
‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘But things are going to change. You know that, don’t you?’
She raised her chin, unwilling to divulge that she suspected the very same thing. ‘Do I?’
‘Sì, cara,’ he said far too softly, ambling to a halt in front of her. For an eternity, he stared down at her, then lifted a finger and traced it down her cheek. ‘For starters, you are no longer alone.’
The words echoed through her, sinking into unguarded spaces inside her, awing and terrifying in equal measure. She tried to read his face, but Rocco gave nothing away.
