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She stepped back and looked up at him. It was many years since she had topped him yet he still had the urge to look up—she carried herself as if she were seven feet tall. ‘You work too hard, Marco. A young man like you should be out, enjoying himself. Sophie must be feeling sadly neglected.’
‘I doubt it. She’s making herself a dress for Bianca’s wedding. I’m not sure I would be of much help.’
‘Clever girl. She’s so creative.’ Her eyes flickered over his face and Marco stayed as expressionless as possible. ‘We lack that in our family. We’re all good at facts, at figures, at making money, but none of us has any creativity. It would be nice...’ Her voice trailed off, but he knew exactly what she meant. Nice to breed that creativity in. ‘She has such lovely colouring as well, the peaches-and-cream English complexion.’ As if Sophie were a brood mare, waiting to be mated with a prize stallion.
The old feelings of being imprisoned, stifled, descended like physical bars, enclosing him in, trying to strip all choice away. His mouth narrowed as he fought to keep his cool. ‘Yes, she’s very pretty.’
‘Oh, Marco, she’s beautiful. And so sweet. Bianca adores her, says she is just like a sister. We’ll all miss her when she returns to London. We’ll miss you as well. It’s been lovely having you home.’
‘Luckily for Bianca they have invented these marvellous little devices which make it possible to communicate over large distances. In fact she usually has one glued to her hand. I’m sure she can speak to Sophie as much as she would like to.’
His mother walked over to the desk and picked up the fountain pen his father had always used. ‘My own mother always said one of her greatest joys was watching you and Bianca grow up.’
This was a new one. ‘Nonna was a very special person. I miss her.’
‘She was in her early twenties when I was born, and I, of course, was very young when I had you. She was still only in her forties when she became a grandmother. Young enough to be active, to be able to play with you. Of course, her dearest wish was to see you marry, have a family of your own.’
‘She was taken from us too early.’
‘I will be sixty next year, Marco. Sixty.’
He was impressed; she didn’t usually admit to her age. ‘And you don’t look a day over forty-five. Are you sure you have the right year?’
But she wasn’t in the mood for gallantry, barely raising a smile at the compliment. ‘I want to see my grandchildren, Marco. I want to know them, watch them grow up, not be an old lady, too tired and ill to be able to play when they finally arrive.’
Marco sighed. ‘Mamma...’
‘I want you back home, back here, where you belong, heading up the Santoro family. I want you settled down and married with children of your own.’
‘I know you do. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.’
‘I just want you to be happy, Marco.’
He fought to keep his voice even. ‘I know. But you have to accept that happiness comes in many different forms, in many different ways. I like what I do. I like London.’
‘And what of me? Of the business?’
‘There are other options. Bianca, for instance. Come on, Mamma, you must have considered it. Bianca is more than fit to take over from you. She’s the best of us all when it comes to figures, she’s ambitious and she’s a Santoro to her fingernails, no matter who she marries and what her last name is. Don’t overlook her. You’ll be doing all of us a disservice.’
His mother only smiled. ‘You think I haven’t considered her? That your father didn’t? Of course we have. You’re right, in many ways she’s the cleverest of us all and when it comes to the finances there’s no one I would rather have in charge. But she doesn’t have what your father had—what you have—she doesn’t have the flair, the inspired spark.’
Guilt flared as she compared him to his father and Marco’s hands curled into fists involuntarily. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she said, staring at him as if she could imprint her words into him. ‘Bianca and I can manage, we can audit, we can run—but you and your father can build. Can take an idea and make it grow, see where opportunity lies and grab it with both hands. I’m not discounting Bianca because she’s a woman and getting married, I’m discounting her because she won’t grow the company like you will. Because you are the heir your father wanted.’
Bitterness coated his mouth. ‘Papà didn’t want me to be inspired. He didn’t want me to be anything but an obedient clone. He sat in this room, at this desk, and told me if I went to England, continued to mess around with antiques, we were finished.’
