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Her smile was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, my Italian is not very good.’
‘He said he’s never seen anyone like you before.’ Matteo’s voice came from right behind her. He stood, holding two gelato cones. He handed one to her and he passed the other to the child.
Matteo spoke in rapid-fire Italian, but she caught enough of his words to get the gist. ‘Eat it. You look hungry.’
The child didn’t need to be told twice. He instantly reached for the gelato, his grubby fingers wrapping around the cone.
‘I wonder what he meant,’ Skye said, looking up at Matteo.
Matteo phrased the question to the child, raising his brows at the response.
‘He said you are very beautiful, and very fancy.’
Skye’s cheeks flushed pink. She stood, giving Matteo her full attention. ‘You’re making that up.’
‘Why on earth would I do that?’
‘I don’t know. Why do you do anything?’
The little boy’s fingers reached out and ran across Skye’s forearm, touching her skin gently as he murmured something in Italian. She smiled down at him, not at all concerned by the touch. Matteo, beside her, apparently didn’t feel the same. He stiffened noticeably.
‘He says you are very soft. Like...’
Skye held her breath. ‘Like what?’
‘Like a petal.’
She laughed. ‘Quite the romantic, huh?’ But she sobered at the look of wonderment on the little boy’s face. ‘Do you think he’s okay? Does he need something?’
‘He’s Romani, most likely,’ Matteo said.
‘Where are his parents?’
Matteo asked the child, but compressed his lips, apparently disapproving of his wife’s involvement in the child’s life.
Skye didn’t care. As though she could simply leave a young boy—he must have only been six or seven, if that—on the streets!
‘His family have a boat near by, he says. He works from here.’
‘Works?’ Skye’s confusion was obvious. ‘He’s too young to work.’
She crouched down again, dislodging the boy’s grip. ‘Do you need anything?’ she asked in English.
He shook his head, then looked at the ice-cream, and Skye smiled.
But she wasn’t convinced. She reached into her bag and pulled out several notes. She handed them to the little boy, making sure his fingers were tight around the paper. ‘Take this and go home,’ she said softly. ‘You should be at school. Scuola.’
His eyes were huge. He looked at the amount in his palm and then hugged Skye, so that she laughed. ‘Home,’ she said gently.
He turned and ran off, his skinny little legs bowed at the knees.
Emotions lurched inside Skye. Damned pregnancy hormones.
‘Are you going to rescue every impoverished child you see? If so, might I suggest we avoid St Mark’s.’
She threw her husband a look of impatience. ‘It’s so sad. That poor little boy.’
Matteo shrugged. ‘He looked happy enough to me.’
