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He’d given her good advice. And so she walked over to her mother, who stood by the fire, when it would have been so much easier, even justified, to walk away.
‘I have plans tomorrow, Mamma, but I could come over in the evening, perhaps, for a drink.’
And biscotti and cake andpizzelles, no doubt. For there was no such thing asjust a drinkin Silibri.
It would be awkward, and difficult, but it would be a start—and, wrongly or rightly, she could not turn her back on her family.
‘I’d love that,’ said hermamma.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘You’re not coming to church?’
‘No.’ Antonietta gave a wry smile. ‘That would be too many Riccis under the same roof for me.’
Hermammaactually smiled.
And Antonietta smiled too, until she got home. And then she gave in to tears and cried more than she ever had.
She was home.
All was sorted.
Except she had let her heart go to a playboy.
And she didn’t know how to even start to get it back.
