AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I saw Marco carry you in to your room,” she said, shooting a mischievous look at her mother. “It would have been very romantic if it wasn’t Marco. Yuck!” She stuck her tongue out at her brother.
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should stop hanging out with Amara so much. I’m beginning to not be able to tell the difference.”
She ignored this. “Were you injured? Did someone attack you?” Her eyes were wide with curiosity, and she shovelled more toast in as she waited for me to answer.
She looked so young in her school uniform, her black blazer emblazoned with the coat of arms of a prestigious school that my parents had once considered sending me to in another life before deciding the fees would stretch our family finances too far.
It was odd to think some of the girls from schools like mine might have come from criminal families. Especially since so many of them had been gleefully scandalised when my life had fallen apart.
I had been only a little younger than Chiara when that crap happened. She was just a kid really.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said to her.
She looked disappointed. “Nobody tells me anything around here,” she said bitterly.
Jumping up from her chair to snatch up her satchel, she disappeared through the door without a goodbye.
Her mother hurried after her. “Darling, what about your after-school club today? Should I send Jacob to pick you up late?”
“I keep telling you I don’t want Jacob! And I don’t like those clubs any more. Why can’t you just listen?”
The front door slammed, and Vittoria returned, clearly having made an effort to compose herself, though the stiffness of her body told me she was upset.
She returned to her toast, but did not eat it. Poured herself some coffee. “And what are your plans for today?” she asked us.
I wanted to visit my mother at the hospital and hoped Marco would not protest. To my surprise, he said, “I’ve taken the day off. I thought Beth and I could visit an art gallery, after we go and see your mother, of course.”
I beamed at him, oddly pleased he was willing to come with me to see Mom.
My eyes widened. “An art gallery? Which one?” This was the last thing I had expected him to say.
He grinned mysteriously and tapped the tip of my nose. “You will see. After lunch. We can make a day of it.”
His mother pursed her lips, picked up her coffee cup and stood up abruptly. “Excuse me. I have some business of my own to tend to.”
“She really doesn’t like me,” I whispered after she was gone.
“My mother dislikes change. She’ll come around. Give it time.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I decided to let it go, hoping it would be true. If anything real was going to come out of this relationship, then I didn’t want his mother hating me forever. She clearly meant a lot to him.
“I hope so,” I murmured.
I was immediately cheered up an hour later when we arrived at Mom’s hospital, to find her propped up in bed, happily talking to a consultant. The doctor left to give us some private time.
“He’s just run through my schedule for the week with me,” she said brightly. “I’ve never been so excited about a course of physiotherapy in my life!” She laughed.
I kissed her cheek and placed a vase on her bedside table of pink gerbera daisies and plump white roses we had picked up on the way.
“What a gorgeous bouquet!”she exclaimed. “Thank you, darlings. Beth, do you remember that time that you tried to recreate my wedding bouquet to gift me, and fix it in a big cube of PVA clue? You thought it would dry clear like a glass! Oh, what a mess.”
Both of us burst into laughter. She looked at the flowers longingly, as if she would have liked to touch them.
I selected a softly blooming rose and held it by her nose for her to smell, and then trailed it gently over her cheek. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment.
“Tell me how you both are,” she said. “Aren’t you at work today, Marco?”
He shook his head, and when he told her he had taken the day off to take me to art galleries, she was delighted and launched into memories of the galleries she had taken me to when I was a little girl, and how much I had always loved art.
