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Sadness filled her. Still in Italy and still refusing to communicate with her because of something Carina had told them. She wished she knew what. At a guess, it probably related to Brand. But if by some bad luck Soren found them, she dreaded to think what they’d say abouther.
“So you really were alone when you had your accident.”
“As you can see, Isurvived,” she replied lightly, brushing a finger across his brow. “No pity, Brand. I’m not asking for it and I don’t need it.”
“How about a family? You won’t be alone or lonely around my family, that’s for sure.”
It took every ounce of control she possessed to answer calmly, emotionlessly. Without the intense pain welling within coloring her words. “Until our marriage ends.”
The next severalweeks passed in a collision of emotions, swinging between tempestuous passion whenever she and Brand made love and the harsh reality check of dealing with an angry, resentful five-year-old.
It wasn’t until she happened on a photo album stuffed under Toni’s bed that an idea for how to approach the little girl occurred toMia.
“I’m having a tea party,” she announced to Toni one morning, rubbing at her aching hip. What had she done to set that off? “And I’m going to make biscotti. Would you like to come?”
Assuming her usual stance—skinny arms folded across an equally skinny chest, jaw jutting—Toni shook her head. “No!”
“You don’t even want to help with the biscotti?”
Another “no” hovered on her lips before curiosity won out. “What’s bis-soti?” she asked suspiciously.
“It’s a type of cookie. I’ve been practicing and practicing, trying to get it just right. But I think I need someone to taste it for me and tell me whether it’s okay.”
The promise of a cookie warred with Toni’s desire to knock aside any olive branch Mia offered. “Maybe I could taste it,” she grudgingly offered. “But I won’t eat it if it’s awful.”
“Well, of course not.” Mia hesitated, tiptoeing into the next part of the conversation. “After we make the cookies, Iwas thinking of inviting yourmammato our tea party.”
“My mommy is dead.”
Mia winced. Ah, the brutal directness of little ones. “Yes, sweetie. Iknow. But I also know you talk to her all the time and it seems only polite to invite her to our tea party. What do you think?”
Toni shrugged. “If she wants to.”
“I’ll tell you what… We’ll make biscottiandchocolate chip cookies. That way we’re sure there’s something good for everyone.”
“I love chocolate chip cookies,” the little girl admitted.
“Do you like nuts in them or just plain?”
“No nuts.”
“What about icing?”
That took some thought. “Can we put sprinkles on?”
Got her!“Absolutely. Let’s check the kitchen and make sure we have all the ingredients we’ll need.”
Mrs. Morrison, the family nanny, must have a sweet tooth since the pantry overflowed with cookie and cake ingredients. Even some of the more unusual ingredients necessary for biscotti were present and accountedfor.
For the first thirty minutes Toni remained withdrawn and distrustful, before the fun of using the mixer and cookie cutters kicked in. To Mia’s delight, the biscotti emerged from the oven appearing perfect in every regard, though she’d deliberately made them softer and more Americanized for Toni’s sake. The scent filled the kitchen with baked goodness, surrounding them in warmth and holiday cheer.
Together they decorated the chocolate chips cookies with sprinkles, using a heavy hand and laughing at the result. Then Mia showed Toni how to dip the ends of the biscotti in dark chocolate and drizzle some white chocolate over the top in pretty Christmas patterns.
Leaving the cookies to cool, she made a pot of honey sweetened tea with a tiny squeeze of lemon and, with Toni’s help, used the best china she could find to set the dining room table for their party of three.
Once they’d finished their preparations, Mia suggested, “Next time I think we should dress up for our tea party.” She collapsed into a chair to give her right hip and leg a rest from standing for solong.
“Dress up?”
