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Enzo shot his mother a look that began appalled, became mortified, and flickered into enraged before he evidently mastered himself.
Fortunately, Fiore had a ready and honest answer. “No.”
“Why not?” asked the duke.
Fiore shrugged. “I hate losing.”
The duke raised her brows and sipped her coffee—a gesture which almost disguised the smile curling at the corners of her mouth. It had smoothed away by the time she set her cup down again. “What are your ambitions?”
Ambition seemed a very far-away thing. Fiore blamed the anodyne. But there remained one hope foremost in his heart. “I want to make Enzo happy.”
“And what else?”
Fiore knew not what else she wanted from him. “I also like to draw.”
The duke blinked.
“His drawings are beautiful,” Enzo cut in.
The duke stared at her son for another moment before a low chuckle overtook her. “Then I should be gratified to see them at your leisure.”
Fiore wasn’t sure whether that boded well or ill.
“Your journey here must have been very tiresome,” the duke continued. “All the way from the city. And as a convalescent.”
“The destination is worth a great deal more trouble than I’ve had,” Fiore replied—truthfully. What little he’d glimpsed of the villa thus far was wondrous and made all the moreso by Enzo’s company. “And I traveled not even half so far as your grace to reach it. How was your voyage? Forgive me, I’m very curious about nautical matters. I’ve only just crossed the lagoon—I’ve never truly been to sea.”
The duke cocked an eyebrow at this. Fiore feared he’d given offense. Perhaps she wearied of pedestrian inquiries regarding her seafaring. Or perhaps she merely didn’t appreciate his efforts to turn the questions back upon her.
But then, with another enigmatic smile, she began to speak on her own adventures. The trade routes she sailed with her fleet, as it so happened, allowed her to indulge a passion for collecting specimens of marine life; not just fish, whales, and sundry creatures of the deep but also the birds that soared over them.
As she spoke, a warm weight draped across Fiore’s shoulders—Enzo’s arm, subtly bracing and shielding him, quite literally backing him up.
Fiore dared a glance at Enzo to see if he’d done the right thing in inducing the duke to discuss her own interests.
Enzo met his gaze with an approving and admiring smile.
~
Enzo desperately wanted his mother to like Fiore.
Not because he required her approval. Far from it. But he wanted her to appreciate Fiore as Fiore so richly deserved. And—perhaps more importantly—he was anxious for her not to offend Fiore.
So far all had gone well enough, aside from the gambling question. That had sent a spike of outrage through him. He could trace the trail of her logic; while Lucrezia had already confirmed Fiore’s habits in this regard, the inquiry to Fiore direct would give him the opportunity to explain his behavior and further reveal his character to her. But understanding her reasoning did not make Enzo appreciate it.
Even so, Enzo felt tolerably certain his mother didn’t dislike Fiore. If she didn’t enjoy his conversation, she would not have suffered through it so long.
Enzo was not enough of a rube to actually take out his pocket watch whilst she and Fiore talked. But he did note the shadows growing across the room. Between the three of them they’d drunk all the coffee—twice-over, as the maid had returned with a fresh pot. The brioche and zaletti, however, were hardly touched. Enzo knew Fiore liked both, which led him to conclude that either Fiore didn’t feel well enough to eat, or he felt too nervous to eat in front of her grace the Duke of Wolfwater.
This, combined with a subtle tightening of Fiore’s smile and a slight tension felt in the shoulders beneath Enzo’s arm, induced Enzo to suggest to his mother that perhaps the visit ought to draw to a natural close.
Catching her eye, slightly raising his brows, and flicking his gaze to Fiore and back again sufficed. She took the hint at once and made the appropriate excuses.
Enzo arose to show her out instead of removing Fiore, all too aware of how painful it might prove for Fiore to move just now and of how self-conscious Fiore felt at appearing weak, particularly in front of her. For these same reasons he’d brought Fiore to the solarium first—to show his mother, with decorum but nonetheless inarguably, that this was Fiore’s home and she was a guest there, rather than the reverse.
This had the added benefit of allowing Enzo a moment to converse with her alone in the corridor.
“Well?” Enzo inquired sotto voce. “What do you think of him?”
