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“You’re joking,” I state, straightening.
She turns to me. “No. Why?”
I chuckle, taking Tia’s hand and bringing her delicate fingers closer to eye level. “I’ve always thought you had the hands of a pianist. But I never thought to ask if you played.”
Tia smiles coyly. “You have much to learn about me, Signor Moretti.”
“And I intend to discover all your secrets in time,” I tease.
The smile falls from Tia’s lips, and then it returns so quickly, I almost wonder if I imagined it. But when she turns to keep studying the auction items, I sense there’s something to my observation. Is Tia keeping secrets from me?
A sliver of doubt wiggles its way inside my chest, though I try and stamp it out. She’s never done anything to break my trust. It would hardly be fair of me to condemn her over a look. And perhaps I’m reading too far into it. After all, there are some parts of who I am that I would rather she not know about, some less flattering facts that I’m sure Tia would not approve of if she found out.
“What about this?” I suggest, stopping in front of a metalwork rose sculpture.
The flower is so accurate; its petals curled to the point where it hovers near decay. A single fallen petal lies on the cut glass beneath it, the flower drooping toward it as if saddened by the loss.
“It’s beautiful. But where would we put it?” Tia asks.
“Wherever you like.”
She glances up at me sharply, deep emotion in her eyes. Then her lips curl into a breathtaking smile. “Let’s make a bid.”
I gesture for her to do the honors, and she leans over the table, scribbling our information into the next available slot. Her hand pauses over the bid amount, and I playfully take the pen from her fingers.
“Let’s have a little fun, shall we?” I suggest. “After all, it’s for charity.” I put in a sum well over the value of the item, exponentially more than the previous bid.
Tia gapes at me. “You’re joking.”
I shrug. “I don’t see why we can’t splurge when it goes to a good cause.”
Her face softens, and Tia leans up onto her toes to press a kiss to my cheek. “You’re a rare man, Leonardo Moretti,” she murmurs.
I take her hand in response, kissing her palm. “Shall we go see what the party’s all about?”
Smiling, Tia nods, and we leave the action room to head toward the main hall. The ball seems to be in full swing, with a decadent buffet for people to enjoy food and music that floods the room with a lively tune. Couples move gracefully around the dance floor, spinning and twirling in a swirl of elegant, flowing skirts and crisp tuxedos.
“Mother, Father,” Tia says, stopping short as her parents approach us through the crowd.
“Tia.” Signora Guerra steps forward to pull her daughter into a warm embrace, and I take a moment to appreciate the sign of affection before turning to extend my hand toward Don Guerra.
“Excellent turnout tonight, don’t you think?” he says, his eyes scanning the crowd.
“Hopefully, that means high bids for the charity auction,” I say, and with a quick glance, I share a knowing smile with my wife.
“Undoubtedly,” he agrees.
“It’s wonderful to see you,” Signora Guerra says, cupping her daughter’s cheek. “You look well. Healthy. Maria said you took quite the fall.”
“I’m fine. Just a light sprain, but it healed,” she assures her mom.
Doing my best to keep the frown from my face, I’m intrigued that Tia’s parents seem to not have spoken to their daughter anytime recently. From Don Guerra’s word of advice at our wedding, I would have assumed them much closer. Then again, there are plenty of reasons their relationship could be on shakier ground right now.
But if I’m the reason their relationship is strained, I’ll do my best to help mend fences where I can.
“We would love to have you—and the rest of your daughters, of course—over for dinner sometime soon,” I offer, charming Tia’s mother with a smile.
“That sounds wonderful,” she agrees. “Right, Giuseppe?”
