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‘It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs Gallo,’ Ivy said with a nervous smile.
‘Alessia, please,’ she insisted easily. ‘It is very brave of you to be willing to face the Gallos. If my son hasn’t thanked you profusely for agreeing to be dragged into this farce, then I will,’ she said, glaring at her son in disapproval, while not making Ivy feel slighted in the least.
‘That’s not necessary, but thank you,’ Ivy said, fighting the incongruous urge to curtsey.
Alessia smiled, dark lashes framing a pair of startling blue eyes, so markedly different to Antonio’s dark brown.
Antonio produced a slim velvet box from inside his jacket and gave it to his mother, along with a kiss on her cheek.
‘Antonio,figlio mio, please, you don’t need to do this,’ she said, casting a little glance of embarrassment in Ivy’s direction.
‘But I wanted to. You deserve it, Mamma,’ he said of the gift, squeezing her hand.
Alessia accepted it with grace. ‘My apologies for being rude, Ivy, but I just need a word with my son.’
‘Of course,’ Ivy said, and stepped back to give them some privacy.
Strings of tiny lights had been twisted into the vines wrapped around a pergola that covered a section of the large courtyard and garden beyond, making it look almost magical. Music drifted gently around the space, over which could be heard a multitude of conversations. But as she stood there, taking as much in as possible, she couldn’t fail to miss the sideways looks cast her way, and the way that others had even gone so far as to turn their backs on Antonio.
Ivy was rocked by the sense of outrage she felt on his behalf. That his family would treat him this way, just because he’d been adopted. It was enough to give her the strength to meet the curious gaze of an older gentleman head-on, who broke first, much to her satisfaction.
And then in the background she heard Antonio say,‘Non è possibile,’drawing her back to where he stood with his mother.‘C’è un letto soltanto?’Antonio demanded.
‘Only one bed for what?’ Ivy asked, having translated Antonio’s response, alarm in her voice.
‘To sleep,’ his mother answered.
Antonio asked, ‘You understood that?’ at the same time.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Only one bed?’ she repeated.
This time Antonio demanded, ‘You speak Italian?’
‘A little,’ she admitted.
‘Since when?’
‘Is that really more important than there being one bedroom for us? Toshare?’ she said pointedly.
‘No, it is ridiculous,’ Antonio dismissed, turning back to his mother. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa.’
Ivy flinched, while Alessia slapped her son’s arm, more sharp than hard.
‘You will do no such thing,’ she whisper-hissed in Italian. ‘I’ll not have my son sleeping on the furniture while his wife is in another room. There will be no more gossip for these vultures.’ At least Ivy was pretty sure the translation was vulture. ‘Youdecided to go down this path,’ she warned him, clearly speaking of their marriage. ‘You will be living—and sleeping—with the consequences, Antonio.’
‘Mamma—’
‘Don’t “Mamma” me,’ she chided with a pointed finger in his chest.
And while part of Ivy was calculating how on earth she was going to survive a night in the same room as Antonio, another part of her was delighted by how he had transformed into a naughty schoolboy before her very eyes.
‘Now, Ivy, come,’ his mother commanded and drew her away from Antonio and into the throng.
Antonio watched his mother and Ivy, arm in arm, for as long as he could before they disappeared from sight, unease curling in his chest. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want to subject her to the kind of disdain and vitriol his family were capable of.
He tensed as a hand clamped possessively across his shoulders, and then eased, realising that it was Maria.
‘Are we having fun yet?’ she demanded, as if it was his fault that the party was so stiff.