Lauren would have dug in her heels from being dragged into the crowd, but he rushed her past the startled eyes of his family.
She should have fought him on coming here today. She had thought she would be meeting his mother, not his entire family. She should have stayed at the house on the lake, should never have come to Italy. Why had she even called him when Ryan went missing? It had been a stupid, weak, desperate act.
Warm, stomach-grumbling scents greeted her when they entered the kitchen where copper pots steamed and marble workspaces were covered in trays and bowls. A woman with coiffed hair, perfect makeup, and not so much as a water stain on her apron turned from sending out a maid with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Her smile for Paolo was warm and filled with love.
She checked slightly as she spotted Lauren.
“Mama, you remember Lauren.” Paolo moved to embrace and kiss his mother. His wide shoulders eclipsed the confused astonishment on Carlotta Donatelli’s face. By the time he had stepped back, she had recovered herself into the gracious woman Lauren had met at Ryan’s funeral.
“Oh, my dear.” Carlotta took up Lauren’s hands. “Do you even remember me? What a difficult time for everyone. How are Elenore and Chris?”
“I haven’t spoken to them recently,” Lauren hedged, clearing her throat of a husk of culpability. “But, well, you saw them at the funeral. I don’t imagine they’ll ever recover.”
The way I have. Lauren felt as though the baby in her belly glowed like a beacon of light, filling her with joy that must seem very inappropriate in these circumstances. The reality of being pregnant by this woman’s son, a woman so close to Ryan’s mother, hit Lauren. She began to really see how the underground tremor of their actions that one night would spread to topple and reshape the landscape around them. The Bradleys would be devastated all over again. This woman might side with them.
What would that do to Paolo? To his feelings for their child? For her?
Lauren dropped her gaze, growing more remorseful and devastated by the second. Her fingers went limp in Carlotta’s delicate grip. She tried telling herself the responsibility was split equally between them, but family was family. The Donatellis would point their fingers toward Lauren as the instigator. Whatever acrimony they directed at Paolo would only be deflected by him onto the woman who had caused him to be seen badly by his family.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders and Paolo’s warm breath stirred the air near her cheek.
“Can I leave Lauren with you while I greet the children, Mama? They’re waiting for me.”
Lauren turned her head in alarm, but he wasn’t looking at his mother as she half expected. He was waiting for her gaze. He didn’t glare in blame or censure. He was conveying reassurance, letting her know she shouldn’t be nervous. At the same time, his expression was one of such unabashed possessiveness, Lauren’s heart flipped and her stomach swooped. Warmth flooded her and she was so aware of his hard hands on her that when he slowly released her, she felt a pang of loss.#p#????#e#
She must look like the worst widow on earth, blushing with sensual awareness and following Paolo’s departure with puppy eyes.
If Carlotta judged her, she didn’t let on. Her gaze followed her son, only coming back to Lauren when he was gone. By then her deep brown eyes were sharp with a mother’s ability to sense without being told.
Had Paolo’s significant stare been purely to plant a seed? Lauren wondered. She writhed inside, wanting that look to have been genuine, not a one-act play for his mother’s sake.
With a reassuring smile, Carlotta said, “Can I ask you to put this bouquet in a vase while I stir these pots, Lauren? I rarely make the effort to cook anymore and now I remember why. I always get carried away and don’t spend enough time with my guests. But if you’ll keep me company, I won’t feel left out. Tell me about yourself. I’ve always regretted not attending your wedding, but my husband had just passed. How did you and Ryan meet?”
Trembling inwardly, feeling on trial, Lauren went through the motions of trimming the ends of the flowers and arranging them in a vase while chatting with Carlotta. Paolo’s mother was the niece of an Italian count and daughter of a diplomat, Lauren learned in return. Carlotta’s excessively good breeding was in each of her eloquently-worded questions. None were so personal as to overstep, but she gently extracted what she wanted to know.
What had brought Lauren to Italy? Looking up family. Where was she staying? In a rented house out of the city. How long had she known Paolo? As long as she’d known Ryan.