“It’s a nice life, isn’t it? The cars, the houses, expensive jewelry.”
They were back to the perception that Jillian was a gold digger. Jillian didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. She cared about many things, but money wasn’t one of them. “You do your Vittorio a disservice. He’s brilliant, devastatingly attractive and without a doubt, the most complex man I’ve ever met.”
“But the money is nice.”
Jillian kept her expression pleasant. “If I wanted a rich husband, I could have had a rich husband without the complications of a difficult family.”
Theresa stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she fell silent.
Jillian realized she’d probably made a gross tactical error, but there was no going back now. All she could do was try to hold her own, push on and see this brutal conversation to the end. “But my family is no better,” she said awkwardly, trying to make amends. “They don’t approve of Vitt any more than you approve of me.”
“You make it sound like you and Vittorio are two star-crossed lovers.”
She shrugged lightly. “I suppose there are shades of Romeo and Juliet in our story, but hopefully without the tragic ending.”
“Why don’t your parents approve of Vittorio?”
Ah, Theresa didn’t like that, did she? “They’re aware that he and I come from different backgrounds, and perhaps have different values.”
Theresa sat very still, her hands motionless in her lap. “Different values?”
“As you just pointed out, I’m neither Sicilian or Italian, and although I was raised Catholic, I rarely go to Mass now and yet from what I understand, your family is quite devout.”
“So why did he marry you?”
“Love.”
Theresa stared at her for the longest moment before smiling mockingly. “And you actually expect me to believe any of that drivel?”
Jillian opened her mouth to protest, but Theresa leaned toward Jillian and calmly, ruthlessly continued, “You don’t think I have my own connections? You don’t think I ask questions? I know you only just got married. And I know you didn’t want to marry my son—you only married him to keep your son.”
Jillian bit down into her lip, stunned.
But Theresa wasn’t done yet. Her cool blue gaze swept Jillian’s ashen face. “You can play whatever game you want to play with Vittorio, Jill, but don’t play games with me.” She paused, before bluntly saying, “Your entire relationship is a sham, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“It seems like one to me—”
“But it’s not your relationship. It’s mine. I adore Vittorio. I always have.”
“So why am I only meeting you now, a year after my grandson’s birth?”
Jillian sat tall, her chin tilted up. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“I’m his mother!”
“And I’m his wife.”
The rest of the trip passed in tense silence. Twenty-five minutes after leaving Catania, they reached Vittorio’s hometown of Paterno. Catania, Sicily’s second largest city, was crowded and noisy, a sprawling urban city with a questionable reputation, whereas small, serene Paterno lay surrounded by citrus orchards with the protective tower and walls of the d’Severano family’s Norman castle standing guard.
It was a bright, clear morning with a stunning blue sky and the drive from the outskirts of Paterno to the castle entrance provided breathtaking views of both Mt Etna and the Simeto Valley.
Jillian and Theresa arrived first at the castle and were just stepping from their car, smoothing skirts and adjusting hemlines without once looking at each other, when the second black sedan arrived. Emerging from the back of his sedan, Vitt lifted Joseph out and then joined his mother and Jillian before the stone steps that led to the castle’s massive front doors.
“How was the drive?” he asked, glancing from his mother’s stony expression to the tight press of Jillian’s lips.
“Good,” Jillian said, her voice cracking.