It wasn’t nothing. That much was obvious from the tense, annoyed expression on his face.
Brushing off the torn envelope, she lifted the card out of the bin. The fancy gold lettering was in Italian, but she could make out today’s date.
Why had he reacted so violently to something that looked so innocuous?
‘Who is Carlo Nico Lorenzo?’ she asked, reading out the name printed in the centre of the card.
He glanced up, his eyes stormy. ‘I threw that away for a reason. It’s rubbish.’
‘Is he a relative of yours??
? she asked, pretending she hadn’t heard the rude comment as curiosity consumed her. ‘Did your mother have brothers and sisters?’ She trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
‘Carlo is the baby they’re baptising,’ he said curtly, then leaned forward and plucked the invitation out of her hand. ‘He’s the grandson of Claudia’s oldest brother. Who’s also called Carlo.’ He dumped the card onto the table, face down. ‘Now, can we finish our lunch?’
‘You mean he’s your uncle’s grandson?’ she prompted. Why had he never mentioned his Italian family before? She’d had no idea he had relatives in Italy.
‘I guess.’ He bent his head to concentrate on his food. The tactic so deliberate, her curiosity only increased.
Picking up the invitation, she scanned the contents again, then flipped it over. ‘What does this say?’ She pointed to the spidery handwriting scrawled across the back.
He chewed, swallowed, his eyes narrowing. ‘You know, Issy, sometimes your persistence can be very annoying.’
She waited calmly for a proper answer.
He huffed, snatched the card and read aloud. ‘It says: “We miss you, Giovanni. You are family. Please come this time.”’ He flicked the card back into the bin. ‘Which is insane, because I hardly know the man—or his family.’
‘This time? How many times have they invited you to a family event?’ It went without saying that he’d never attended any—had probably never even bothered to RSVP.
‘I don’t know. Hundreds.’ He blew out a frustrated breath. ‘There’s a lot of them. Claudia had five older brothers, and they all had tons of kids. There’s an event every other week.’
‘Where do they live?’ Maybe they lived on the other side of Italy? Maybe that was why he had never bothered to visit them?
‘About an hour’s drive,’ he said. ‘The family owns an olive farm near San Giminiano. Most of them still live around there, I guess.’ He sent her a bored look. ‘So, do you want to tell me why you’re so interested?’
A spurt of temper rose up.
Her own family had only consisted of her and her mother. She’d always dreamed of having more. Of having brothers and sisters, cousins and aunts and uncles. She knew perfectly well Gio was an only child too—and from what he’d already told her she knew he’d been a lot more alone than she had as a child. So why hadn’t he embraced the chance to get to know his own family?
‘For goodness’ sake, Gio,’ she said, riding the temper. ‘Why haven’t you been to see them? They’re your family.’
‘I don’t have a family. I don’t even know them,’ he continued. ‘They disowned Claudia before I was even born. Cut her out of their lives.’
‘Is that why you dislike them?’ she asked, confused now, and a little appalled by his indifference. ‘Because they treated your mother badly?’
‘Of course not!’ He sounded annoyed now—annoyed and something else she couldn’t quite define. ‘I expect she made their lives a misery. I can testify to the fact that she was a nightmare to live with, so I don’t blame them for kicking her out.’
She heard the contempt in his voice. So that was why he never talked about his mother.
‘Are you upset that they never got to know you as a boy, then?’ Issy asked carefully, still trying to understand his hostility towards the rest of his family. Why was he so determined to have nothing to do with them?
He pushed his plate away and reached for the pitcher of lemonade. ‘Issy, in case you haven’t realised yet—’ he poured himself a glass, gulped some down ‘—this conversation doesn’t interest me.’
‘Well, it interests me,’ she said, determined not to back down—not this time. ‘I think you do blame them. But you shouldn’t. It doesn’t—’
‘I don’t blame them.’ He shoved his chair back, walked to the balcony rail. ‘Why should they care about me? I’m nothing to them.’
Her temper died as she heard the defensiveness in his tone, saw his knuckles whiten where they gripped the terrace rail.