“I haven’t even looked,” she apologised.
“A few more minutes.” Nico was relaxed, no hint of the sharp emotion she’d seen in his face when he’d mentioned his parents.
The waiter left them alone once more and Maddie made a concerted effort of opening the menu and scanning the dishes. “Would you prefer to see it in English?”
“On the contrary – I told myself I’d be partway fluent in Italian by the time I leave Ondechiara. I’m taking every opportunity to practice.”
“So I should be speaking to you in my language?” He asked in Italian. It took her a moment to decode the words but not because they were beyond her, so much as hearing his tones in his own tongue was musical and addictive. She dug her fingernails into her palms in an attempt to curb the rush of her desire.
“Yes, absolutely.” But her own response was husky, imbued with sensual need, and he heard it. She saw the way his eyes widened a little, his gaze dropping to her lips, and her stomach punched.
“So Spain?”
He made a noise of agreement. “They have a house just outside Barcelona.”
“But you didn’t live there?”
“We moved to live with Yaya when I was four.”
“So little?” She frowned. “Was your mother ill?”
He laughed softly. “She is the picture of health.”
“Then why…?”
“My parents were not particularly interested in being parents. We lacked structure and routine to our lives and our grandfather was old fashioned. He felt our childhood was predisposing us to become lazy, happy to live off the family fortune without any goals and ambitions of our own. He wanted to make sure we didn’t turn out as his sons had.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing,” Nico’s expression showed a hint of consternation. “How come I find myself wanting to tell you things I’ve never told another soul?”
She dipped her head to hide her smile but he reached over and pressed a finger to her chin, lifting her eyes to his.
It was clear he was expecting an answer, but she had none. She couldn’t explain it, just like she couldn’t explain the way she felt safe with him when she barely knew him. It was all so out of character, especially for two people who claimed to be lacking in trust.
“Growing up knowing your birth right is an enormous trust fund is demotivating. Neither my father nor uncle ever had any interest in working, and as a result of that, they never learned what they enjoyed, what they were good at, besides attending parties and enjoying life.”
“But that can’t be so unusual, with people like you?”
“People like me?”
She pulled her lips to the side thoughtfully. “Seriously filthy rich people, yeah.”
His words held a suppressed laugh. “Oh, that’s what I am, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“And I guess a lot of people like you grow up not wanting to work, not needing to earn their keep.”
“True,” he murmured. “But not us. Gianfelice blamed himself for how his children had turned out – he swore we wouldn’t be the same. His father’s legacy was to be protected, not squandered away by heirs who didn’t know how to tie their own shoes.”
She mulled this over. “Still, for your parents to have agreed…I mean, you were so young. That must have been very hard on you, hard on your mother?” Inwardly, she couldn’t believe any mother could willingly give up their children! And a four year old, little more than a baby. How difficult that must have been for both of them, but especially for the boy Nico had
been.
His eyes moved out to sea but she saw the way his facial features tightened, as though he was fighting a war within himself.
“It was hard. In the beginning, I missed my parents, but I had my cousins and brothers and Yaya wrapped us in so much love it was, at times, almost suffocating. And as I grew older, I understood.”