Roman Holiday Read online

  “Caroline, please, or Caro, if you prefer,” she reminded them, trying to smile. God, this was so difficult. “I told you we spent several weeks together that summer and that’s true. Maybe I didn’t make it clear, though. We were very much in love.”

  She hesitated, waiting to see some kind of reaction, anything to see if they believed her. They continued to watch her but she definitely detected a stiffening in Antonio’s posture.

  “In love? But of course you were. You were eighteen and twenty years old. You thought you were in love, I imagine, as do most young people at that age. It is not anything special.”

  He appeared to dismiss her confession as if it didn’t count. Caro could feel a flush edging up her neck and over her jawline.

  “No. You misunderstand. We really loved each other. Toni was the first boy I . . . ” She hesitated, the flush actively staining her cheeks now. “I was in love with him,” she insisted.

  Valentina tugged her hand from under her husband’s and waved it rather theatrically.

  “So, you gave yourself to our boy?” she asked. “That was your choice, I assume, and why should this concern us now?”

  Her English was nearly as fluid as Antonio’s but her accent was much stronger, thicker. Coming from her, the sentence she just uttered sounded almost threatening. This was not going well. Caro took another deep breath.

  “There were consequences from our summer together,” she began again, “and I felt you should know about them. It . . . ” She bit her tongue before she said “him” but knew it was only a matter of moments before the proverbial hit the fan.

  “What is it you want, Signorina? I thought you were a sweet person, telling us stories about our son, but now you are here telling us, what? That you want something? You will get nothing from us, so you may forget that from your head.”

  Antonio was brusque in his manner, getting a bit flustered and defensive.

  “No, God, no,” Caro interrupted quickly. “No, I don’t want anything from you. Nothing. I promise,” she said earnestly. “On the contrary, I want to give you something.”

  She reached for the glass of vermouth that had been offered upon her arrival and sipped it gratefully. The liquid burned her throat and she welcomed the sensation as if it were a reality check that this, this conversation, was actually happening.

  Valentina turned to her husband and sighed, a mixture of sadness and resignation in the sound.

  “Give her what she wants, darling, it is only money. But don’t go over fifty thousand.”

  She spoke quietly in Italian and Caro almost butted in with an angry protest before she remembered to keep her language skills hidden. A bitter taste, and not from the vermouth, seared her tongue and she almost grimaced. This was so not going well. They thought she wanted to take their money, to get paid off for giving her virginity to their son. Jesus, how embarrassing!

  She’d be completely furious, except for the resignation part in Valentina’s sigh – someone had done this before, looked for a pay-out. How awful it must be, to feel like you had to pay to get a whisper of your son’s past, a token of his life. How hurtful. Caro needed to set them straight. She needed to prove that the connection she’d somehow felt with them at the villa was real.

  “Let me show you something.”

  Caro reached into her bag to get her wallet, where she kept a photo of Toby. She had a bazillion pictures on her phone but felt this couple would prefer the tangible one, the one they could pore over and study – that is, before she produced the actual “goods”.

  “Here.” She handed over the rather crumpled photo, well-worn with loving fingers, and gathered her bag as she stood. “That boy is my son, Toby. He’s thirteen. As you look at the picture, I’m going to step outside to the bathroom. If you want to discuss this further when I come back, that will be great. If not, I’ll understand and won’t bother you any more.” She paused as the two elderly heads studied the image held in the now shaking hands of Valentina. “Toby’s smart and artistic, loving and funny, and I’m privileged to be his mum. He would, he tells me, like to meet his grandparents.”

  On shaky legs Caro left though the side exit to search for a bathroom. She needed to splash water on her face to cool her scalding cheeks. She needed to drink some water, too, but mostly she just needed to breathe.

  Nick moved quietly down the hallway towards the rose salon, his mind swirling. Part of him was still reeling from the encounter with Caro and how close he’d come to fucking her in an alleyway. Christ. What the hell was wrong with him, acting like a randy teenager around her? She brought out some deep-seeded lust that he’d never felt before. It bothered the shit out of him, as he felt like he was out of control. Every time he was near her, heard her laugh, listened to her talk, touched her skin, tasted her mouth . . . there was the teenager rearing his head again.

  And speaking of teens, wow, that kid in the foyer was a blast from the past. Forgotten memories flooded his brain. Toni jostling with him in the grounds of the palazzo, chasing him around the small lemon grove behind the house. Mopping floors here at the Paradiso when Nick came for summer holidays. The age difference was six years but was never an issue – it was just like having a little brother who adored him, wanted to be like him, bug him and irritate him.

  Nick would give anything to have his cousin back – to go for a late-evening Scotch together, to discuss hotel business – something they’d never really done. Nick had been busy with his architecture practice, Toni with the hotel, but when they’d Skyped or met up over the years before he died, they’d slipped back into family mode, teasing and ribbing each other. Day after day since the accident, Nick remembered the few previous calls with Toni, the harder edge in his voice, the sharpness.

  The unhappiness.

  Nick would never forgive himself for not probing, not pushing.

  He’d been too fucking busy.

  Too wrapped up in his own shit.

  Nick shook his head to clear the mixture of images mingled together and almost wished he hadn’t seen Toni’s youthful doppelgänger just a few moments before, forcing an unwanted trip down memory lane.

  He knocked briefly on the door and as he entered wondered if he’d tell his aunt and uncle about the boy. He probably looked like he’d seen a ghost, so maybe he’d better tell them why. As he closed the door behind him he realised they were alone. Maybe the appointment they had was cancelled. Their heads together over what looked like a photograph had a certain stillness. Something niggled and instinct had him on alert.

  “Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

  He moved towards them and Antonio raised his head to meet Nick’s eyes.

  “Zio, what’s wrong?” He reached the empty leather chair and, sitting, pulled it closer to the desk. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forwards, concerned now by the look of pain in his uncle’s eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Without a word, Valentina reached over and handed Nick the photograph. She waited as he turned it over and studied the young boy pictured, his back to a deep-blue sea and mountains in the background. He looked to be about ten.

  “Where did you get this photo of Toni?” Nick asked, puzzled that it seemed to be bothering his relatives.

  The door opened quietly behind him and as he turned to see who was interrupting this private moment, he heard a sharp intake of breath.

  “What are you doing in here?” Caroline gasped, standing in front of the now closed door, her hand pressed to her chest.

  She looked bewildered. Confused.

  Nick was momentarily speechless. What the . . . ?

  “Caroline?” He stared at her, puzzled. “What are you doing here? Do you know my aunt and uncle?”

  The colour drained from Caroline’s face as her eyes swung from his to the couple behind the desk.

  “Your what? You know Antonio and Valentina, too?” She hesitated, her eyes wide in bafflement. “Wait, did you just say your aunt and uncle? Nick, what the
hell is going on?”

  “What’s going on?” Nick felt off balance. Rocked. Why was Caroline here? He turned his head back to the elder pair, his eyebrow raised in query. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  Caroline walked on unsteady feet to stand by the vacant chair next to his, her lips in a tight, thin line. Something very odd was happening and Nick was determined to find out what. He stared at the woman he’d the serious hots for and as he noted her trembling hands, he narrowed his eyes. She was never nervous – she was a professional – cool and totally competent. Something was definitely afoot and that prickle on the back of his neck indicated the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

  Valentina reached over and laid a soothing hand on his arm, gesturing for him to sit back down. He lowered himself to the chair. Caroline seemed rooted to the spot, her back ramrod straight. Valentina spoke to her, too.

  “Please, Signorina Caroline, please sit and please explain some more to us concerning this situation.”

  The woman whom he had, not twenty minutes previously, played tonsil hockey with hesitantly took a seat. An upright, hard-backed chair, which made it look like she was settling in for an interrogation. She got that fucking right. Nick stared at her, his eyes trying to meet hers, but she refused to look at him. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap now, whether to stop them from trembling or fidgeting, Nick wasn’t sure. The more he looked at her, the more his anger seemed to rise within him.

  He addressed his uncle.

  “How do you know Caroline Fitzgerald? How did you meet?”

  He spun his gaze back to Caroline as he waited for his uncle to answer. She stayed quiet, obviously waiting for Antonio to speak first. None of this made sense. Was she messing with his aunt and uncle? And if she was, what was her angle? Money? She hadn’t seemed like the type to extort cash from anyone, but, Jesus, what the hell did he know?

  Patently nothing.

  Valentina looked from Nick to Caroline, a frown settling on her already anxious brow.

  “You two know each other, I think,” she stated. “Nikki, you should have told us about the boy,” she admonished sadly.

  “Boy? What boy?”

  He glared at Caroline and turned back to Antonio. It was Valentina who gestured towards the photo of Toni as a young boy. Caroline remained tense, silent.

  “Zio, I’ve no blasted clue what’s happening here. Not a frigging clue. What has an old photo of my cousin got to do with Caroline?”

  “That’s not Toni, it’s his son, Toby.” Caroline’s voice was low but steady.

  “What? No. That’s not true. First of all, that’s definitely Toni, and anyway, he didn’t have a son,” he said with finality.

  She was shaking her head. Eyes sparking, her chin came up in just that way of hers.

  “This is a picture of my son, Toby.” She raised her eyes to meet his full on. “And Toni’s son, too.”

  Nick’s eyes flew from her to meet Antonio’s. He spoke in rapid Italian, demanding to know, once and for all, what the absolute fuck was going on. His aunt and uncle winced at his tirade, but he didn’t care. His palpable anger spat out with every word. He’d been played like a bloody fool and he’d never forgive Caroline for hurting these people, because it was damned apparent they were hurting. What this child, who was seemingly not Toni, had to do with it, he wasn’t sure, but hell would freeze over before she got a penny – if that’s what this was in fact about.

  And she didn’t have a son. Did she? Shit.

  Caroline cleared her throat. “If you’d just take a breath and calm down,” she began.

  “Calm down? Are you serious?” Nick stood, stalking about the room in long strides, his hand dragging through his hair. “How the hell can I calm down when you, a person I’d begun to trust, to like, turn up in my hotel, with my relatives, demanding God knows what? Tell me,” he glared at her, “how that is supposed to make me calm.”

  “Your hotel?” Her voice was shocked. “I thought you were staying here on business. That’s what you said. I’d no idea you even knew the di Lucas. I swear it. And I’m not demanding anything!”

  “I never said I was here on business – you simply inferred it.”

  “But . . . ” Her tone was even more puzzled. “You are staying here? And how can it be your hotel? You told me you were an architect,” she accused, her cheeks flushed.

  Damn! Why did she have to do that – it made her look so young. So innocent.

  “You did say it was for business,” she insisted, “and your secretary was here, too. What else was I supposed to infer?” She hissed out the last word, throwing the unreal situation back at him. “You lied to me!”

  “I didn’t lie!” Nick protested with an angry snarl. “I am an architect – I’m in a practice in New York.”

  “Doesn’t look like it from where I stand! What are you doing here, then? Messing up in my personal affairs? Jesus, I can’t believe you’re related to Toni.”

  That last fact seemed to stick in her craw more than anything else.

  “I’m here to help get the hotel back on track since Toni died. I’m just helping out. It’s not my real job.” God, even to Nick’s own ears that sounded like whining. So he went on the attack. “And it’s you who lied to me!” he ground out. “A son? You have a child you conveniently forgot to mention? That’s rich!”

  “That wasn’t lying,” she spat back. “My boy has nothing . . . ” She gulped some air. “Had nothing to do with us.”

  “Children, please.” Antonio interrupted their bickering. “Please let us be civil and hear what the lady has to say.”

  He rose a bit unsteadily, reached for another glass and poured them all some more vermouth. Nick fervently wished it was a double Scotch – his head felt like it was about to explode and he still hadn’t heard the worst of it, of that he was sure.

  They all took their drinks, whether to pause the drama for a moment or because of politeness, it didn’t really matter. Caroline cleared her throat again.

  “Tobias Anthony Fitzgerald was born on the thirteenth of May thirteen years ago. He was conceived here in Rome in August the previous year when I was attending a summer school and met Toni.” She took a small sip before continuing. “We fell in love and I, at least, thought we’d continue to be in touch, even before I found out I was pregnant.” She looked around at the stunned listeners as if making sure they were paying attention. “I phoned him, emailed him, texted him and even wrote an actual letter but never got a reply. The email bounced back as undeliverable, the phone calls went to voicemail, the texts delivered but never answered. I didn’t know how else to find him other than come here, but then my parents would know.” She paused again for another sip of the fortifying liquid.

  Nick took the opportunity to butt in.

  “Did you tell Toni you were carrying his so-called child?”

  “Not at first. I just wanted to talk again, like we said we would. He insisted on exchanging all our contact details. He did. Not me. Which was why it was so confusing to have literally everything rebuffed. I didn’t understand. I still don’t.”

  She looked at Valentina for some kind of confirmation, but the elder woman shook her head sadly.

  “You said you didn’t tell him at first. When did you tell him?” she asked.

  “By the end of September, when I knew for absolute certain that I was pregnant. I really wanted him to know. And before you start accusing me,” she glared at Nick directly, “I was already accepting in my head, if not my heart, that he simply hadn’t felt the same, that it was a summer fling for him and not as serious as he’d led me to believe.

  “But I truly felt he had the right to know he was going to be a father. I felt it was the right thing to do. But when I phoned that time a woman answered. It seemed like an older woman and my Italian was good enough that she made it clear I was not to call that number again, and that nobody here wanted to speak to me.

  “I garbled out something
about him going to be a father and she said yes, they already knew. So my email mentioning a possibility that I might be pregnant must have been received. I assumed, maybe correctly, maybe not, that Toni had asked her to pass on the message – that I was a bother to him. I certainly didn’t want that kind of role model for my baby. After that, I sent one last letter, a handwritten one, telling him for sure about the baby.

  “The following May I sent another, with a baby photo of Toby. I never heard a word back.” She paused, took a breath. “So, I stopped trying and I never told my family his name. It really wasn’t any of their business and my brothers were so furious with my situation, not me, that I wasn’t sure they wouldn’t have hopped on the next flight to Rome and pulverised Toni before dragging him back to Ireland with them.

  “Anyway, I didn’t want a damn thing from Toni by then. I don’t want anything from you now.” More glaring at Nick. “All I want, all Toby wants,” she corrected herself, “is to meet his grandparents. However . . . ” This time she turned her glare on Antonio and Valentina. “If you feel you cannot welcome him here, welcome him into your home, you’d better tell me now. I’ve just told him the father he never knew, he will now never know, and that’s on me. But,” her voice sharpened, “I absolutely won’t have him messed around by people he doesn’t know. Is that clear?”

  Nick closed his eyes briefly as the reality of what she was saying sunk in.

  She had a child.

  A son.

  Toni’s son.

  That changed everything.

  Shit just got real.

  She was practically family and he’d been fucking her senseless over the last couple of weeks! He didn’t know whether to feel used or amused. Neither emotion seemed apt but, in the spirit of truth, she’d seemed as shocked and appalled as he when they set eyes on each other just a bit ago. He sat bolt upright, the light dawning.

  “He’s here, isn’t he? Your boy. He’s in the foyer.”

  “Yes. My son’s waiting outside. Whether he comes in and meets his family is up to you.” Calmer now, Caroline straightened her spine and looked at each of them in turn. “The ball is, it seems, in your court.”