Roman Holiday Read online

  “So,” Caro looked nervously at Toby, “how do you feel?”

  He shrugged, a thirteen-year-old “don’t ask me about emotions” shrug.

  Damn. He was still being distant, aloof. She didn’t blame him. Not one bit. But as a mum her instinct was always, always to check in with the emotional side of things. He looked fine. He seemed fine. He, when he’d spoken, albeit hesitantly at first to the three adults in the hotel, had sounded fine. But . . .

  “I’m fine,” he answered her grudgingly.

  Fine it is, so, Caro sighed. What next?How on God’s earth was she to handle this?Where was that fucking rule book? She drew in a deep breath. When she cursed in her head, she knew things were getting difficult. But for fuck’s sake (oops), what was a person to do?

  “Mum?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Why did you never tell me about my dad? About them?”

  She could hear him capitalising her grandparents and cousin. Oh, dear God, Nick was some sort of cousin to her son in his mind.

  “Good question.”

  She tentatively put her arm across his slender shoulders, something that a week ago was as natural for them as their chats now seemed strained, awkward, forced. He didn’t shrug it off exactly but she could feel him tense. She let her arm slide back down to her side.

  “Here.” She stopped in front of a street café and bagged two free seats. “Let’s get something to drink and I’ll try to explain.”

  It was dark now and probably too chilly to sit out, but they both had jackets and it felt somehow easier to have this conversation in an open space.

  Caro ordered a double brandy, not caring that she’d already had the vermouth and the earlier spirits, and a hot chocolate for Toby. They sat in silence for a while taking in the evening atmosphere surrounding them. The noise, the bustle of the night ahead for many. The slightly exotic feel of being in a foreign city with a foreign language and foreign ways happening all about them. It felt right, suddenly, that this was where she told her son about the story of his father. This place where they’d fallen in love and created this special child.

  “I didn’t tell you about the di Lucas before because I never knew about them till a few days ago,” she started. “Of course I knew Toni had parents, but I’d never met them. So . . . ” She paused to take the drinks from the waiter and make sure Toby was happy with his. She took a long swallow of hers before continuing. “Let me start at the beginning. I’d always wanted to study History of Art and Italian, so that summer, fourteen years ago, my mum and dad agreed to send me to Rome to a language school run, though I didn’t know it at first, by Irish nuns . . . ”

  And so Caro finally told her son about his dad, how they’d met, fallen in love and shared everything that teenagers in love shared. How he’d been so funny and thoughtful. How he’d made her feel – special and unique – as if he couldn’t believe his luck that she’d entered his life.

  She explained how they’d meet up on his nights off and snatch the odd day together. She did her best to let Toby know that Toni had been a good person, kind and generous with his things, his earnings and his thoughts. They’d laughed so much that summer. He’d taken her on picnics, to the countryside, around the ancient monuments and historical sites. She told Toby that his own love of history came not only from his grandpa in Ireland, but from his dad, as well. She told him that the food Toni had prepared in that little back room in the hotel with the small cooking ring was always perfect, tasty and unusual, and presented with artistic flair.

  “Is that where I get my love of cooking, do you think?” Toby asked quietly.

  “Without a doubt. I know Ali cooks, too, and is a super chef, but you, every time you serve me my dinner I think of your dad. Maybe now, you can, too.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me before now?” His tone was confused, angry.

  “Oh, darling, there were so, so many times I wanted to, nearly did. So many times I thought you really must know about your heritage, but I kept putting it off. Then last summer, when Frankie found out about her family situation, I figured I should track Toni down.” She smiled sadly at Toby. “I wanted to find him myself first, see how he’d feel about meeting you and present you with a fait accompli.” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “I had no idea, none, of the tragedy that had happened. That he was dead. None.”

  The lump was getting bigger but Caro remained determined not to cry. She didn’t want to make this about her emotions, her feelings. She swallowed hard.

  “I’m so sorry I left it too late.”

  She took another drink and placed the snifter carefully back on the table.

  “When we talked briefly about this the other night, or rather when I told you I’d found out that your father was dead, you’d already been thinking about looking for him. Did something happen to make you want to search?”

  Toby sighed. “Not really. Just . . . I suppose I wanted to know more about me. Why I like certain things, do certain things. Why I look so different from the other Fitzgeralds. I sort of knew I was half Italian.”

  He looked directly at her for the first time since she began her story.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, Mum, it’s not rocket science. I know you love Italian, but why drag me to all the lessons? And my skin is sallow, my eyes are dark like that Nick person, and I speak the language like a native – I know I do,” he added, a cheeky smile lurking about his eyes.

  Caro smiled back. She wanted to reach over and hug the bejeezus out of him but resisted.

  “Yeah, well you always were a smart cookie, so I’m not really surprised.” She leaned back, pulling her jacket closer against the night air. “This isn’t how I ever wished it to be, Toby, you have to believe that. I tried to contact your father when I knew I was pregnant. I really did. Over and over. But for whatever reason, and sadly we will now never know what that reason was, he never returned my calls or messages. All I knew was you were conceived out of love and . . . ” Toby made a gagging sound and literally squirmed in his seat. “And there was no way I was giving you up for adoption.”

  “Why didn’t you have an abortion?”

  Caro stared at him, shocked. “God, Toby. Why would you ask that?”

  “Mum!” He sounded exasperated. “I’m not a kid. You could have gone to England and had an abortion. I know you could, so why didn’t you?”

  Caro closed her eyes against the pain of remembering. She’d never admit to him that the thought had crossed her mind, brief though it was. Of course it had. And she could have done it financially.

  And practically.

  Emotionally, though?

  No. For her it hadn’t ever been a real option.

  It had been a fleeting, scared thought, gone as quickly as it had emerged. And she’d also looked at the possibility of adoption. Of course she had. At eighteen, her whole college life ahead of her, followed by a career, and “saddled” with an infant, a toddler, a child? And then the image of a smiling, laughing Toni, with all his kindness and fun, had flashed into her mind, and she knew she was just too selfish to give that joy to someone else. A friend in her second year at college had got pregnant and given her child up for adoption. Caro had been in awe of her courage and bravery. And incredibly grateful that she’d been able to keep her darling at the same time.

  “I couldn’t,” she told her son. “It wasn’t for me. And once I told your grandparents about my condition they were, naturally, shocked and probably disappointed, though they didn’t outright ever say it. But they were 100 per cent supportive from the day I had that conversation.”

  “Was it hard to tell them?”

  “Yes, love. I won’t pretend it wasn’t. I was terrified and felt so alone, as at this stage I’d heard nothing back from Toni so felt I was facing it solo. But of course alone isn’t something that happens in the Fitzgerald household, as you well know.”

  They smiled at each other at that understatement.

  “Yeah, yo
u got that right,” Toby agreed. “Sometimes they all drive me mad, but I kinda like it, too. The craziness of it. The mad Sunday lunches. The music, the slagging.” He finished his lukewarm drink and looked directly at her again. “Do you think I’ll have a new family now, too? Will the di Lucas want me?”

  He sounded so young, uncertain. Caro knew he wasn’t totally ready to forgive her for screwing up so badly, but by God, she’d move heaven and earth to ensure the di Lucas didn’t let him down like she had, or abandon him like his father had.

  “They’d be completely bonkers not to want you in their lives, my pet, but we have to let them get used to the idea of you first. You were wonderful earlier when you were introduced. I couldn’t have been more proud of you. You were that lovely combination of respectful and warm, and I bet they were enamoured. But, remember, even though it’s three years since Toni died, they’re still grieving. And you look so incredibly like your dad, especially at that age – even I had no idea.

  “When Antonio brought out Toni’s school picture of when he was fourteen I would have been hard-pressed to tell you apart myself. You can imagine their mixture of shock and delight.”

  She and Toby gathered their things and Caro left a few euro notes on the table. They walked briskly down the street, the night air not so delightful now.

  “We need to let them choose the pace going forwards so they can adjust accordingly. I’m glad Valentina took your phone number – that was a good, positive sign,” she said.

  They crossed the street, narrowly missing a speeding scooter.

  “Whatever they offer in terms of a relationship, Toby, it’s your right to choose how much or how little you engage with them. It’s totally up to you and I’ll support your decision, whatever it turns out to be. You’re old enough and smart enough to know what you want yourself. Let it settle for this evening. Think it over.”

  She rooted in her bag for the apartment key and handed it to Toby to unlock the door. She switched on the low-light lamp and pulled the curtains in the living room.

  “Go to bed, darling. You must be exhausted – I know I am. It’s been a massive day.”

  Toby lay back on his bed. He’d tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Got up and walked about the bedroom, aimlessly touching the curtains, the dresser, his phone, his book. And yet sleep evaded him still.

  Massive, his mum had said. Yeah, it had been a massive day – few days, really – since he’d learned his dad was dead. Could you be sad about someone you never met? Toby felt sad. He felt lonelier than he’d ever felt in his life – and that was just stupid. His mum was in the other room but suddenly it felt like there was a ginormous gaping hole in his world where before there’d been a wall. A structure. A foundation. It felt like his safety net was dissolving beneath him. He’d wanted so badly to meet his dad. Knew, believed he’d been about to. And now, nothing. And never would be. That sucked. It hurt. Toby felt a huge weight on his chest and rubbed it absently. It hurt.

  No dad for him. Ever. No one to make secret jokes with, to catch a ball with, to cook with. No one who got him the way a dad was supposed to. Sudden disloyalty to his mum made his eyes sting. Angrily, he brushed at the stray tear. His head knew she did everything she could for him. He hadn’t really missed having a father before but now, when there was never going to be one, the aching gap was just too much. His mum should have looked sooner. Tried harder. It was her fault his life was a disaster now. Her fault. He loved her so much but she’d let him down. Mums weren’t supposed to do that. And he had no dad to pick up the pieces. Just himself.

  Toby turned in the bed, punching the pillow, frustration, regret and pain in every pound.

  Exhausted, he finally fell asleep, his head restless on the flattened, slightly damp pillow.

  Chapter 11

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, Nick. We really don’t.” Caroline sounded tired.

  He could hear her weary sigh at the other end of the phone. He felt pretty damn weary himself. But, fuck. What was a guy to do? He’d been kicked in the solar plexus yesterday – several times – and he didn’t know any other way to sort through this unholy mess than to talk it through with Caroline. He was a problem-solver – apparently, she didn’t agree.

  Tough.

  “For Christ’s sake, Caroline, you can’t drop a bombshell like that on me and expect me either to accept everything you say as gospel or even just leave it alone!” He waved a frustrated hand about, forgetting momentarily that she couldn’t see it.

  “Stop snapping at me.” Her voice was clear now, sharp. She obviously didn’t like his tone. “And I didn’t drop any bombshell, as you seem to want to call my son, on you. I wanted to introduce him to his grandparents. You are merely a by-product of an unusual situation.”

  “A by-product?” Nick pulled his phone away from his ear and glared at it. “Is that what I am to you? A by-product?”

  “Oh, stop being so childish,” she snapped back. “This isn’t about you. Or even me. It’s about Toby and his grandparents. And any relationship they may have in the future. Trust me when I say this, as clearly as I can, if I’d known you had anything to do with the di Lucas, that thing we did, what happened between us, would never have happened.”

  “Well, Miss High and Mighty, that thing did happen between us, so deal with it. And we do need to talk. I’m involved whether you like it or not and let me be clear on this, I will not let my aunt and uncle be hoodwinked by some scam.”

  Caroline let out a horrified gasp and with the choice words of “You bastard!” ringing in his ears, she ended the call.

  Nick sank slowly into his office chair and pushed back from his desk. What a fucking mess. Maybe not his wisest choice of words but . . . He had to see her. To talk to her. When she’d walked into the rose room yesterday and he’d realised she was the appointment that brought Antonio and Valentina to the hotel, he’d been dazed. When subsequent events had unfolded and he realised just who she was, who she said she was, he’d been further dazed. And when the young Toni lookalike had finally entered the room, the clutch of his gut had been the last straw.

  The kid had been nervous but polite. He’d spoken perfect Italian, even better than his mother’s, and had seemed a normal enough young teenager. But what did Nick know? He hadn’t been around young lads for years.

  What had struck Nick, because he’d been studying Caroline so carefully, was the strain that appeared to be between boy and parent. Was he even her child? Was this some elaborate scheme they’d drummed up to tap into the di Luca fortune? Because fortune it was – Nick knew to the cent how much the family, let alone the hotel businesses, were worth.

  It had been tried before. Primarily through trying to lure him. Once previously a young woman had claimed to have been carrying Toni’s child, but that had been a few months after he died and was quickly, if expensively, dealt with. They all knew the baby – who, it turned out, was a well-padded cushion up the young woman’s shirt – was a pretence but Nick, at his aunt’s pleading, had paid her anyway, to avoid the possible scandal while their grief was still so raw.

  This, though? This was a very clever ruse.To produce a young kid, a boy the bloody spit of Toni at that age, that was smart and just plain mean. And he wasn’t allowing it to happen. His stomach twisted and he absently ran a hand over his midriff as the knot intensified. He was damn angry. He knew he was reeling from her betrayal, but could Caroline actually be that good an actress? She did say something about being able to “put on an act” for work, so was this all one big act? Had she in fact targeted him in the café those few weeks ago? God, he felt like a fool. He’d been played by a pretty face.

  Again.

  But this time he knew two things.

  He was absolutely not letting her get away with barging into his family’s life without complete proof of parentage on that boy, and two, she wasn’t getting a fucking dime of his family’s money.

  He reached for the desk phone to have Byrney make so
me calls and as he waited for her to finish up on some work before coming to his office, he rubbed at the ache in his belly. He may find it hard to acknowledge some of them, but Nick refused to hide from the truths in his life.

  This ache? Utter disappointment.

  A bloody DNA test?

  What the hell?

  Caro looked at the piece of paper in her hands and swore fluently. A special delivery via courier had been dropped off and at first Caro thought it was from the Accademia. But when she ripped open the outer envelope and saw the hotel stationary and then the medical papers, it had quickly dawned on her.

  That bastard.

  Nick, the mighty protector of innocent relatives, had demanded a DNA test be performed before Toby should be allowed even to visit with Antonio and Valentina again. The nerve of that man! The bloody buggering nerve of him! He was basically calling her a liar. And a con artist. A swindler. A rip-off merchant. And what did that make her baby? In cahoots, is what – as if Toby would ever agree to do anything underhanded! The very idea.

  Caro paced the small living room as Toby studiously tried to ignore her. He had his nose buried in some history of ancient Rome book that she was sure he’d read before but that didn’t seem to bother him.

  Argh!

  Caro need to talk to someone. She needed advice.

  She needed help.

  She needed her brother. The sensible one.

  “Fitzgerald.” The voice was all business. All Flynn.

  “Hey, it’s me, Caro.”

  She cradled the phone to her ear, suddenly nervous, and closed the patio door as she huddled, shivering, on the small balcony. Toby had retreated to his room, but she didn’t want to take chances on him overhearing this conversation.

  “Sis. How is La Dolce Vita? And how is the kid getting along?”