Roman Holiday Read online

  And that left Nick. Sullivan, no less. She’d known he had Irish connections, he’d said so, which may have explained his interest in her lectures, but why hadn’t he expanded or explained? In the interests of being fair – and Caro always tried to be fair, to see the other side – she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t wanted to know. And even if she’d known his last name, she still wouldn’t have connected him to Toni or the di Lucas. No matter which way she looked at it, her relationship with Nick, as it had been, was now definitely, irrefutably, over.

  It had to be.

  They were connected, for Christ’s sake! And although that meant Toby had one more strong male in his life, it left Caro feeling rather . . . desolate. Stupid, stupid, stupid . . . it was going nowhere anyway, remember?

  “Try these.” Toby offered her some pears.

  “What am I supposed to be doing to these?” she asked hesitantly, turning them over in her hands.

  “Oh, Mum, you’re hopeless. You’re supposed to press them gently to see how ripe they are. Never mind.”

  He took them back and, lifting one to his face, sniffed it and tossed it into the basket on his arm.

  “Well, if I’m supposed to press them, why did you smell them?” she asked, a bit put out by her own lack of fruit knowledge.

  “It’s part of it,” he explained patiently. “Freshness comes from touch and smell as well as colour. We can either have these on their own sliced up with some goat’s cheese as a starter, or I can poach them in some kind of alcohol for dessert. We’ll check the cupboards when we get back and that’ll make the decision.”

  Caro looked at her son as he walked on ahead to the checkout area. He never ceased to amaze her. He’d always been just hers and now, she was astonished and not a little unnerved to see even more of his personality come out. In just a couple of days he’d matured, grown and changed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  Toni was visible in everything he did now. And that was just plain weird. Toni had been a blur, a memory for so long, and even though Caro had believed this trip would bring Toni into their lives, she hadn’t expected the instant change in Toby.

  And Toni wasn’t actually in their lives, as if she needed reminding. Every second thought seemed to be one of chastise to herself. Why didn’t you seek him out earlier? Why didn’t you follow up properly when Toby was born? And the recriminations weren’t much easier to deal with, either . . . You let your son down – you deprived him of a father – you were too selfish in keeping him to yourself – you should have asked for help years ago – and on and on. Caro was weary of listening to her own brain buzzing incessantly and handed over the money to pay for Toby’s purchases.

  “Mum?”

  “Yes?” Caro glanced towards her son.

  “Since I’m going back to Dublin in a few days, can we ask my grandparents here for a meal?”

  Toby was sautéing some chorizo on a pan and the aroma was tantalising. He wasn’t looking at her and was trying very hard not to appear interested in her answer. Caro knew his “tells” and saw him studiously avoiding her gaze. She sipped her white wine slowly, thinking through his request. How weird would that be?Weird, but not, she thought, awful. And that was because the di Lucas were genuinely nice people.

  “Would you like to ask your . . . sister, too?”

  Oh God. She’d just named it. He had real, actual family here. He had ties, connections, binds, here.

  “Yes, please! That would be super. I’ll phone them after dinner and see if they can come tomorrow. Oooh, cool. I’ll cook something special.”

  Toby’s happy voice chirped away as he continued adding to his sizzling meat. Peppers, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes were thrown in and then when all that was tossed about, he added the drained cooked pasta, and some fresh pesto and grated Parmesan.

  “I need to call your grandma and grandpa. In Ireland,” she added quickly at his confused look. “They don’t know about any of this. About the di Lucas. About Marianna and Mia.” She looked him straight in the eye. “About your dad.”

  Toby stilled. He took the pan off the heat and began loading their plates. He added fresh basil leaves and more grated cheese. Without commenting, he carried the plates to the table and sat down. Caro had set it earlier and took her seat now, anxious to hear what her boy would say. He stayed quiet as he tasted the food and chewed thoughtfully.

  “I am really, really sorry, Toby. For all this mess. You know that, right?” Caro’s eyes met his imploringly.

  “Yeah, I know you are. But that doesn’t really help me now, does it?” he stated with devastating and heart-piercing honesty.

  It was hard to keep the tears at bay – it really was. But she’d promised herself, over and over, this wasn’t about her. It was about Toby and his loss of a father. Caro had chosen not to Skype her parents and had only phoned when Toby was safely in his room with the door firmly closed. Her mother’s wonderful, understanding, gentle, kind voice was nearly Caro’s undoing.

  She was everything a mother could be under these circumstances, unusual though they were. She asked questions and listened to the answers without apparent judgement. Caro wasn’t naïve enough to believe her mother wouldn’t be cursing and swearing – no, not that, not Jo – but she’d be analysing this scenario repeatedly with her husband, throughout the evening. Caro had given permission for her mum to tell the others if they asked how things were going in Rome, so she expected many very difficult calls over the next few days.

  Meanwhile she, or rather Toby, had extended an invite to the di Lucas, which had been accepted, so preparations and menus had been discussed before bedtime.

  Toby was leaving the day after, mid-term was over, but he’d be back for a few days before Christmas and then they’d both fly home to Dublin for the festivities and, best of all, for Dev’s wedding. She missed her brothers and sisters so much, more than she believed possible, and as for the wedding, that was an anticipation beyond belief.

  Despite the celebrity status of the bride-to-be – world-famous actress Francesca Jones – her brother and his fiancée had decided it would be small and intimate – in their world that meant about two hundred – and they could have a massive party later. Caro was frustrated to be missing the lead-up, the fussing, the choosing, but Frankie promised her that Caro’s only role was to be there for her on the day. Everything else was sorted.

  Money was great, really. Frankie could order whatever she liked from wherever she liked, but though that could mean it would be a Kardashian-type nightmare, for Frankie and Dev it meant low-key, class and style. Dev had chosen his brother, Flynn, as best man and Toby as groomsman. She, Caro, was maid of honour and Ali the other bridesmaid. Molly, Caro’s younger sister, had flatly refused to be in the wedding party. She was a shy person when it came to “being on the spot” and despite entreaties from her family and Frankie herself, Molly had remained adamant.

  The wedding was going to be a lovely way to end the year. And it had been a tough one for everyone, especially Frankie. God, her best friend deserved her happy ever after – and the fact that it was with Caro’s own brother, well, that just made it perfect. Dev had carried a torch for Frankie since they were teens but assumed no one knew about it. He certainly never said it to either their elder brother Flynn or herself, but they knew.

  It would be hard facing the family when they all became aware of her recent dramas, but best to get it sorted as soon as possible. In fact . . . Caro popped her head around the patio door – yup – the shower was still running – that boy took the longest showers – then she whipped out her phone and dialled Frankie’s number. She needed some girl time, and if anyone knew about a long-lost father and the mess they can leave, it was her.

  “Do you think everything looks okay?” Toby asked nervously as the doorbell rang promptly at seven.

  “It’s lovely, darling. Your grandparents will be so impressed.” Caro smiled at her son as he straightened a napkin on the table. “Stop fussing,” she laughed, reachi
ng for the door handle.

  Antonio, Valentina and Mia ohhed and ahhed appropriately over all the choices that Toby made, from the place settings to the dessert. He’d planned and cooked everything himself, and Caro had been roped in as chief bottle-washer and commis chef. She didn’t mind. She knew this was some kind of test for Toby – he was seeing if he could fit in, be part of a typical Italian food-loving family.

  Caro groaned to herself. The di Lucas were anything but typical. They were among the elite. Maybe they didn’t have a title like many old Italian families, but they were ridiculously wealthy from what Flynn told her via email just that morning. He, naturally, once the word was out, had gone digging. Not just on Toni’s family but Nick Sullivan’s, as well. She hadn’t read all the attachments Flynn had forwarded, but she bloody well intended to. She totally wanted ammunition against Nick. The satisfaction she’d felt when the DNA paperwork arrived, proof positive, wasn’t nearly enough. She felt a twisting in her belly whenever her mind wandered into Nick territory and she really hoped it wasn’t out of longing to feel his touch.

  That would be just stupid.

  No, she was pretty sure the twisted-stomach part was anger and irritation at his high-handedness in everything to do with Toby.

  Caro’s head swivelled towards Antonio as she heard Nick’s name being mentioned.

  “And we thought it was an excellent plan.” Antonio beamed at Caro, waiting for a response.

  “Plan?” she asked warily.

  “Mum, pay attention. Nonno was just saying that Mr Sullivan thinks we should move into the di Luca home while we’re here, to be safe.”

  Okay. That was all too much. Nonno? When had that happened? And, what now? Move into the palazzo because Nick Take-Charge-Bossy-Pants thinks we need to be safe? Safe from what, for goodness’ sake?

  “That’s very, eh, kind of Mr Sullivan, but no. There’s absolutely no need for us to move. We’re perfectly safe where we are. And sure, you’re going back to Dublin in two days anyway, what would be the point?”

  “About that . . . ” Valentina smiled and Caro could feel the gossamer threads of familial love tightening around her and her son.

  “Byrney!” Nick bellowed from the inner room of the suite that had been allocated to Caroline and Toby.

  “There’s no need to shout.” Naomi walked sedately into the small dressing room. “I’m right here.” She calmly set down the bundle of towels she was carrying and looked about. “This all looks lovely, Nick. She’ll love it, I’m sure.”

  She surveyed the anteroom that Caroline would be using as an office. It housed a desk and PC set-up, shelving, a large, comfortable chair, as well as an office chair for the computer. It had been freshly painted in a soft, faded sea-foam green and felt restful.

  Many years ago, in the days of grandeur at the palazzo, this had been a dressing room for honoured guests staying in the best suite of rooms. Countesses and lorded gentlemen had graced these rooms. Naomi sighed. It was all a bit over the top as far as she was concerned. A swanky bedroom each for Caroline and her son, both with updated en suites, a living room area and this one, redesigned to suit the needs of the modern businesswoman.

  Naomi hadn’t met either of the guests yet but she hoped they were worth all the trouble Nick had gone to making this place ready. This particular set of rooms hadn’t been used in years. Marianna and Mia lived in the central part of the large house, near the di Lucas themselves. These were to the back of the house and quieter. Naomi gathered up the towels again, as Nick seemed to have forgotten what he wanted to say, and she headed back towards the main bathroom to deposit the new towels.

  “Do you really think so?” Nick asked as he set down a stack of art books on the small table.

  Naomi smiled as she continued walking. Nick sounded almost nervous and that was so unlike him.

  “Yes, Nick, she will.”

  Just as she exited the small room, she bumped right into Vito, whose arms were also full, his with what looked like heavy boxes.

  “Excuse me, Miss Naomi, I didn’t mean to barge into you.”

  Vito’s gravelly voice sent shivers down Naomi’s spine and for once she didn’t mind the unusual reaction. A part of her was getting used to his attention, attention that seemed to be getting a little more personal every day. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she was willing to see how things went.

  She could feel herself blush a little as she smiled slightly at the hulking man.

  “No problem, Mr Maloney,” she said quietly.

  “Could you two ever just call each other by your names and stop with the damn formality? God knows, you’ve both been working for me and ergo, together, for years.”

  Two sets of eyes clashed with each other as Vito shot Nick a sharp glance.

  “Perhaps Miss Naomi likes me to be more formal,” Vito ground out.

  Vito turned his eyes on her, a question in his voice.

  Naomi could feel the damn blush rising again. For God’s sake, she’d seen fifty a few years back, why was she reacting like a love-struck teen?

  “I’d be pleased if you just called me Naomi and if you don’t mind too much, I’ll call you Vito.”

  She lowered her eyes, unable to deal with the sudden flare in Vito’s intense grey gaze.

  “I’d like that, too,” he answered, his voice low.

  That rough tone made the hairs on Naomi’s arms lift a little, but she didn’t outwardly react. She practised her slow breathing as she nodded to him and walked towards the bathroom door. For some reason a stupid grin flashed across her face and she felt almost happy. It was a sensation so long dormant she wasn’t sure she was reading her own signs correctly.

  Voices sounded in the corridor and Naomi pulled herself together as the dark-haired woman from the lift incident and a boy she assumed to be her son walked into the suite. They pulled wheeled suitcases behind them and Maria followed them in with another bag.

  “Honestly, Maria, it’s not necessary. I can handle it.”

  The woman smiled at the undisputed head of the house as she spoke but Maria huffed on in, ignoring her.

  “Mr Nick. They are here. Just as you ord . . . requested.”

  She so obviously corrected herself that Naomi grinned and caught the eye of the boy. His lopsided smile warmed her heart and, placing the towels, she approached the newcomers, hand outstretched.

  “So nice to meet you again, Ms Fitzgerald. I’m Naomi Byrne. And you must be Tobias.”

  As both Caroline and her son shook hands Nick strode in to join them. Naomi watched as he started bossing them around and organising where their luggage was to be set. Naomi caught Caroline’s gaze and they both rolled their eyes at the same time. Nick in controller mode, was the silent agreement.

  “Mum, when did you meet Mrs Byrne?” the boy asked as he roamed the room, checking things out.

  The sudden silence was a tell in itself. Her child didn’t know about Nick and Caroline and their “relationship”. Naomi smiled at him.

  “I met your mum when she came to enquire about your grandparents,” she lied smoothly. “Would you mind if I called you Toby as the di Lucas do?” she continued, changing the subject.

  Caroline mouthed a “thank you” and turned to discuss luggage with Nick.

  “Sure,” Toby replied. He studied her, his face serious. “Can I call you Naomi instead of Mrs Byrne?”

  “I’d be delighted if you did, and I’m a miss, not a mrs – I’m not married,” she qualified.

  “Were you ever?” he asked, still watching her face.

  Naomi was pretty sure that if his mother had heard that question she would have scolded him for being rude. For being intrusive. Naomi didn’t mind. She missed the directness of small people. She remembered her own daughter being equally direct and indeed herself being equally embarrassed by it. No more.

  “Once. A long time ago.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Okay. Maybe that was too direct.

  “I
actually don’t know.” I hope not – that would be too easy, she added silently.

  “How come?” Toby moved to the window and the view below.

  Naomi gathered her thoughts, aware that by now three other people were potentially listening. One, she didn’t mind about – Nick knew all about her past. The other two? Well, she’d recently decided no more secrets, so what the heck. She walked to Toby and sat on the window seat, looking blankly out at nothing.

  “He’s in prison, last I heard,” she offered quietly.

  Toby tilted his head to the side. “Huh,” he said non-committedly, “that sucks.”

  She smiled. She couldn’t believe she was smiling during this conversation, but there was something so natural and charming about the young lad’s interest.

  “Actually, not really. I’m glad he’s there. I never want to see him again.”

  She stood up and turned around, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her skirt. Maybe she was more affected by the train of the conversation than she thought. She looked up and was impaled by the furious look in Vito’s eyes. She looked right back at him, her chin lifting a little higher as she dared anyone in the room to comment. Well, they’d all heard. So be it. She looked towards Caroline and saw only concern. It was the newcomer who broke the silence.

  “Best place for some exes, I say.” Caroline walked over to her and rubbed a hand gently down Naomi’s arm. “I detect a bit of a brogue there, Naomi. We definitely have to go for a drink sometime and discuss how prison is too good for some men.” She grinned as she spoke, making it all lighter, easier.

  Naomi grinned back. She flipped her gaze to Nick’s.

  “I like her. She’s got your number, anyway.”

  Nick grunted and Vito grunted right along with him, lowering the box to an available flat surface. As Naomi walked briskly towards the suite door, she spoke to the room at large.