Head shaking, she glanced back at the square stone towers at each of the four corner of the monumental building.
‘They were there a couple of hundred years before the actual Castello. There’s a view over the sea from up there, but it’s not bad from here either.’ He nodded past her and she turned again.
She’d been aware of the steep incline of the winding road but not the village, built on the edge of the water, it revealed or the glittering aquamarine sea scape it was set against.
Wow hardly seemed adequate—when he had spoken of Jamie’s heritage she had never imagined anything like this. On this scale the historic grandeur was intimidating. ‘So this is the Greco ancestral home.’
‘There have been Grecos here for centuries. This place’s fortunes followed ours, land sold, land bought back, disrepair and grandeur, but our family originally didn’t build the place, an ancestor won it in a card game, or so the story goes. A tale probably invented for the tourists.’
‘Have you always lived here?’
‘We lived here as children, but these days I have an apartment in Florence. It’s more convenient for when I’m in Italy, but I travel a great deal. I could give you a history but as an architect you’ll probably know more about it than me.’
‘I am an architect,’ she agreed, wondering absently if this was the wrong tense, or maybe, considering the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, to describe her as a scared architect would have been more appropriate. ‘Not an art historian.’ That said, she did recognise the massive double entrance that had come into view on top of an impressive flight of stone steps as a pretty incredible example of pure Renaissance.
The melding of styles over the years had given this place a unique look, in the same way the melding of genes over the years had given Ivo a unique look.
The thought drew her gaze towards the man whose genetic make-up had produced...well...perfection, and she found he was looking at her. He wasn’t smiling and there was something in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.
She lifted her chin in response to the silent challenge glittering in his eyes. ‘So what now?’
‘Now we get you and Jamie settled. I’m assuming that Salvatore will want to see you both.’
An invitation where non-attendance was not an option.
Her spiky, thick lashes half lowered, her plump lower lip caught between her teeth, her soft mutter of, ‘I can hardly wait,’ was obviously not as under her breath as she intended because he responded drily.
‘In order to avoid any misunderstandings, I should mention that my grandfather is not likely to get irony, or, for that matter, humour.’
‘Any more tips?’
‘Don’t overthink this, and don’t look so guilty.’
She silently tacked on and don’t throw up as she nodded to the uniformed figure holding the door open and slid out of the car.
A moment later Ivo joined her. He was carrying the car seat. She was actually grateful for the light pressure of the guiding hand in the small of her back as they approached the shallow flight of stone steps with the elaborate wrought-iron railings.
This was what Bruno had walked away from. Seeing it up close made her appreciate for the first time just how much he had turned his back on for the woman he loved, just what he had sacrificed.
She had thought that the home and business his parents had built was Jamie’s inheritance, preserving it had been her focus, but now she was here she realised that this was Jamie’s birthright too.
She glanced down at the baby sitting contentedly, his sun hat slightly askew on his dark curls, and experienced a moment of mind-clearing clarity.
Her chin lifted. Yes, she would fight to keep the business going, so that, unlike his father, Jamie would never have to choose. ‘None of this actually matters. Jamie’s true birthright is his parents’ love.’
She hadn’t been aware that she had voiced the realisation out loud until the pressure against her spine increased and Ivo’s deep-voiced cynicism, etched in every syllable, floated down to her, making her wince.
‘You put a high price on love.’
She was still blinking as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the more subdued light after the brilliant sunshine outside, when a man approached. Neat was the word that popped into her head when she saw him. Everything about him was precise, from his neatly trimmed beard to the parting in his slicked-back hair; she could have seen her reflection in his highly polished shoes.
‘Ramon.’
‘Sir.’ He greeted Ivo with a deferential tip of his head.
’Flora, this is Ramon, my grandfather’s major domo, who makes this place run like clockwork. Ramon, this is my fiancée, Ms Flora Henderson, and Jamie.’
‘Hello.’ The way he looked at the hand she had extended made Flora wonder if she had broken some sort of etiquette, but his smile was genial as he took it in a dry-handed grip.
‘If you’re here as an escort, Ramon, explain to my grandfather—’
‘Jamie needs feeding.’ Flora had been watching the baby push his chubby fist into his mouth. Experience told her they had about five minutes before the hungry wailing started.
‘There, you see, my grandfather will have to wait.’
The older man cleared his throat. ‘Of course.’ He nodded his head as three people appeared. They responded to instructions he delivered in his precise voice with lots of nods. ‘Actually, sir, I was hoping... The doctor is here and your grandfather has given him permission to speak with you.’
Flora felt Ivo’s splayed fingers tighten in the small of her back; her eyes went to his face. His features were still. Despite the lack of any discernible expression at all on his face, or maybe because of it, Flora sensed the emotions under the surface.
If everyone had a secret fear, she decided then that Ivo’s was anyone who suspected he was human.
‘You go,’ she said, drawing the attention of the older man to herself. ‘We’ll be fine.’ She stepped away from his supportive touch and curled her fingers around his on the handle of the baby carrier. ‘I can manage,’ she said and turned, while around them the rest of the luggage and baby paraphernalia was being carried up the stairs and along one of the wide galleries that ran around the upper floor perimeter, before vanishing.
‘I can manage,’ she repeated with another tug.
Ivo didn’t release his grip but he did put the carrier down on the floor. ‘Give us a moment, will you, Ramon?’
The other man moved away to a discreet distance.
Flora glanced over her shoulder towards him and, pitching her voice low, said softly, ‘I’m sorry.’
He arched a brow. ‘What for?’
‘That your grandfather is...’
‘What? Dying? Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Smile, cara, this might be good news for you. I know you were too polite to ask how long but this does looks promising for you, so fingers crossed.’
It wasn’t just the sneering intonation in his voice or the coldness in his eyes as they swept over her face, it was the fact that she hadn’t seen it coming. She focused on stopping the tears she felt pressing at the backs of her eyes and told herself it was ridiculous to feel this level of hurt.
‘Why are you being so hateful?’
He flinched inwardly at the unconscious dignity in her stance, but he ignored the guilt nudging his conscience and refused to even acknowledge the odd wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked down into the reproachful blue eyes that shimmered up at him, bright as