go!” He levered himself onto the tile. When both of them had slipped on their shirts and sandals, Vincenzo grasped Dino’s hand and they descended the steps beyond the pool area that led down to the sea.
Tomorrow was the last day of his boy’s one week summer vacation with him. Only a little more time left before he had to drive him back to Milan. Then the one weekend a month of visitation would begin again until his week in December. So much time apart from his son was killing him.
Before Mila had moved to Milan, Vincenzo had made that once a month sojourn to Florence where she’d lived with her family and Dino since the divorce. He’d found a small hotel located near the Boboli Gardens where you could look out over Michelangelo’s city. The delightful spot had become a second home to him and Dino.
The hotel he’d picked out in Milan didn’t feel like home to them. Neither did Milan itself, but rules were rules and had been set in concrete. Vincenzo was only given one week in summer and one week in December before the Christmas holiday to be with his son on his terms.
Nothing would change until Dino turned eighteen, unless of course Vincenzo married again. Such an eventuality would upset a small universe of people in more ways than one.
But after letting his father dictate an ill-fated marriage the first time around, he was through with the institution. His only choice was to bide his time until Dino was old enough to plead for a change in the visitation rules. Then Vincenzo would go before a higher court and appeal the decision. Hopefully that day would come years before Dino was considered an adult.
Later, as they walked along the cliffside path of Via Dell’Amore between Riomaggiore and Vernazza, his son cried, “Look, Papa. The sun fell into the sea.”
“Do you think it scares all the fish to see a big light shining under the water?”
That brought the first laugh of the evening to Dino’s lips. “No. You’re funny.”
Vincenzo looked down at his boy. He was the joy of his life. “Are you tired after all our walking? Do you want me to carry you on my shoulders up these steep steps?”
“I don’t think they’re steep.” He trudged up ahead of him, then turned around. “What’s steep?”
Laughter poured out of Vincenzo. “Almost straight up and down.”
“Sometimes I think I’m going to fall over.”
“You keep going up first then. If you start to tumble, I’ll be here to catch you.”
“I won’t fall. Watch!”
His strong legs dashed up the steps to the winding road that led to Vincenzo’s apartment. Dino had straight brown-black hair and brown eyes like his mother’s. His body type, like Vincenzo’s, had been inherited from their Valsecchi line.
Of course Vincenzo thought his boy brilliant like himself, and good-looking like Vincenzo’s mother. The Antonellos had a proud nose and firm jaw. All in all his Dino was perfect.
“I’ll beat you to our house,” he cried before hurrying up the last part of the road to the apartment jutting out from the cliff. From their balcony giving out on the Mediterranean, they’d spent many an hour looking through the telescope at swimmers and boats. When the sky was clear enough, they could pick out the constellations among the stars.
Dino ran around to the front door with Vincenzo not far behind. To his surprise he heard his son say, “Buonasera, signorina.” They had a visitor. Walking around the purple bougainvillea, his heart skipped a beat because he’d spotted the one woman he never expected to see again. His thoughts reeled.
In the fading light her glistening black hair fell like a curtain from a center part to her shoulders covered in a sleeveless lavender top. Standing there on those gorgeous long legs half-hidden in the folds of her white skirt, the impact of Irena Liapis on his senses had never been more potent.
“Buonasera,” she answered with a discernible Greek accent.
“Who are you?” Dino asked, but by then her startled eyes, dark as poppy throats, had come into contact with Vincenzo’s. Since he knew she couldn’t understand Dino’s Italian, he took over, but he had to be careful what he told him. Everything would get back to the boy’s mother.
“This is Irena Spiros from Greece, Dino,” he explained. “She doesn’t speak our language. That means we have to speak English to her.”
“But I don’t know many words.”
“That’s all right. Do the best you can with what you’ve learned. We’ll find out how good your tutor has been.”
“Okay.” Dino turned and shook her hand. “Hello, Ms. Spiros. I am Dino and this is my papa.”
She looked startled to hear her mother’s maiden name used and Vincenzo could tell that she was also shocked to discover he had a son. But she recovered enough from both surprises to smile at him. “Hello, Dino. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m six. How old are you?”
She laughed softly. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“Dino,” Vincenzo whispered in Italian. “You should never ask a woman her age.”
He bit his lip.
“It’s all right,” she said to Dino, having understood without translation. “You’re a very smart, polite boy.” Her eyes lifted to Vincenzo, a question in them, and he saw a glint of something undecipherable; anxiety maybe. He decided to enlighten her.
“When you came to Riomaggiore two months ago, my son was with his mother and stepfather in Milan. I’ve been divorced five years.”
“I see.” She studied him intently. “Dare I tell you he’s adorable and that one day he’ll grow up to be even more handsome than his secretive father?”
Something about her was different. He had yet to discover what it was. “You mean as secretive as the almost Signorina Simonides? According to the newspaper, she hasn’t been available since the CEO himself sailed away with his new American bride.”
He thought she might blush, or at least look away. Instead she said, “Touché.”
Her lack of outrage was as surprising as it was intriguing.
Dino turned to him. “Papa? Can she come in?”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes. She’s nice.”
Agreed. “Then I’ll ask her.” He shot her a glance. “He wants to know if you would like to come in.”
She pondered the invitation for a moment. “Only if it doesn’t interfere with your plans.”
“Signorina Spiros wants to come in,” he whispered to Dino, then moved forward to unlock the door.
Irena went inside but she feared her heart was pounding so loud, Vincenzo could hear it. After spending the last night of her business trip here two months ago, she knew his apartment fairly well. Comfortably furnished with a view of the sea to die for from the balcony, she found it incredibly charming. But something new had been added.
On the kitchen counter was an assembly of little boys’ toys. The kitchen table had half a dozen board games sitting on top, one of matching cards still in progress. In the living room lay a soccer ball in one corner. A small golf club with plastic balls had been left in another corner. She saw a little bicycle propped against the outside railing near the telescope, all signs that a boy lived here.
Vincenzo had a son, but he’d never said a word about him. He came up behind her. His body was close enough she could feel his warmth. “Dino wants to show you his room.”
She walked down the hallway