Marco? And Filipa?
He had no idea what happened next except that he jerked in a way that sent the cup and pot flying at Gina. It was her cry and the heat on his hand that moved him from his chair. Gina was tugging at different parts of her clothes, and Angelo saw the dark-brown stains, still steaming, splashed across the front of her blouse and making dark rivers along her skirt. She was hunched into her clothing, and he realised she was trying to keep the hot liquid from burning her skin.
“Gina, what can I do? You have to take it off. Take it off.” He was at her back and trying to undo the row of buttons, but they were in such tight loops. When she gasped in pain, he yanked the two sides of the blouse apart, coral coloured buttons popping and bouncing onto the floor. He jerked the blouse over her shoulders and exposed the back of the cream camisole beneath, glowing against her olive skin.
She had the fabric on her front pulled away from her, and he pushed her through the door of the kitchen and into the foyer.
“I’m so sorry, Gina.”
“It’s nothing.” But her voice was strained. “Let me just get changed.”
Angelo removed his own suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. He led her to the stairwell. “Did you get burned?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “It was all very quick.”
“All right.”
He watched her go up the stairs and then remembered the whole reason for the accident. “Gina?” He took two steps at a time to reach her.
She stopped.
“What did you mean when Marco and Filipa are back?”
She frowned, still shrinking away from the hot, wet stain. “Marco? Why, he and Filipa are coming back from Rome. Isn’t that why you’re here? To fetch him?”
Angelo sucked in a deep breath, and Gina looked concerned. “Didn’t you know?”
He put a hand on her shoulder and held her there, his gaze intent. “Gina, are Filipa and he…”
“Yes, Angelo. I thought—”
The front door below flew open, and the sound of laughter poured in along with a gust of cool air. Young, carefree laughter. The sound of lovers. Gina tottered on the step and put out a hand on Angelo’s arm as she regained her balance, one foot on the step below them.
“Mother?” It was Filipa.
Angelo saw how she released Marco’s hand, as if to fling it from her. “What is this?”
Angelo stepped away from Gina, pressed up against the wall of the stairwell, and Marco’s face fell. He glanced from Angelo to Gina and back to Angelo, all the while his eyes narrowing until they were only slits.
Filipa was saying something, a question, but Angelo stayed on Marco. He came down the stairs, but Marco turned his head back and forth, slowly, as if his neck hurt. Before Angelo could reach him, Marco threw Filipa a tortured glance, backed out the door, and fled down the walkway and through the gate.
Chapter 15
Bolzano, November 1937
A nnamarie’s “minuses” list was growing. Marco had not come to the opening of Equator, as he’d promised. He was supposed to come home from Kastelbell and attend her debut performance. Instead, she received word through a group of pioneers that Marco was leading drills with the Avanguardia. A week later, the Colonel let it slip that Marco had been in Rome and was returning soon. Otherwise, no word. No sign of him.
Then there was the old woman’s presence. Maria Grimani’s hovering made Annamarie hide out in her room, where she made lists of ways to punish Marco. Even Francesca and Christina seemed to have tired of Annamarie, offloading their children with her as if she were a common nursemaid. The fact that Marco’s aunts were treating her this way was worrisome. Annamarie had considered Marco’s two aunts as her only allies within the family, save perhaps the occasional kind word from the Colonel. Though he was always polite to her, she had grown wary of his courtesies. She knew she was dangerously wearing out her welcome with the family. She had to leave, but where to? Anytime she thought of returning to Arlund, the image of facing her family and apologising made her freeze in indecision.
It was late afternoon when she found herself alone in the house, a blessed relief. When the buzzer rang at the door, she did not know what to expect and looked through the peephole to find Marco standing there, grim faced. She danced nervously, checking her reflection in the hall mirror, and when he buzzed two more times, she opened the door for him.
“Finally” was all she said. Haughty enough, she thought, to make him feel sorry.
He barely greeted her and walked in as if he owned the apartment. “Where are my grandparents?”
“They’ve left. How am I supposed to know where?”
He looked her up and down, and Annamarie folded her arms over her chest. He’d better have a good explanation.
“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her up the staircase.
In her bedroom, his frown smoothed over, and he seemed set on something. Was he going to apologise? Or break up with her? Annamarie put her hands on her hip, bit her bottom lip.
He shook his head before striding over and pinning her arms to her sides.
“You’re hurting me.”
But he did not let go.
His eyes had turned dark green, dark shadows in his pupils. “You wanted me?” he hissed. “You asked where I’ve been?”
She shook her head, but when he narrowed his eyes, she swallowed. “Yes. I wanted to—”
His mouth was on hers, hard and forceful, his tongue prying her lips open. She gasped
