Page 25 of His Fantasy Bride (Things To Do Before You Die)

The waiter brought their ravioli at that moment, and they were quiet for a while. Each mouthful was such a pleasure she almost groaned. The buttery ravioli, the salty tang of the goat cheese, the flavors of the herbs… After wiping the plate clean with a piece of garlic bread, she sat back to find him watching her, hunger in his eyes, and she didn’t think it was for ravioli.

“Go on,” she said, “what happened when you were ten?”

“I had this nanny; she was English, and was going to be a nun. She and my father fell in love.”

“How romantic. Just like theSound of Music.”

“My grandfather wasn’t impressed—he described their marriage as a goddamn disaster that ruined my father for anything useful.” He popped the last of the ravioli in his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. “Anyway, in her own way, my stepmother Lucy is as formidable as my grandfather. She won that particular battle, and she and my father were married. She changed him, tamed him. Before her, he’d never been happy, but he loved her, and with her he was a different man.”

“That is so romantic.”

“I’m sure it was. All I remember is tremendous fights. My grandfather wanted him to stay in the business; my stepmother wanted him and me away from the evil influence of mynonno.She won. Mostly. Though I always spent a month of each year in Sicily with my grandfather.”

“And where did your father and stepmother go?”

He grinned, crinkling his eyes. She loved the look on him. “They became missionaries.”

She put down her glass and stared at him. “What?” Whatever she’d expected it wasn’t that. When Luca had originally told her about Vito, she’d presumed he was an orphan. And he’d never spoken of his parents when they were together before.

Something occurred to her. “Did they know about us? That we were going to get married?”

“No.”

Their main courses arrived then, but her appetite had diminished, and she just picked at the rich dish. “Why not?”

“I wanted you to myself. It was as though if I let real life in, then the bubble would burst.”

“Except in the end, I burst it for you.”

“Yes.”

He’d gone solemn, and she wanted smiling Vito back. “So what was it like growing up with missionaries for parents?”

“In some ways, pretty great. We lived all over Africa—I had more freedom than children usually got—I ran wild with my friends.”

“What about school?”

“I was homeschooled and probably got a better education than my peers.”

“Did they expect you to be good?”

“My father said it wasn’t a reasonable request, considering I was a D’Ascensio and I took after my grandfather. But they tried to instill some decent values in me to counteract my natural tendency to stray from the straight and narrow.”

“And they succeeded.”

“Perhaps. I wanted them to be proud of me.” He looked at her nearly full plate. “Finish your food.”

She did, giving herself time to process all he’d told her, so different from what she’d expected, and maybe explaining many of the contradictions he posed. Switching between a life with missionaries and one with a shady Sicilian gangster character, he’d obviously had to find his own middle ground.

She finished her food and sat back, replete. She had an idea he’d be questioning her soon, and she didn’t want to answer anything tonight. She took a gulp of wine and placed her empty glass on the table. The waiter swooped in and refilled it. “You get good service here,” she said.

“My grandfather loaned the owner the money to start the place.”

“That explains it. So, tell me how you got into archeology.”

“When I was twelve, I met a man in Egypt, an archeologist. He let me follow him around. I found it fascinating, digging up history. After that, when we moved, he’d put me in touch with any local digs. By the time I was applying for university I knew most of the prominent people in the field. I got a place at Oxford and that was it. I mix my time between the university and whatever digs I can fit in.”

“Except when you’re playing the billionaire.”

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