My anger blazes forth again. “As their father, I would think they learn to speak it first from you,sir.”
His eyes narrow, but Zeta rejoins us, leading me into the nursery. Its large windows overlook the well-kept, enclosed garden behind the house. The nursery walls are lemon yellow with hand painted pastoral scenes above the two cribs. The dark walnut furniture matches the deep-cushioned rocking chair in the corner.
I can feel Nico’s glare on my back as Zeta picks up one of the children. “This is Lucia. She cries at every stranger, but she’ll get used to you soon enough.”
The baby stares at her grandmother for a heartbeat, opens her little mouth and emits a plaintive whimper. A ripple of tension sweeps through my entire body. I’m to be responsible for this little creature?Oh Dio,this is not like tending lambs at all.
“They’re in the colicky stage.”
“Colicky?” I repeat, not understanding the word.
“They want a bottle after their nap,” Zeta rattles on. “Take a seat, Matilde.” She steers me toward the rocking chair, and I obey her command, not knowing what else to do. Then, she starts to pass the child to me. “Be sure to support her head.”
Before I can take the baby – and completely freak out – Nico intercedes, taking his daughter instead, his scowl daring me to protest. I won’t.
Lucia is so tiny in her father’s arms. It’s an oddly endearing sight, such a large and intimidating man cradling his daughter against his broad chest, her little fingers wrapped around one of his thumbs.
Once Zeta has prepared two bottles and hands one to Nico, she picks up the second baby. “Amadeo, this is your nanny, Matilde.” The babyboy’s suspicious scowl reminds me remarkably of his father’s. “Yes, you’re hungry, I know,” his grandmother coos. She smirks at her son before plopping her grandson into my lap.
My pulse races with utter terror but only for a moment. “Oh, he’s…”
“Bigger than his sister, yes,” Zeta chuckles. “I would swear he’s stealing Lucia’s bottles if we didn’t know better.”
“No, he is perfect,” I whisper. Ten fingers, ten toes, chubby cheeks. Dark hair and misty gray eyes. He’s heavier than I expected, solid and sturdy with that baby soft skin. He doesn’t smell like a dirty diaper. He smells incredibly sweet.
I give Zeta a questioning look. She nods at the bottle, smiling. “Trust me. He’s figured out what to do with it.” Her confidence kindles my own, and I brush the tip across his lips. He latches on at once, sucking eagerly and studying my face with his adorably judgmental expression.
Carefully, I rock him.“Poor, sweet babies,”I murmur in Italian, my heart exploding with emotion, thinking of the mother they lost and the one I’ll never know.
Lucia isn’t even halfway through her bottle when Amadeo finishes his. His small hands ball up into tiny fists… right before he spits up all over my blouse.
I yelp, and the baby in my arms releases an ear-splitting wail in reply.
“Fuck,” a low voice growls in annoyance beside me as Zeta darts to the dresser to fetch a rag.
***
Even with the generosity of the De Luca ladies, I don’t have many clothes, so I wash out my blouse as best I can in the laundry room’s sink after switching into a clean sweater.
Gia and her husband, who is the Chicago Consigliere, have been invited to stay for dinner. Zeta is playing hostess for her son which means I’m staying, too. I wish I could hide here instead of sitting through an awkward meal with the master of the house who’s taken an immediate dislike to me.
Wadding up my wet blouse, I stuff it in the bottom of my suitcase and step back into the hallway, gasping at the dark shadow lurking by the door. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen in,” Nico drawls.
I pull my suitcase up to my chest. “I needed change.”
“You neededtochange.”
“I do not needanEnglish lesson,” I snap.
“If I decide you need a lesson in something, you’ll get it.”
Oh Dio,this man and I will get along like the cat and dog. “Are you always rude or is it for me?”
“Careful, girl,” he warns, stepping close. “I’ve agreed to this arrangement for now, but arrangements can change, and I was told you have nowhere else to go.”
He’s like a furnace this close, and my cheeks pinken from that as much as the truth of his statement. “You change it already,” I mutter.
“Why did Silvio really send you to me?”