Bless Her Dead Little Heart

CHAPTER 22

“Good afternoon.” An’gel wasn’t sure how she managed to get the words out, she was so surprised. Who could this courtly gentleman be?

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a smile that displayed beautiful, even teeth. “I am Antonio Mingione, the Conte di San Lorenzo, and husband of Rosabella, at your service.”

An’gel blurted out the first words that came into her head. “I thought you were dead.” Appalled by what she said, she felt her face flushing.

The conte smiled. “Ah, Rosabella mia, she is as mischievous as a child sometimes. I am very much alive, as you can see, Signorina Ducote.”

“Please, forgive my manners. Do come in.” An’gel stepped back and indicated that Rosabelle’s husband should enter. She was furious with her old sorority sister for lying about her husband’s death. Why on earth had she done it? She had also neglected to mention that the husband had a title. Did this mean Rosabelle was the Contessa di San Lorenzo? An’gel couldn’t imagine why Rosabelle wasn’t throwing that about.

Another question popped into her head. How had Rosabelle, who was eighty-two if she was a day, landed a man so handsome and so, well, Italian? Off the movie screen An’gel didn’t think she had ever encountered a man this attractive.

She still felt off-balance from the surprise but her instincts for hospitality kicked in. “I am An’gel Ducote, Signor Mingione, or should I say Conte?”

“Please, call me Antonio, if I may be so bold as to call you An’gel.” He smiled.

My, the way he said An’gel. His pleasant baritone washed over her like warm honey. “Please do,” she managed to say. “Let’s go into the parlor, shall we? Perhaps you would like something to drink?”

“That would be very kind, An’gel.” He followed her into the parlor but stopped a few paces inside. “Such a charming room. Rosabella has told me many times about your lovely home and your distinguished family.”

“An’gel, who was that at the door? Oh.” Dickce, on her way into the parlor, stopped suddenly when she realized there was a stranger present.

“Dickce, this is Rosabelle’s husband, Antonio Mingione, the Conte di San Lorenzo. Antonio, my sister, Dickce.”

An’gel watched as the man exerted his seemingly effortless charm on her sister. Dickce blushed when he took her hand and bowed over it. Did I look that foolish when he bowed over mine? An’gel wondered. She was thankful Dickce didn’t blurt out I thought you were dead like she had.

With the initial pleasantries complete, An’gel pointed their new guest to a sofa. “What can we offer you to drink, Antonio?”

“A glass of cold water would be perfetto, or as you say, perfect.” He flashed his beautiful smile.

“Dickce, would you mind seeing to that?” An’gel sat opposite him on the other sofa.

“It would be my pleasure.” Dickce hurried out. An’gel knew her sister would be burning with curiosity the whole time she was out of the room.

“Tell me, An’gel, my wife, she is well? I have been most anxious to see her, for in her last communication with me, she said she had been terribly ill.” His expression was the epitome of husbandly concern. “I came to her side as quickly as I could.”

“She is upstairs resting at the moment,” An’gel said. “Her granddaughter is with her. They will all be down soon. We’re about to serve lunch, and we would be delighted to have you join us.” She winced inwardly at the thought of serving cold cuts to a member of the Italian nobility. Then she chided herself for being a snob. Really, this man had her much too flustered. What is wrong with me?

“Yes, Juanita is most capable, and I would be delighted to join you for lunch,” he said. “Forgive me, but you said they will all be down. Who else is here?”

“All of the family,” An’gel said. “There is something I must tell you, I’m afraid. There has been a tragedy.”

“Has some harm come to my wife?” Antonio’s face darkened. “I did not take seriously these stories of hers that one of her children is trying to harm her. She exaggerates, you know. But perhaps I have been a fool.”

“Rosabelle is fine,” An’gel said. “I’m afraid the tragedy involved Marla Stephens. She fell down our stairs yesterday, and well, she died from the fall.”

“Maledizione! You tell me this. The one who looks like the unhappy bulldog, she is dead? Santo cielo.” He shook his head, as if in disbelief.

An’gel had a sudden urge to laugh at his description of Marla Stephens, but she suppressed it quickly. Stress sure was making her behave oddly, she thought.

Dickce returned with the requested glass of water and brought it to their guest. “Grazie, signorina.” He accepted it and drank half of it. “That hit the spot, as you say.”

“My pleasure.” Dickce sank onto the sofa by An’gel.

“What a terrible thing to happen,” Antonio said, his expression grave, as he returned to the subject of his conversation with An’gel. “A most unfortunate accident. I must express my sympathies to Wade and, of course, to Rosabella.”

“I regret to have to tell you that it was not an accident,” An’gel said. “Someone arranged it to look like an accident, but it was not.”

“Antonio, what are you doing here?”

Startled, An’gel turned to see Juanita advancing into the room. She did not appear happy to see her grandmother’s husband.

Antonio stood and set his glass on the table beside his chair. He moved forward to greet Juanita, both hands extended. “Bellissima, I have just been told the terrible news. Here I come to find my lovely wife, and instead it is tragedy I find.”

Juanita stopped in her tracks and folded her arms across her chest. She glared at Antonio, whose hands fell to his sides. “You are unbelievable,” Juanita said. “You disappear for three months, and then you suddenly turn up here. Well, you aren’t welcome. Grandmother doesn’t want to see you or speak to you.”

An’gel glanced at her sister, and Dickce shook her head as if to say what next?

“Juanita, my dear, I told Rosabella that I must return to Italy for several weeks to attend to business matters. My son, Benedetto, required my assistance, and I had to consult with my lawyers on other matters. Your grandmother knows this as we discussed it thoroughly before I departed last month.” He shrugged.

Juanita grimaced. “I should have known Grandmother was making things up again. She said you had abandoned her and vowed never to return. I’m sorry, Antonio.” She held out her hands.

“Do not worry, bellissima.” Antonio smiled and drew her to him. He kissed both her cheeks and then released her. “I, too, know your nonna, and she loves to tell these stories. She must have drama, that one, or her day is otherwise so tedious.” He turned to smile at An’gel and Dickce. “She told these charming ladies that she was a widow.”

“Honestly,” Juanita said, “is there nothing she won’t say to get attention?”

Antonio laughed. “She is fiery, my Rosabella, and never boring.”

He’s either a fool or completely besotted, An’gel thought. How did Rosabelle manage to fascinate men to the point of fatuity? An’gel couldn’t understand it.

She rose from the sofa. “I believe lunch should be ready in the dining room. Shall we go in?”

“As you wish, signorina.” Antonio offered her his left arm, and she accepted. Dickce and Juanita followed them into the dining room.

On the way An’gel explained that the meal would be a simple one, and Antonio insisted that whatever food he found at her table would be delightful.

The dining room was empty, and An’gel took Antonio straight to the sideboard and urged him to help himself. He smilingly refused. “No, the ladies, they must go first.”

“I will, if you don’t mind.” Juanita smiled as she picked up a plate. “I want to take something to Grandmother. She was just waking up when I left. I think I will let her have her lunch before I break the news of your arrival, Antonio.”

He inclined his head. “As you think best, bellissima. Your nonna will want time to prepare herself to receive me. I know her little ways.”

An’gel knew those little ways, too, and she suspected that the next time they saw Rosabelle in public, she would barely resemble the weary, frumpy woman who’d arrived yesterday.

Once Juanita finished loading a plate for Rosabelle, An’gel and Dickce helped themselves. Only then would Antonio prepare anything for himself. He accepted a glass of iced tea from An’gel, and the three of them sat, with An’gel in her usual place at the head of the table.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, and An’gel wondered where the rest of her guests were—not that she minded being able to enjoy her food without their lowering presence. Moments later she heard voices and footsteps in the hallway, and Wade Thurmond and Junior Pittman strolled into the dining room.

Wade stopped suddenly, and Junior, who was right behind him, almost knocked into him. Junior managed at the last moment to sidestep.

Wade’s lip curled. “Well, well, the gigolo returns.”