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“So you waited.”
“Not patiently. I expected you to come home at least once in three years, you know.”
“I dreaded seeing you again. I was thousands of miles away from you and yet I still loved you, I still dreamed about you. It didn’t seem to get any better. Even after three years.”
“A few weeks ago, you’d finished your classes and you were in the process of deciding if you were going to stay on in Italy.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Your father. He was the only way I had of getting information about you, and I used him shamelessly.”
“He told me you started coming by for visits shortly after I left.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t figure out how I felt about you. I don’t think I could have been any more obvious if I’d tried.”
“Dad didn’t have a clue until recently and then only because of the—” She stopped when she realized what she was about to tell him.
“Of what?” Charles prodded.
“I…it would be best if you let Dad explain that part.”
“All right, I will.” He looked away from her momentarily. “Although you never seriously dated anyone, there was someone in Italy, wasn’t there? A man you cared about?”
“Who?” Steffie frowned in bewilderment.
“A man named Mario?”
“Mario…a man?” He was four now, and the delight of her heart while she’d lived in Italy.
“He caused me several sleepless nights. Your father only mentioned him once. Said you ‘adored’ him. I went through agonies trying to be subtle about getting information on this guy, but your father never brought him up again.”
“Mario,” Steffie repeated, smiling broadly. “Yes, I did adore him.”
Charles scowled. “What happened?”
Still smiling, Steffie said, “There was a slight discrepancy in our ages. I’m more than twenty years older.”
“He’s a kid.”
“But what a kid. My landlady’s son. I was crazy about him.” Spending time with a loving, open child like Mario had helped her through a difficult period in her life.
“I see.” A slow, easy smile slipped into place. “So you like children.”
“Oh, yes, I always have.”
“I hope that young man appreciates everything he put me through.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t, but I certainly do. I know what it’s like to love someone and have that someone not love you.”
Charles considered her words for a moment. “I’ve always loved you, Stephanie, but I didn’t dare let you know. I couldn’t trust what we felt for each other then—but I can now.”
She avoided his gaze. She had to ask, although she was afraid to. “If that’s true, why were you so angry when Dad suggested we get married?”
Charles sighed. “Frustration, I guess. I’d intended to propose the night we went for dinner. I had everything planned, down to the last detail.”
“But why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t, not when the past still came between us. You made it clear you didn’t want to discuss our misunderstandings. So my hands were tied. I hate to admit it, but I was nervous—even if you didn’t seem to notice.”
