Mamma and Gelsomina shared a glance, and Carina looked from one to the other. For all the stories bantered about, that one she hadn’t heard. She had unintentionally hit on something. “Why, Mamma?”
Mamma waved her hand. “He wanted something better.”
“Better than friend to the king?” She knew how it worked. There were those with pedigree and power, and others without.
“You were too little to remember. Things were hard, unstable.”
Mamma was lying. Carina had seen it many times. Mamma colored the truth, brushed over it whenever it suited her.
Carina looked at Gelsomina. “Madrina?”
“In Argentina there was great opportunity.”
Carina jutted her chin. “Then why did he leave there, too?”
Mamma said, “To be part of the great America. For you and Divina and your brothers especially.”
Carina flung up her hand. “What is so great about America?”
“Two things.” Mamma’s expression intensified. “Freedom and land.”
“Papa had land.”
Mamma shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
They could go on in circles all night. Mamma did not want to tell her. If Gelsomina knew, she, too, would keep it secret. Why did it even matter? What did it have to do with her and Quillan? She felt a hand on her waist and knew without turning it was Flavio. Mamma’s face had a beatific glow, and Gelsomina nodded knowingly.
The music started, and Flavio leaned his mouth to her ear. “Do you remember the first time we danced, tesora mia?” He took her hand in his. “At Joseph’s wedding.”
She remembered. How her heart had soared! They’d been playmates, but that, that had been a turning point. She turned, met his melting gaze. Why did he persist? She saw the people watching them. It would be a terrible insult to refuse. She would incite Flavio’s wrath if she embarrassed him now, in front of everyone. So she allowed him to escort her to the floor. His hand on her waist was warm as they began the saltarello with a skipping step.
As they danced, his hands never left her, nor did his eyes. “You are beautiful tonight, my love.”
She swallowed her retort. She must not make a scene. Had he not heard her, not understood? Did he forget she loved another? No, there was something dark and taunting in his gaze. She spun, trying to ignore the warmth of his touch, which once had left her dizzy with dreams. What was this magnetism he had over all her family?
“You are my angel tonight. My cupid. I am under your spell.”
Words like that, from his lips, from his pen, had captivated her once. He took her into a twirl with his lips at her neck. She thought of Quillan in the plaza, alone.
“I love you, Carina. It consumes me.”
Madonna mia! What am I to do?
“The flames burn my heart, and I am helpless to resist.”
“Flavio . . .” Her voice broke. She didn’t want to hurt him. What she had dreamed of once was painful now. Signore, help me. Had she set it all in motion with her vengeful desire to strike back, to make him pay? How far would he go, driven by such fire?
She said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You are the death of me.” He pulled her out onto the balcony. Had he maneuvered them across the floor to do so?
“Please, Flavio, try to understand.”
He caught her face between his hands and kissed her with all the ardor and arrogance in him. Carina struggled. How dare he make a spectacle of her? Or was that his intention? Was Quillan in the plaza? She strained to see, but Flavio would not release her. He pinned her to the railing, his mouth stopping her breath.
She pressed her fists against him, but he wouldn’t stop the kiss. She kicked him as hard as she could through her skirts. He staggered back holding his leg. Her breath came in gasps as she searched the plaza in the dark. She could not see far, but she was certain she could be seen in the festive lights.
Was Quillan out there? Then Flavio grabbed her arms. “You can fight all you want, but I will win. I have everyone with me.”
“Why?”
He smiled a slow, melancholy smile and moved in to kiss her again.
She shoved him back. “I am a married woman.”
“Sham marriage. Sham husband. And soon you will be a widow.”
Her spine went cold. “That’s how you win my love?”
“I already have your love. I always have.”
She glowered. “Once maybe. But you disdained it.”
“I guarded and protected it, waiting for you to grow up.”
“Beh!” She expelled her breath with the gesture from her chin. “You did no waiting at all.”
He closed in, catching her waist between his hands. “I waited for you. Do you think I could not have had you if I wanted? You were butter in my hands. If I had once tried, you would have surrendered, just as the others.”
She flushed with anger. Did Papa know? Did Papa approve?
“But you I kept sacred. You, I would marry.”
“For that I should be grateful?” His face was so close now she turned hers to the side.
“You will be grateful. You will thank me for the rest of your life.”
“I will not.”
His lips touched her neck. She stiffened. “If you don’t let go this minute I will scream.” Would Quillan come to her defense? Was he out there now, thinking she invited this amorous attack? She pictured Quillan the avenger. What would happen to him if he threatened Flavio now?
But Flavio drew back. “Play your games, Carina. It only makes my victory sweeter.”
She didn’t answer. Anything she might say would only draw his ire back to Quillan. With a supremely haughty smile, he held out his arm. She fought the revulsion as she slipped her hand into it. The dancing inside was gay and lively as ever. Would Flavio push for another time with her on the dance floor?
But he bowed slightly and released her arm. “Grazie, tesora mia. I will dream of your kiss tonight.”
Instinctively her fingers went to her lips. He laughed, winked, and left her.
Omaccio! Cialtrone! All the names she had called Quillan when he was none of that rushed to her mind. She had to get out. She searched the room for her papa and found him in conversation with General Vallejo, the Mexican official welcomed as one of them. His pleasant face and lamb-chop whiskers nodded to Papa’s comment.
She drew herself up and approached them. “Forgive me, Papa, General.” She bowed her head to them in turn. “Papa, I’m not feeling well. I want to go home.”
His physician’s eye assessed her, no doubt seeing the flushed cheeks and quickened pulse. “Take some air, Carina. You’re overheated.”
“I am not overheated, Papa. I want to go home.”
How Papa’s Roman nose nudged upward when he was challenged. “The evening is cool. Stand a minute on the balcony.”
She turned with a huff. She’d had quite enough of the balcony!
“A spirited young woman.” The general said behind her.
“My little tigre,” Papa answered.
For a moment Carina wished she had claws to slice them both. Bene. If they would not take her home, she would take herself. Not immediately, when Papa’s eyes would be on her. But at the first opportunity.