“How old would she be?”
“Probably in her forties.” Again, maybe. According to Cliff, her adoptive father had called her mother “that Italian girl.” Belle took it to mean she was young. “I learned she was from Rimini, Italy, but that could mean the city or the province.”
His black eyebrows furrowed. “My stepmother, Luciana, was an only child, born to Valeria and Massimo Donatello here in Rimini. Valeria died in a hunting accident on their estate when Luciana was only eleven. As the librarian told you, some people still believe it wasn’t an accident.”
“What she told me sounded positively Machiavellian.”
“You’re right. It was only a few months ago that the police finally solved the case. The shooting was ruled as accidental.”
“I see. It’s still tragic when any child loses its mother.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said in an almost haunted voice. Their eyes held for a moment. “My father was fifteen years older than Luciana, and he married her against my brother’s and my wishes. She was only twenty at the time and could never have replaced our mother.”
Four years younger than Belle’s age now. “Of course not.” She could only imagine this man’s pain. Suddenly he’d become more human to her. He’d lost his own mother and his wife.
“She’s forty-two now,” Leon added. “There must be quite a few Donatello women between those ages you’ve met while you’ve been here in Rimini.”
“Yes, but so far I’ve had no luck, because none of them ever traveled to New York in their late teens or twenties.”
* * *
Leon’s heart gave a thunderclap. “New York is the connecting point?” he rasped.
Belle nodded.
What had she said in answer to his earlier question about why this was important to her? Because the answer to my whole existence is tied up with her. My greatest fear is that she’s no longer alive, or that I’ll never find her.
As Leon stared at Belle, pure revelation flowed through him. He knew why she looked familiar to him. Had Marcello picked up on the resemblance? Or the manager at Donatello Diamonds? Probably not, or they would have said something, but he couldn’t be sure. Ruggio thought he’d seen her on television.
Madonna mia!
“I told you I’d like to help you, and I will, but we can’t talk here. Leave your car in the library parking lot and come with me. It will be safe.”
“I don’t need your help. Thanks all the same.”
She opened her shoulder bag to get her keys, but he put a hand on her arm. “If you want to meet your mother, I’m the person who can make it happen. But you’re going to have to trust me.”
Her gasp told him everything he wanted to know. Those fabulous blue eyes were blurry with tears as they lifted to his. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Her voice shook.
“Let’s find out. Is there anything in your car you need?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll drive to my villa, where we can talk in private. I have some pictures to show you.”
She moved like a person in a daze as he escorted her to his car and helped her inside. At a time like this, the shape of her long, elegant legs shouldn’t have drawn his attention, but they did. Her flowery fragrance proved another assault on his senses.
“Do I look like her?”
“When I saw you come out of the alcove at the pension yesterday, you reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place you. It’s bothered me ever since. Not until a few minutes ago, when you mentioned New York, did everything click into place.” He started the engine. “You’ll need to buckle up.”
Leon wove through the streets to the villa, not really seeing anything while his mind played back through the years to the time he’d first met Luciana. He remembered his father telling him and Dante that she’d lived in New York for a year and could help them improve their English. How much had his parent known about the sober young princess he’d brought home to the palazzo, besides the fact that she had money and was beautiful?
Yet even if she’d told him nothing about having a baby, his father would have guessed, if she’d had a C-section or stretch marks. If not, he might still be in the dark. Her terrible secret might explain why she’d always seemed so remote and elusive to Leon.
Before they reached the house he phoned Simona. After learning Concetta was back to normal and playing with her new buckets in the kitchen, he told his housekeeper to prepare lunch for him and a guest. They’d be arriving shortly and could eat out on the patio.
Engrossed in her own thoughts, the woman seated next to him hadn’t said a word during the drive. Once upon a time she’d been a baby, separated at birth from her mother by an ocean. When Leon thought about his little daughter and how precious she was to him, he couldn’t fathom Belle’s or Luciana’s history. Leon had so many questions he didn’t know which one to ask first.
When the white, two-story villa built along neoclassic lines came into view, he pressed the remote to open the gates and drove around to the back. When she saw the flower garden there, Belle gave a gasp of admiration.
Leon helped her from the car and led her up the steps into the rear foyer that opened into the dayroom. “At the end of the hallway is a guest bedroom with bath, where you can freshen up. When you’re ready, come and find me in here, and we’ll eat lunch on the patio, where we won’t be disturbed.”
“Thank you.”
The second she disappeared, he hurried through the main floor to the kitchen, where he found Concetta in her playpen with some toys. She made delighted sounds when she saw him, and lifted her arms. He gathered her up and kissed her half a dozen times against her neck, causing her to laugh. Again he was reminded that his lunch guest had never known her mother’s kiss. Obviously not her father’s, either.
Talia smiled. “She’s had her lunch and is ready for her nap.”
“I brought company, so I can’t give her all my attention, but I will when she wakes up.” He kissed her once more and handed her back to Talia. His daughter didn’t like being separated from him, and shed a few tears going down the hall to the staircase.
Much as he wanted to put her to bed himself, he was aware someone else was waiting for him, someone who’d been waiting years for any word about her parentage.
Simona looked over her shoulder. “Do you want lunch served now?”
“Please.”
He retraced his steps to the dayroom and found Belle holding a five-by-seven framed photo she’d picked up from a grouping on one of the credenzas. Her back was turned to him, but even from this distance, he could see her shoulders shaking.
“I won’t pretend to say I understand what you’re feeling. I can only imagine what it must be like to see yourself in Luciana’s image. Though you’re not identical, anyone who knows you well would notice certain similarities.”
Belle put the picture back and whirled around, her lovely face dripping with tears. She used both hands to wipe them off her chin. “My mother is a princess? Your stepmother? I—I can’t take it in,” she stammered. “In the orphanage I used to dream about what she would be like. I had to believe she gave me up because of a life-and-death reason. But my dreams never reached heights like that.”
Leon put his hands on his hips. “I’m still in shock from the knowledge that she had a baby, yet there’s never been a whisper of you.”
He heard his guest groan. “When Cliff told me my mother was from Italy, I wanted it to be the truth. But I never thought I’d really find