Page 2 of Unveiled As The Italian's Bride
His eyes were drawn to a pair of curling, hand-crafted wooden snakes crawling along the wall, a souvenir from a trip to Mexico a million years ago.
He turned his attention back to his uncle, who had sunk into the chair facing Dante and was now fumbling in his trouser pocket to whip out a crumpled piece of paper, which he thrust into Dante’s hand. His eyes, once more, were welling up.
‘What’s brought this on? I’m giving up running all this, Dante.’ He waved to encompass the room, the palace and beyond. ‘The land, the estates, the properties: all of it. Even this place—too big for an old man like me. I know Efisio respected your desire to step back from active participation in the family business, but I have reached the end of the line, and I need you now. I ran away from my duties as a boy and returned to them when I had to, as a man, when Efisio died. I have enjoyed the journey in my old age, but no more.’
He cleared his throat. ‘And read the letter. Go on. It’s from my consultant in Venice. I’m dying, Dante, sothat’swhy you need to marry. Someone by your side when you take over. How can I face my maker knowing that you’re still drifting? That Angelina is without a mother? That you remain in the grip of the past? Not to mention the fact that you will have to be more present in the running of the family empire, and you know as well as I do that they are all traditionalists. I have had to listen daily to your various relatives ask me when you’re going to settle down once again.’
‘Forget about my conservative relatives! I can handle their curiosity. But what’s all this nonsense about meeting your maker?Since when are you dying?What the hell are you talking about?’
But Dante’s hand was trembling as he unfolded the official letter and read it, then read it again, his panic only steadying when he began to decipher the glimmers of optimism in the diagnosis.
‘You never told me that you were worried about your prostate, Antonio,’ he admonished grimly.
‘You’re a busy man. Why would I worry you?’
‘I will telephone this consultant first thing in the morning.’
‘You will do no such thing! I can handle this.’
‘You’re spinning tales of meeting your maker and you haven’t even heard what the prognosis is.’
‘I need treatment. You read it! They’ve done tests. They need to do more!’
‘No one seems to be panicking.’
‘I’m panicking! My life is over and I want to leave it safe in the knowledge that my favourite nephew—’
‘Your only nephew’
‘Is married. You have lots of fine words about never marrying again, but I love Angelina, and what lies ahead of her without the guiding hand of a mother? The child is young now, but time marches on. I’ve kept my thoughts on this to myself but this death sentence...’ His eyes welled up.
‘You need to stop talking about death sentences, Antonio. This is not the time for high drama. What are these various tests you’ve been having?’ But Dante’s mind was in a whirl as he was forced to confront a situation he had known was hibernating in the shadows. Antonio, reluctant though he was to admit it, had a point. He didn’t see enough of his daughter and, whilst she had everything that only vast wealth could buy, he really had no idea how to plait hair, pick out matching pink outfits or answer questions about nail polish. She was sweet-natured, gentle and undemanding, none of which made his guilt any less burdensome.
Antonio was scared, and fear had propelled him into voicing deep concerns to which he had previously only alluded, and those concerns were not entirely baseless. The bottom line was that his uncle felt that he was now facing his own mortality, and whether he was right or wrong on that front was immaterial.
‘I can hardly conjure up a suitable wife from thin air,’ Dante mused, folding the letter and setting it down on the table between them.
‘But you can think about it—think about settling down. There are many lovely young women out there, if you would open your eyes. It would make a dying old fool so happy...’
Dante reached for the handkerchief and handed it to his uncle. A steady supply of them was always a must when visiting. He watched in silence as Antonio dabbed his eyes, visibly more relaxed now that his worrying news had been imparted.
‘You need to stop playing the death card, Antonio. I’ve read the letter and, yes, it’s not a bad thing to be concerned. But if you filter through the technical terms and make your way past the medical terminology, you can see that this is not a terminal situation being described.’
He would reassure his uncle, but he could detect real anxiety on Antonio’s face, and Dante loved his uncle. He loved him in ways he had never loved his own remote and aloof father. Loved him for the way he’d occasionally swept in to rescue him from his boarding school routine, whipping him out for a weekend to see a football match or a play, where afterwards they’d hobnobbed with the actors backstage, because Antonio seemed to know them all. Life in his gilded cage had been joyless. His uncle had been the only one occasionally to open the bars of that cage and show him what was possible outside.
So Antonio was after him to get married. Well, was there anything he wouldn’t do for Antonio? He would oblige.
Dante relaxed. The sickening panic that had gripped him began to fade and he began to think as he always did: rationally; coolly; unemotionally. All things were possible when you eliminated emotion from the equation. Life had taught him that from a very young age. Rely on cold logic and you never lost your way. Yes, his uncle had opened pages in which life was painted in many different hues, a life of freedom and adventure.
But, for Dante, those pictures were snapshots of a life anchored in the more serious, unrelenting business of hard work and duty. He loved Antonio but he had never been persuaded into emulating him. Perhaps, he often mused, DNA trumped everything. So now...marriage? He knew just the woman to walk down the aisle with him.
He smiled a slow, leisurely, obliging smile and gave just the slightest of shrugs.
‘You win.’ He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender and Antonio’s eyebrows shot up.
‘You will think about settling down? For my sake?’
‘I will.’ Dante tilted his head to one side. ‘But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, old man. I get to engage with your consultant, no holds barred, from tomorrow and there will be no decision made, no appointment taken without me by your side. Agreed?’
