The Sicilian's Surprise Love-Child

Bruno greeted him warmly, as he always did—and that consistently surprised Nico. The fact that he had refused to marry his daughter should have caused great offence, yet Bruno had confounded Nico’s expectations and still treated him as a future son-in-law.

‘You will stay with us,’ Bruno said.

‘No, no…’ Nico attempted, for he did not want to be under the same roof as Aurora.

Or rather, he wanted to be under the same roof alone with Aurora. He wanted to strip her off in the shower and soap those breasts that now had sweat dripping between them.

He was trying to hold a conversation with Bruno even as filthy visions of the man’s daughter flashed in his mind. What was wrong with him?

‘So you’re too good for us now?’ Bruno demanded.

They all spoke from the same script, Nico thought as he dragged his mind from Aurora’s breasts. To refuse Bruno’s hospitality would be an insult, and although in his professional life Nico did not care who he offended, he attempted to do things differently here.

Like it or not, while his father was alive, he still needed these people.

More, though, he wanted to do the right thing.

‘You can have Aurora’s bed.’

‘No. Absolutely not!’ Nico would not hear of it.

‘She will be out tonight, at Antonietta’s birthday party.’

‘Aurora should be at home,’ Nico said. ‘With the threat to the village I thought the roads would be closed.’

‘The main one is, but some are open between the villages, and the threat has been here for weeks,’ Bruno said. ‘Life goes on, and Antonietta’s father is the fire chief. The firefighters are camping on his grounds so it is the safest place for her to be.’

Nico wasn’t so sure of that—and it had nothing to do with the fire!

‘I could be on lookout,’ Nico said, but Bruno shook his head.

‘It is Pino’s turn tonight. I did it last night. You shall stay with us.’

‘Well, thank you for your offer, ‘Nico said, ‘but I shall stay only if I sleep on the sofa.’

‘Up to you.’ Bruno shrugged.

Before dinner Nico checked in on his father, who had drifted off into a drunken stupor. Aurora was already there, and rolling him onto his side, making sure Geo would not choke should he become unwell during the night.

‘I told the store not to supply him with whisky,’ Nico said to her.

‘There is home delivery now.’ Aurora shrugged. ‘Even your father has worked out the Internet. And there’s always Pino stopping by, or Francesca. You can’t stop him.’

‘I send money, but then I wonder…’

‘If you didn’t send it he would drink cheap wine instead,’ Aurora pointed out. ‘Come on, it’s time to get back. Supper will soon be ready.’

‘I need to speak with the doctor first.’

The news from the doctor was the same.

Geo needed to stop drinking and he needed a more comprehensive level of care—except there was no staff to provide it in Silibri.

‘I have spoken to the agency,’ Nico said to him. ‘And I am looking to purchase the house across the street. That way—’

‘You could purchase ten houses,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘No one wants to live here. The village is dying faster than your father.’

Why did Aurora choose to remain here?

Nico thought of long-ago evenings at the Messina dinner table. She would talk of her photography, and how she would pester the manager at the winery to change the labels on his wine. To rename, rebrand. She had passion and dreams—but they had been smothered by this village, like the smoke that blanketed the valley now.

‘Come and sit down,’ Bruno said as Nico walked into the Messina home. ‘Good food and family and my day is complete. Come now, Aurora.’

But Aurora did not join them at the table.

‘No, Pa, there will be food at the party and I have to get ready.’

‘And will there be firemen at this party?’ Bruno checked. And though he spoke to Aurora, he looked over to Nico.

‘I think they are a little too busy fighting fires.’ Aurora smiled sweetly as she left the room.

Nico’s gut tightened.

‘Aurora has a thing for one of the firefighters,’ Bruno said, and rolled his eyes. ‘Per favore, mangia, mangia, Nico. Come on—eat.’

The pasta, though delectable, tasted like ash in Nico’s mouth.

Worse still, he could hear the pipes groan as Aurora turned on the shower…

It was bliss to have the hot day and all the grime slide off her skin and to feel the dirt and grease being stripped from her hair. This morning she had risen before six, and had worked every minute since, and yet though she ached, Aurora was not tired.

She looked down at her skin, brown as nutmeg, and saw her fleshy stomach and full breasts and all too solid legs.

She was too much.

Too much skin and bum and boobs.

Too much attitude.

Although as it had turned out for Nico she was not enough. Never enough for him.

How, Aurora pondered as the water drenched her, could Nico manage to turn her on even from the kitchen table?

Last week she had kissed a firefighter, and all she had felt was the tickle of his beard, and all she had tasted was the garlic on his breath, and all she had smelled was the smoke in his hair.

There was something so clean about Nico.

Even if his morals were filthy.

Oh, yes, she had heard the gossip about his many women!

But there was still something so clean about him—the tang of his scent and the neatness of his nails that made her shiver on the inside.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body that was burning inside like the mountains that were aflame all around them.

She headed into her pink bedroom. It was too childish—she knew that—but then she should be gone by now.

Aurora thought now that she would either be the village spinster or perhaps she would marry one day.

But she would never know the bliss of Nico.

Never.

Ever.

And that made angry tears moisten her eyes.

Her nipples felt as if the surface skin had been roughened as she stuffed her breasts into her bra. And as she wrestled her dark hair into some semblance of style there was suddenly the snap of a chain, and her collana, the cross and chain she had worn for ever, fell to the floor.

It felt like a sign.

She felt dangerous and reckless and everything she should not be.

Oh, what was the point of being a good Italian girl when the perfect Italian boy didn’t want you?

And so she went to the special book on her shelf, out of which she had cut the middle and in which hid the forbidden Pill.

The Pointless Pill, she called it, for she could not imagine sex with anyone other than Nico.

Tonight she would drink wine and try kissing that firefighter again—and maybe this time when his hand went to her breasts she would not brush him off.

To hell with you, Nico Caruso. I shall get over you.

She put blusher on her cheeks and lengthened her lashes with mascara before sliding glossy pink onto her lips.

She dabbed perfume on her neck and wrists and then strapped on high heels. And she knew that she was not dressing for the fireman tonight, but for the one minute when she would pass Nico on her way out.

She wanted him to ache with regret.

Instead Nico ached with need when, mid-meal, Aurora teetered out in heels and a silver dress.

Nico tried not to look up.

‘Go and change, Aurora,’ Bruno warned.

‘Why? I would just have to put my dress and shoes in a bag and change in the street,’ Aurora said cheekily. ‘Because I am wearing my silver dress tonight, whatever you say.’

Nico could not help but smile. Aurora did not hide, or lie, she just was who she was.

The taxi tooted. The one taxi that ferried people between villages.

He had to ignore the effect of her and the feeling, a lot like fear, that rose when he thought of her out on those fiery mountains tonight.

As she bent and kissed her father, her mother, her brother, he found he had to stop himself from running a tense hand down his jaw and neck as he awaited the torture to come.

Torture for them both.

If she did not extend to him the traditional farewell it would give rise to comments. Her omission would be noted and it would be awkward indeed.

He sat at the head of the table, and as she bent she put her hand on its surface to make as little contact with Nico as she could.

His cheek was cool when her lips brushed it. His scent she tried to obliterate by not breathing in. But because her brother leaned forward to ladle out more pasta she had to move quickly and put out a hand on Nico’s shoulder.

It was solid and warm.

One cheek to go.

Both were holding their breath.

Their desire was like the cattails and the bulrushes, waiting to be snapped open and for a million seeds to fly out and expand.

‘Be safe,’ he told her, in a voice that was somewhat gruff.

She gave the tiniest unreadable smile, and in it was a glint of danger as she straightened up.

‘I’m not your problem, Nico.’

She was, Nico knew, looking for trouble tonight.

Hell.

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