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“I’ll tell you what I’ve become,” Steffie said with a laugh, “and that’s Italian. The first day after I left Rome I slipped from English to Italian and then back again without noticing. I think I spent twice as long clearing customs as anyone else, simply because the agent didn’t know what to make of me.”
“So can you cook me some real Italian spaghetti?” her father asked.
“I certainly can, and I promise it’ll be so good you’ll dream about it the rest of your life.”
“With plenty of garlic?”
Steffie raised the tips of her fingers to her lips and made a loud smacking sound. “With enough garlic to ward off vampires for the next hundred years. Besides, I hear garlic’s good for your heart.”
“But lousy for your love life.”
“I don’t think either of us needs to worry about that,” she teased.
“Ah.” David Bloomfield shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Princess. You, my darling Stephanie, are about to discover what it means to be in love.”
Steffie didn’t want to say she already knew all she cared to on that subject. Thanks, Dad—but no thanks, she told him silently. Falling in love wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat.
“You aren’t going to argue with me like Valerie did, are you?”
“Would there be any point?”
“No,” he said, smiling broadly.
“I didn’t think so.”
“You don’t believe I really talked to your mother, do you?”
“Uh…” It wasn’t that she disbelieved him exactly. He was convinced that something had happened, so her opinion was irrelevant. He claimed to have enjoyed a lengthy conversation with her mother while strolling around some celestial lake. Valerie had mentioned it soon after Steffie’s arrival. Norah had talked about it, too. Steffie found their accounts fascinating. Did she believe it had happened? She didn’t know. She was inclined to think he’d experienced some kind of revelation—but whether it was spiritual, as he thought, or a dream, or a fantasy of his own making, she had no idea. And it didn’t matter.
“You won’t be the only one who doesn’t believe my talk with your mother was real.”
“It isn’t that, Dad.”
“Don’t you worry about it. Time will prove me right.”
“Prove you right about what?” a distinctive male voice asked from behind her. Steffie froze and the dread washed over her.
Charles Tomaselli.
He was the last person she’d expected to meet here. The last person she wanted to see again.
“How’re you feeling, David?” he asked.
“I’ve been better.”
“I’ll bet you have,” Charles said wryly.
Steffie was on her feet immediately. “I’ll leave you two to chat,” she said with a cheery lilt, anxious to leave the room.
“There’s no reason for you to go,” her father countered, holding out his hand to her. “Your smile is the brightest sunshine I’ve seen in days. Isn’t that so, Charles?”
Steffie cringed inwardly, and not giving Charles time to comment, quickly squeezed her father’s hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have too much company all at once.”
“That’s probably true,” Charles agreed. “Besides, I’ve got some business to discuss with you. I thought you’d be interested in hearing what happened as a result of that article we did on the migrant-worker situation.”
Steffie’s breath caught in her throat until she realized Charles wasn’t referring to the stunt she’d pulled in his office the day before. She went weak with relief when she heard him mention something about Commissioner O’Dell initiating an inspection program.
Steffie still hadn’t looked at Charles, still hadn’t turned to face him. She delayed it as long as possible, leaning forward to kiss her father’s cheek. “I’ll get a ride back to the house with Valerie or Norah, but I’ll be in again this evening and we can finish our…discussion.”
