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Marco grinned, nodding. “Good job, mama. I know how hard that was for you.”
Maria rolled her eyes but with obvious affection. “He thinks I’m a control freak.”
“I think,” Marco corrected. “That when it comes to your family, you will do whatever it takes to make us happy.”
“And you are right,” Maria said with a nod, standing. “Let me know what I can do to help.” Then, turning to Portia. “We are so thrilled to have you with us, Portia.Famiglia é tutto.”
“It’s early.”Dante surprised Portia, in the kitchen, where she stood as the sun whispered its promise across the Tuscan valley, hinting at a day ahead. She waited for the coffee to brew, longing for her pod machine rather than the espresso pot the Santoros had.
She turned to face him, eyes roaming his face. It was the first time they’d been alone since she and Marco had arrived yesterday. He’d greeted them, hugged both, but that was it. Afterwards, Dante had seemed to lose himself in the shadows. There, but not there.
“Happy Christmas,” she said, quietly, moving closer.
He said nothing.
“Dante,” she murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay with this?”
He looked confused. “With…?”
“Marco and me.” She looked down her ring. “With everything.”
He swallowed, his throat shifting. “I’m relieved,” he said honestly. “I nearly ruined it for both of you.”
“You didn’t have the power to do that,” she contradicted. “Marco shouldn’t have let you persuade him.”
“He loved you.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t realise.”
“I know that too.”
The coffee pot made a noise and Dante moved to it, taking over the coffee making, pouring the thick black liquid into the two cups she had placed out. One had been for Marco, but Dante lifted it to his lips instead. Portia hid a smile: it was normal that Dante would think in terms of himself and Portia. They’d been a team a long time and it would take a while for all of them to get used to the new dynamic.
“So, will this change things?” He asked, brow furrowed.
“In what sense?”
“At work. Do you still even want to work?”
She burst out laughing. “Um, yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugged. “You’re marrying Marco. Where are you even going to live?”
Portia’s eyes widened. “I—hadn’t thought…” she blinked. “We haven’t discussed it,” she said, honestly. “But given that he can do whatever he does from anywhere in the world, and I love working for you, I’m going to guess we’ll live in London. For the time being at least,” she added, thinking with longing of Marco’s home. But it was an easy commute from London to his home in Italy. They could make this work, even if it meant only getting back for weekends initially.
“You won’thaveto work,” Dante pointed out.
Portia’s eyes widened. “Dante Santoro, do you know me at all?”
He grinned then. “You’re right. Stupid question.”
“Geez,” she muttered. “You think just because I’m marrying into your ridiculous family money I’d suddenly lose all my ambitions?”
“No. I know you better than that,” he agreed. “Sorry. I was thinking aloud.” And then, “I’m not myself today.” He turned, looking out the window. “She loved Christmas, you know.”
Portia’s heart tightened. “Bianca?” It was strange to say his late-wife’s name. They talked about her, but not often with her name. Dante would say ‘she’, or ‘her’ or ‘we’.
