where I can let him steal a kiss before I continue stalking our friends. It felt wonderful to be able to relax and be ridiculous.
With that thought in mind, she entered the front hallway, where a wide
staircase in dark wood with a scarlet runner led to the second floor. I'll begin here.
“Katerina.” A commanding voice spoke in a lilting Italian accent.
She froze like a small prey animal, poised between one step and the next. No,
I won't cower. I am not a rabbit. I am a woman and a wife, surrounded byfriends. No one can hurt me now. With slow deliberation, she straightened her spine and turned. “Father,” she replied coolly in Italian, “what are you doing here?”
“Obviously, there was some mistake,” he drawled, gesturing with his hands.
“I heard you were having a party, but my invitation didn't arrive.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “There was no mistake. You were not invited. I do
not want you here.”
“I am your father, Katerina. That will never change,” he said darkly.
“More's the pity,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “but no matter. I don't need a father.”
Giovanni narrowed his eyes into a disapproving glare.
Katerina's stomach clenched, and her heart began to pound, but she refused
to back down. She met his stern look with one of her own.
He pressed harder, trying to gain the upper hand. “I can't believe you ran away with that… cotton weaver. Have you no pride, girl?”
She snorted with derisive laughter. “I can't believe you would be surprised I
did. Honestly, Father, I would have run away with a Gypsy if one had appeared
at the right moment. How fortunate I was to find Christopher. He's very good to
me, though I doubt you're concerned with that.” Her hand fluttered around her belly in a telling though unconscious gesture.
He noticed. “Are you incinta? Already? What a whore. You're just like your
mother.”
She shook her head. “No, Father. Not a whore, a wife. It's my duty to provide
children for my husband.” Then she shook her head. “Do you know something?
I don't wish to talk to you anymore. This is not your home and you were not invited. Get out.” She dismissed him with a flamboyant hand gesture.
“Puttana,” he yelled.
“Bastardo!” Katerina shot back.
There was no worse thing she could have said to her father. Sensitive to the
fact that he was descended from an illegitimate line—royal though it might be—
any question to his legitimacy made him wild. If she had slapped his face, it would have been equally effective.
Turning, she stalked up the stairs away from him, confident she was finally
safe from him.
She was wrong.
With a cry of rage, Giovanni leaped into the room pounded up the stairs.
Out of the habit of protecting herself, Katerina took too long to react to the
sudden movement, giving him time to grab the heavy coil of hair at the back of
her head and pull hard.
She shrieked as she fell, thudding down three steps and landing on the
wooden floor of the entryway. Her head slammed down hard. A crunching noise
