The three ate eagerly. The rich red table wine tasted as delicious as

Alessandro had promised. As they devoured the repast, Katerina asked her

grandfather a question. “Nonno, where is my grandmother?”

Alessandro's eyes turned sad. “She passed away about six years ago.”

Her hand fluttered around her mouth. “Oh, I never knew. I'm sorry.”

“Thank you, dear.” He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I miss her still.”

“What was her name?” Katerina asked.

“Caterina, just like you, but with a C,” he replied.

“It's not normal to use the K, is it?” Christopher asked before taking a hearty

bite of hot homemade bread.

“No. That was your mother's idea. Since the child—you, cara—was born in

England, the K seemed easier for the locals to understand,” Alessandro

explained.

“I see,” she replied.

“Oh, and, cara, Signor Bennett, I have organized a party in honor of your visit.”

Katerina shifted in nervous discomfort.

“Please, we're family. Christopher will do,” her husband urged, drawing

attention away from his wife's nervous squirming.

“Buono. Then you must call me Alessandro,” her grandfather replied,

seeming not to notice her reaction.

“Certainly,” Christopher replied with an easy grin.

They get along so well already, these two open-hearted people. I still want to

hide like a rabbit. Now is the time I have to choose. Choose to accept what I'm

not sure I want to please someone else. Nonno wants so badly for me to be fine

so he can feel better about everything else. Therefore, I have to be better than I actually am.

“What's wrong, cara?” Alessandro asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

Christopher spoke for her. “She doesn't care for parties. She's very shy, but if

you have a pianoforte, that will help immensely.”

Oh, Christopher, did you have to? She realized he was trying to protect her, but without the chance to talk privately, she had no way to tell him.

“Of course, I have a pianoforte.” An odd light flared in the older man's eyes.

“I also have a musician.”

“Yes?” Katerina asked, eyebrows raised in question.

“Her name is Aimée St. Jean. She's a French soprano, and I've hired her to entertain at our little festa.”

“How nice. Isn't that nice, Katerina?” Christopher pressed, squeezing her

hand.

She gave him a sharp look. I'm not stupid. She squeezed his hand in a gesture that lacked their usual affection.

He made an apologetic face, seeming to realize he'd been talking to her like a

simpleton.

She crooked an eyebrow at him in rebuke before turning to address

Alessandro. “Oh yes, very nice. Thank you, Grandfather. I'm looking forward to

hearing her.”

“Well,” Alessandro said abruptly, changing the subject, “I can see you're

both finished. Your bags should be unpacked in your room by now, and I

imagine you are both tired from your travels. Would you care to retire?”

“Yes, thank you, Nonno. That's just what I was hoping for.” Katerina

yawned.

“In the morning, I will give you a tour of the house and estate.”

“Perfect. Grazie.” She smiled, hoping to dispel any shadows their

conversation had raised.