Christopher nodded in agreement. "After so much travel, a nice glass of wine
would be very soothing."
The three lapsed into silence. Katerina's eye flitted to the scenery passing outside the window of the carriage where dense city thinned to open countryside. A strange sensation gradually grew within her, and she turned to see Alessandro regarding her with a considering expression.
“Cara,” he said to her finally in Italian, “How did your mother die?”
She looked at him, feeling haunted. “She had a fever,” Katerina replied at last, in the same language, quite forgetting her husband did not understand.
“So, it was a natural disease?” he pressed.
She bit her lip. “Are you sure you want me to answer that question?”
“Sì.”
Katerina closed her eyes against a sting. “The fever undoubtedly killed her,
but the source of the fever was not natural disease.”
“Did that figlio di puttana cause it?” Alessandro snarled.
Pain welled up in her soul. “Sì.”
Christopher took his wife's hand.
He has no idea what we're talking about, and yet he knows I need
comforting. She gave him a sad smile.
Alessandro continued his interrogation. “And you, cara? Were you in danger
too?”
“Sì.” She looked down at her lap, smoothing the fabric of her skirt with nervous fingers.
“Did he hurt you?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Sì.”
Alessandro growled.
Katerina quickly added, “But Christopher rescued me.”
“By marrying you?”
She nodded. “He is my hero.”
“Then I'm glad to know him.”
She inhaled through her nose, trying to calm herself. Christopher's thumb
stroked over her fingers. Another question rose in Katerina's mind. “Nonno, why
did Mother marry my father?”
“She insisted. We didn't want her to. No matter the scandal, we would have
stood by her. Understand, Katerina, your mother was a good girl, but very young. Your father… manipulated her.”
Poor thing. Somehow, I’m not surprised. “Was she… incinta?”
“Sì.”
“With me?”
“Sì”
“So, I'm responsible.” She closed her eyes against the wave of agony.
Alessandro reached across the seat and grasped her free hand. “No, no one thinks that. You were just a baby. He was the one.”
She smiled sadly. “Right. Nonno, I would rather have been born a bastard.”
His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth turned down. The loss of his
