“Don’t do what, Dottoressa?” His eyes sparkled and Mina glared at him half-heartedly, but there wasn’t any real venom in it.
“Well, don’t sneak up on me and scare the wits out of me, for starters,” she said, frowning over the dark splotches on her dress. “And don’t call me Dottoressa.” She held her wine glass up, stopping any argument. “No-I told you before: I didn’t go to University here, so Italian rules don’t apply. No titles, no honorifics… I’m just plain old Mina Hemingway, thank you very much.”
All week she’d felt like a fraud when people assumed that since she was handling the exhibit for the museum she must have degrees out the wazoo. Why else would she be given such an honor?
Why else, indeed?
Mina sighed and shook her head. It wasn’t like she asked for this-this was all Marco’s doing. Let them tell him his choice for Curator was wrong. She was right out of it.
“It isn’t an insult you know.” Mina’s mental calisthenics jerked to a stop. “The title, I mean. People recognize that you’re a scholar-a very beautiful scholar, but a scholar, nevertheless.” Giovanni’s tone surprised her. She’d never heard him so serious, but he just didn’t understand.
“It isn’t something you just see in people,” she said. “I mean, it isn’t like I have anthropologist tattooed across my forehead.”
Maybe I should try that, she thought. At least it would be better than Marco’s Mistress.
“No,” Giovanni agreed, “you don’t. You have curiosity in your eyes, and intelligence in your questions. You have care in your hands and passion in your heart.” He turned to face her square on. “No one watching you handling the artifacts could mistake it.” He paused. “I could tell as soon as I met you-there you were in the Italian sun, wearing a bikini and a frown, practically drowning in diagrams and reports. Only someone who loved it would do that.”
Mina laughed. “You sound like you have some experience with it-have you dated many Dottoressas in your day?”
He paused and looked at her, a corner of his mouth finally quirking into a little smile. “You might say that.” He grinned down at her, the seriousness gone. “But none of them looked quite like you do in a bathing suit.”
They stood laughing together for a moment, until a wave of motion caught their attention.
“I thought you said your mother wasn’t going to play hostess.” Mina murmured under her breath as she watched the Genovese matriarch glide across the parquet floor towards them. She took a quick sip of wine to fortify herself, and shifted a little uncomfortably, hoping the bland expression on the older woman’s face was an accurate indicator of her bellicosity.
“Mamma always plays hostess,” Giovanni answered, turning slowly to greet his mother, his arm under Mina’s elbow. “She was simply sending Marco a message, just not that one, in particular.”
I’ll bet she was, Mina thought, a pretty, counterfeit smile pinned to her face. Something along the lines of “cross me and die.”
“Here you are, Giovanni.” Bianca let her eyes drift over the two of them, lingering where his arm wrapped around Mina’s. “It seems, Signorina Hemingway, that you have managed to catch the attention of both of my sons. You must tell me how you do it,” she stared at her son for a moment before turning dark eyes on Mina, “I cannot seem to keep either of them in line.” Her tone made it clear that she didn’t approve of either of their interest in her, but that wasn’t anything new. Giovanni wasn’t happy with her tone though.
“Mamma…” Giovanni began, but Mina squeezed his arm. He looked at her for a second and nodded, allowing Mina to handle the situation herself.
“They are both credits to your parenting skills,” she said finally, her tone careful but not too deferential. “They have been very kind to me as both a foreigner and a guest.”
Unlike some people I could name….
“They are good boys,” Bianca nodded. “Usually.” A glimmer of satisfaction shone in her eyes for a moment before drifting down over Mina’s dress, landing on the still dark wine spots splattering the skirt. “Have you been conducting one of your experiments again, mio figlio?” She raised an enquiring eyebrow at Giovanni and he shook his head.
“No Mamma, no experiments, just an unfortunate accident. I managed to spill my drink earlier, but la dottoressa kindly forgave my clumsiness.”
Mina squeezed his arm again in thanks. It was bad enough to be a mess, but to be a klutz who couldn’t keep her own drink under control? Well, she didn’t want to think what Mamma Genovese would say to that.
Dark eyes turned to her son. “That is what happens when you spend all your time locked up in one of those laboratories of yours. You forget how to behave like a civilized human being.”
Giovanni sighed dramatically, playing the joker again. “Mamma’s right-it’s a terrible sight. Physicists are so uncivilized. White coats askew, sniffing whiteboard markers, smashing particles left and right.”
Mina could tell it was an old argument, but Bianca wasn’t playing. She lifted her chin and sniffed delicately before turning her back on Giovanni.
“Since my son refuses to tend to his duties as host, please allow me to escort you to your rooms so that you can change.” She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and took a less than complimentary look at Mina’s ruined dress. “With all of Marco’s guests here you wouldn’t want to look…” she paused a little too long before finishing, “underdressed.”
Two spots of color burned on Mina’s cheeks. “Yes, of course,” she untangled her arm from Giovanni’s, not meeting his gaze. She didn’t need his sympathy; she just needed to make her escape. “But there is no need for you to accompany me, Signora. I can take care of myself.” She gathered her skirt in her hands and nodded as gracefully as she could to the woman in front of her. “Perhaps we can continue our discussion after I’ve made repairs?” She stood straight and proud, refusing to look like she was running away even if she was. A little. “If it wouldn’t be an imposition, of course.”
Bianca gave her one last calculating look and nodded her agreement. “I look forward to your return.”
Strangely, Mina believed her. She watched the older woman walk away through the crowd, her back straight, her black hair shimmering with threads of silver, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Maybe there was a chance for her to be accepted after all.
Giovanni was strangely tense beside her, and she smiled at him impulsively. “Don’t worry-I’ll only be a minute. Will you still be around?” Mina was already casting through her mind for another suitable dress-with underwear this time-when he answered.
“Perhaps I should walk you upstairs.” A faint line appeared between his eyebrows and Mina thought how nice it was of him to be concerned for her.
“No, no… I can find my way. You could do me a favor, though.” She looked around the room, but couldn’t see Marco anywhere.
“Certainly. What can I do?”
“Let Marco know what happened.” She rolled her eyes a little at the necessity. Damn possessive Italian men. “I don’t want him to go looking for me and be angry that he can’t find me.”
Giovanni nodded once, understanding clear on his face. “I’ll make sure to let him know where you are if I see him.”
With another smile, she was off, wandering through the crowd of unfamiliar faces. She made it through the lounge and the hall, she ducked through a side door to avoid a rotund little man who smiled a little too broadly at her as she approached, and then, with a sigh of relief she realized she’d made her way around to the main entry hall. A flight of stairs and a dash down the hall and she would be home free.