Aaron Elkins - Good Blood

“So? Who’s gonna sue over it? Me? Not likely.”

Gideon whistled softly. “Vincenzo must think you’re out of your mind.”

“Actually, he’s been pretty honorable about it. He offered to pack up and leave, but I told him a little peasant blood was good for the family.”

“I bet he loved that.”

“He’ll get over it. He’s still getting used to the idea that his father’s name is Pietro Somebody… or was it Pasquale Somebody, the one with the warts… or was it Guglielmo Somebody?” He laughed. “I happen to think this whole thing will make a better man of him.”

“I happen to think so too,” Gideon said.

Phil leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, slowly turning his mug in his hands. “Look, the main thing is, I’m the same guy I always was. I’m happy the way I am. I was okay with Emma Ungaretti as my mother, I was okay with crazy Gia as my mother, and I’m okay with this arrangement. I mean, I’m glad Emma really is my mother, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me… if you know what I mean.” He put down his coffee and stood up. “Thanks a lot, people. You’ve really been great. Hey, maybe we can get together-”

“Not so fast, pal,” Julie said. “Let’s get down to important matters. How do things stand with you and Lea?”

A slow, shy grin tipped up the corners of his mouth. “Not too bad. Can you believe this is happening to me? She’s been to the States and she likes it here, and with a little language training, her skills would be usable here too. She’s a kind of hotel consultant-”

“Slow down. When do you see her next?”

“Well, I’m inviting her to spend a week up in Belling-ham. You know, to see the great Pacific Northwest.” The grin spread. “From there… who knows what could happen?”

“Not this month, I hope,” Gideon said as a gust of wind flung a noisy spatter of rain against the window, almost like a handful of pebbles. Just below, a couple of rhododendron bushes, their leaves shiny black with water, swayed and fluttered in the storm. “She’s from sunny Italy. This could be pretty traumatic.”

“True,” Julie said. “You know, you’d better not make it January or February either.”

“Or March,” Gideon said.

“Or November or December.”

“Or-”

“I was thinking,” said Phil, “of the third week in July, three months from now.”

Gideon chewed his lip, considering. “That should work,” he said.