The Villa

something to do with moisture gathering in the atmosphere, then—"
    "Dad." She giggled, and to David it was music.
    He was going to get his children back here, whatever it took. "Let's go meet La Signora."
    "Do we have to call her that?" Maddy rolled her eyes. "It's so medieval."
    "Let's start out with Ms. Giambelli and work from there. And let's try to look normal."
    "Mad can't. Geeks never look normal."
    "Neither do freaks." Maddy clumped out of the car on her ugly black boots with their two-inch platforms. She stood in the rain, looking to her father like some sort of eccentric princess with her long pale hair, pouty lips and long-lashed blue eyes. Her little body—she was still such a little thing—was draped and swathed in layers of black. There were three silver chains dangling from her right ear—a compromise, as David had been terrified when she'd started campaigning to have her nose, or somewhere even more unsanitary, pierced.
    Theo was a dark contrast. Tall, gangly, with his deep brown hair a curling, unkempt mass around his pretty face, straggling toward his still bony shoulders. His eyes were a softer blue, and too often for his father's taste, clouded and unhappy.
    He slouched now in jeans that were too baggy, shoes nearly as ugly as his sister's and a jacket that sagged past his hips.
    Just clothes, David reminded himself. Clothes and hair, nothing permanent. Hadn't his own parents nagged him into rebellion about his personal style when he'd been a teenager? And hadn't he promised himself he wouldn't do the same with his kids?
    But God, he wished they'd at least wear clothes that fit.
    He walked up the wide fan of steps, then stood in front of the deeply carved front door of the villa and dragged a hand through his own thick, dark blond hair.
    "What's the matter, Dad? Nervous?"
    There was a smirk in his son's voice, just enough of one to strain the wire holding David's composure together. "Give me a break, okay?"
    Theo opened his mouth, a sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue. But he caught the warning look his sister gave him and saw his father's strained expression. "Hey, you can handle her."
    "Sure." Maddy shrugged. "She's just an old Italian woman, right?"
    With a half-laugh, David punched his finger to the buzzer. "Right."
    "Wait, I gotta get my normal face on." Theo put his hands on his face, shoving, pulling at the skin, drawing his eyes down, twisting his mouth. "I can't find it."
    David hooked an arm around his neck, and the other around Maddy's. They were going to be all right, he thought, and held on. They were going to be fine.
    "I'll get it, Maria!" Pilar dashed down the foyer, a spray of white roses in her arms.
    When she opened the door she saw a tall man holding two children in headlocks. All three of them were grinning.
    "Hello. Can I help you?"
    Not an old Italian woman, David thought as he hastily released his children. Just a beautiful woman, with surprise in her eyes and roses lying in the crook of her arm. "I'm here to see Ms. Giambelli."
    Pilar smiled, scanned the faces of the boy and girl to include them. "There are so many of us."
    "Tereza Giambelli. I'm David Cutter."
    "Oh. Mr. Cutter. I'm sorry." She held out a hand for his. "I didn't realize you were expected today." Or that you had a family, she thought. Her mother hadn't been forthcoming with details. "Please come in. I'm Pilar. Pilar Giambelli…" She nearly added her married name, a force of habit. Then determinedly let it go. "La Signora's daughter."
    "Do you call her that?" Maddy asked.
    "Sometimes. When you meet her, you'll see why."
    "Madeline, my daughter. My son, Theodore."
    "Theo," Theo mumbled.
    "I'm delighted to meet you. Theo. And Madeline."
    "Maddy, okay?"
    "Maddy. Come into the parlor. There's a nice fire. I'll arrange for some refreshments if that suits you. Such a nasty day. I hope it wasn't a terrible trip."
    "Not so bad."
    "Endless," Maddy corrected. "Awful." But she stared at the room when they entered. It was like a palace, she thought. Like a picture in a book, where everything was in rich colors and looked old and precious.
    "I bet it was. Let me have your coats."
    "They're wet," David began, but she simply plucked them out of his hand and draped them over her free arm.
    "I'll take care of them. Please, sit, make yourselves at home. I'll let my mother know you're here and see about something hot to drink. Would you like coffee, Mr. Cutter?"
    "I absolutely would, Ms. Giambelli."
    "So would