Determined not to surrender to cowardice, she tossed aside the covers and swept up her robe. She tied the sash around her waist in a quick, angry motion, then followed Constantine from the bedroom. He opened the front door just as she reached the foyer. To her horror, Primo stood there, his gaze moving from a half-dressed Constantine to Gianna in her bathrobe, bare feet and bed-head hair.
Uh-oh. This couldn’t be good.
“May I come in?” Primo asked, excruciatingly polite.
Gianna thrust her hands through her hair in an effort to smooth the unruly curls. Not that it helped. It simply drew attention to the horror of it all. “Of course. We… I wasn’t expecting you.”
“This I can see.”
“I’ll start a pot of coffee,” Constantine said, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
She didn’t know which was worse. The fact that he’d deserted her. Or the fact that—from her grandfather’s perspective—he was familiar enough with her home to fix the coffee. Not that he was. But it certainly must seem that way to Primo. Warmth burned her cheeks and she avoided his gaze.
She trailed after Constantine like a caboose on a runaway train, helpless to prevent it from careening onward to its predetermined destination. She didn’t have a hope in hell of preventing the coming disaster. Still, she was driven to try. “Just so you know, this isn’t what it looks like,” she said, in an attempt to divert the impending train wreck.
“It looks like Constantine has spent the night.”
Gianna reddened. Sharp curve ahead! “Well, yes, he did. But not the way you mean.”
“And which way is that, chiacchierona?” he asked gently.
“He…we…I—”
“Cream? Sugar?” Constantine interrupted.
Primo waved aside the offer. “Black. And strong enough to grow hair on my chest. At my age I could use some.”
Gianna decided to give up on trying to explain the situation to her grandfather. There was no excuse Primo would find acceptable to explain Constantine spending the night with her. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she said to him. “But what are you doing here?”
“Constantine called me.”
Shock froze her in place for an instant as her train jumped the track and completely derailed. She stood amidst the carnage and swung an outraged look in Constantine’s direction. “You. Called. Primo?” Didn’t he understand the ramifications of that?
Apparently he didn’t because he appeared neither concerned, nor the least apologetic. “Yes. I explained about d’Angelo. It was my duty.”
“Now that Constantine is your fiancé, it is only proper that he discuss such matters with me,” her grandfather informed her. He turned his attention to Constantine. “I have made some phone calls. My understanding is that d’Angelo has left the country. The claim is urgent business.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Primo nodded in agreement. “Nor am I.”
Gianna held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Wait just one darn minute here. Could we forget about David? If he’s left the country, he’s not of immediate concern.”
“He’s of concern to me,” Constantine retorted.
“I am also concerned,” Primo added with a nod.
She refused to allow them to sidetrack her. Her gaze narrowed on her grandfather. “First, Constantine is not my fiancé. And second, it was my place to tell you about last night, not his. I’m not some delicate piece of china to be placed on a shelf while the men take care of business. I’m a woman in charge of her own destiny.”
Primo gestured toward Gianna’s mug. “More sugar,” he instructed Constantine. “And for the sake of your marriage, I warn you to avoid conversation with our Gianna until after she has had a full cup of sweet coffee. Better if it is two.”
She gritted her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret. “Primo—”
“Ascoltare me, Gianna Marie Fiorella.”
“Little flower?” Constantine murmured, his eyes filled with laughter. “Somehow I never thought of you that way.”
She shot him a smoldering look before returning her attention to Primo. “I’m listening.”