“Then why don’t you—”
“The nights we’ve spent poring over this book or that map? The way she makes everything lighter? The way I find myself having to hold back from telling her everything—everything? Like she would even want to know?”
“How do you know she doesn’t want to know, you stubborn old fool?”
“You think I haven’t fantasized about taking her?” he bit out. “About having her in my life? Do you think I haven’t thought about it?”
Caspar stood stiffly to walk closer to the fire. “So what’s stopping you? She’ll still help you find her father. She wants it as much as you do. Do you think she’s not smart enough to understand the consequences? You won’t even give her a chance, you idiot! Or are you just afraid that she’ll say no?”
A sharp longing rose in his chest, but it was smothered by bitterness. “She’s a child. She doesn’t know what she wants at this age. At twenty-two you wanted to marry Claire Lipton and run away together to join the theater. Three years after that, you wanted to become an airline pilot. And after that—”
“You know, I already know I have a short attention span, you obnoxious git. You don’t have to rub it in.”
Giovanni took a deep breath, and laid a hand on Caspar’s shoulder. “The point is, she’s at an impulsive age, and if she has feelings for me, they are…infatuation. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of that.”
“But you’ll use her to find her father, won’t you? No problem taking advantage of that.”
He stiffened and pulled away. “You said yourself, she wants to find him, too.”
Tears pricked Caspar’s eyes when he looked at him.
“You’re a good man, Giovanni Vecchio. Don’t forget that in this mad search.”
Caspar turned and walked back to the sofa, sitting and picking up his drink. He stared into the fire and Giovanni watched the calm settle over him.
“You know, I don’t remember much from my life before you. I was so young when you took me in. I remember hiding in that attic in Rotterdam with my father. I remember how hot it was, how stifling. I remember the smell of dust and old paper from the books my father saved.”
“You were such a quiet child.”
“I remember seeing you for the first time,” he continued, “and my father holding me and telling me I could trust you because you were an old friend. That you weren’t one of the bad men, even though you were a stranger. That you would take care of me.”
Giovanni sat down in his chair and took a sip of scotch.
“Were you scared? When I took you to England? When you had to be locked up during the day in the house when you were little? I tried to explain it the best way I could, but you were only four or five, you must have been confused.”
Caspar shrugged. “Children are so adaptable. I don’t remember being afraid. I remember being a little older and realizing that most children didn’t sleep during the day and that most went to school, but by then I understood what you were. And then, there were all our adventures.”
Giovanni had taken Caspar on many trips as the boy had grown older and more useful. He had always been a wonderful companion. At first, he had called him his son, then his nephew, then eventually his brother as their appearances became more similar and Caspar aged.
In his long life, the boy he had rescued remained the human Giovanni had loved the most, and it had broken his heart when Caspar told him in his forties he had decided he didn’t want to be turned. He was the first human the vampire had truly wanted to sire.
He looked at the old man. “Has it been a good life with me, Caspar? Do you regret never marrying or having children? Did I keep you from that?”
Caspar shook his head. “I never felt like, had I wanted a family, they would have been unwelcome to you. And I know how fond you are of children. No, I just never found the right woman, I suppose.”
“Isadora?” Giovanni asked with a smirk.
He shook his head, a smile creeping across his face. “She’s one of a kind, Gio. My lord, she’s so bloody adorable. I want to steal her away and monopolize her every moment.”
“You are smitten, old friend.”
“Completely. You’ve met her, can you blame me?”
Giovanni smiled thinking of Isadora and Beatrice. He thought about the two women, grey hair against black, with their heads together, smiling on Dia de los Muertos. He thought of the way they laughed and teased each other, and the ease and love between them. In his mind, he saw Beatrice as she aged, her dramatic features slowly taking on the handsome dignity of her grandmother and her eyes exhibiting the unique wisdom that was only evident from a life well lived.
“No, I certainly can’t blame you, Caspar. They’re stunning.”
Caspar cocked an eyebrow, but Giovanni continued. “If things get dangerous in the city, take Isadora to the house in Kerrville. You’ll both be out of the way there. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
“What about B?”
“No, she stays here. I’ll need her.”
“What do you mean?”