My knife skidded across the plate. “Oh, I don't think so.”
Marco’s intense gaze studied me like an x-ray machine. This felt like being locked in the mammography machine for my baseline view last year. But that was silly. And so were the many mixed images trampling through my mind.
Thank goodness he returned his attention to his plate. “Usually I am not wrong.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”Edit, edit.
He hadn’t missed my mischievous tone. Thank goodness the corners of his lips tipped up.
Time to change the subject. “Your mother speaks excellent English.”
“My mother graduated from Wellesley. You know, over in your country.” Wearing a satisfied grin, he scooped up a Roma tomato topped with melted cheese.
My fork clattered to the plate, narrowly missing the egg cup. I was relieved to see that it hadn’t shattered the precious china that had no doubt been passed down through generations. “Wellesley College?”
“Yes, of course.” He kept munching.
So the woman who moved through the halls as if she were an aged retainer was actually a learned former queen. Disbelief swept through my body followed by a chaser of anxiety. Smart women could be dangerous.
A piece of bacon caught in my throat, and I coughed.
Hands on the table, Marco looked ready to push up. But I waved him back. Tears forming in my eyes, I pressed my tongue up into the roof of my mouth––a little trick I’d learned. The concern melted from his face when I finally relaxed. I took a sip of water, considering how to couch my next request, which was really a demand.
“They're just one or two things I'd like to clear up, Your…Majesty.” Okay, I was struggling with all these titles. “Now, about the cell phone….”
Those handsome features settled into stone. “Not negotiable. Phones are not allowed.”
“You would keep your son in the dark like that?” That appeared to get him thinking. “As we study, he’s going to need access to information.”
“We have a library. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of books.”
“Print books quickly become outdated. The Internet is flooded with millions of books. Harvard will require each student to have a laptop.”
“This is true?” He set down his knife.
“Absolutely.” I might get muscle spasms from crossing my fingers. “Most certainly. He will need to access history, literature and probably his SAT scores. We need access to wi-fi.”
Marco seemed to be considering this. “This was good enough for my father and good enough for me.”
“But they probably didn't have computers or iPhones during your father's time, did they?”
Marco’s eyes rolled to the frescoed ceiling. “No. Of course not.”
“By not allowing phones or the Internet, you are making an island of Gregorio. And yet you expect him to get into Harvard?” I let my incredulity show. But there was a danger here. I was setting a very high bar that I would have to leap over.
Tapping his full lips with a forefinger, he studied me. My own lips tingled and my fingers were twisted into a death grip in my lap. When he swept a hand over his chin, the rasp sent a shiver down my spine. Must be fatigue. “I'll consider this then.”
“Good. Wonderful.” Releasing my knotted hands, I folded my napkin with satisfaction. Score one for the governess.
“Your phones? Did you lose them?” That broad forehead wrinkled.
“They seem to have disappeared from our rooms.”
Nostrils flaring, he looked away. “It shall be done.”
I pictured Marco as Moses, willing the waters to part. He had that air about him.
Just as we were rising from the table, his mother entered. She seemed surprised to see me. “Good morning…” For the life of me, I couldn’t recall her title.
