“Put him to the breast,” Francesca instructed, opening the front of my nightgown. “That will help with the delivery of the afterbirth as well as getting him sucking right away.”

She held him up to me. He latched on to my breast and began sucking vigorously, all the while still staring up at me with unblinking eyes. I was unprepared for the sensations I felt, and with them came one overwhelming thought: I can never give him up.

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 37

Juliet, Venice, May 3, 1940

The doctor arrived soon after, examined me and declared all was well with both of us before leaving again. Francesca made me milk with brandy. I must have fallen asleep because I opened my eyes to see Leo looking down at me with great tenderness.

“We have a fine son,” he said. “What did I tell you? We Da Rossi men always produce fine sons. What shall we call him, do you think? Leonardo after me? Bruno after my grandfather?”

“Goodness no,” I said. “Bruno was my landlady’s cat.”

He had to laugh. “After your father, then?”

“My father was Wilfred. I can’t think of a more horrible name.” I turned to the baby, now lying in the bassinet that Francesca’s daughter had provided. He was peacefully asleep, his long eyelashes lying over his chubby cheeks. “He looks like a little angel,” I said. “Like one of those cherubs in the Renaissance paintings.”

“Do you want to call him Angelo, then?”

I met his gaze and nodded. “Angelo. My little angel. Perfect.”

“Then I will add it to the adoption papers. They are all ready to go.”

I sat up. “Leo, you can’t take him now. I’m not ready to give him up.”

He perched on the bed beside me. “But Cara, you should go home as soon as you feel well enough, or it may be too late. And you can’t take him with you. Better to let me take him now, before you become too attached to him. I have a wet nurse lined up. A nursery. He will be in good hands.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t let him go. I love him already. He’s my child. I just gave birth to him. I carried him around inside me. At least I want to keep him until he is weaned. Francesca says that the mother’s milk protects against diseases. Give me this much.”

I could see he was struggling, trying to come to terms with this. “Cara mia, you do realize that once the Germans overrun France, you could well be trapped here for a long time.”

“Would that be so terrible? I could raise my son.”