Oh, he always had all the best intentions, but it seemed as if he somehow managed to miss one tiny detail and ended up throwing everything into disarray. He hated being Jumbling Jonathan, the oldest and only one in his initiate class who hadn’t yet graduated.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked Raphael, no longer willing to trust his own judgment.
“That’s going to be up to you, Jonathan. You need to fix this for those girls. Bella needs to find a way to keep Sophia at home and it’s your job to see that that happens.”
“But how?”
Raphael took him under his wing. Literally. “I have faith in you, Jonathan. You’ll think of a way. Look how you helped their parents find happiness.”
Yet they’d died a year apart.
With those questionable words of encouragement, the head of the Celestial Guardians spread his wings and soared up to the heavens in a breathtaking display of finesse and beauty, leaving Jonathan to figure out how to clean up his mess here on earth.
Again.
Chapter Three
“You’re late.”
The words hit Bella the moment she stepped over the threshold of the Casteleoni home, her grandfather’s pride and joy. An Italian immigrant with little command of English, he’d parlayed his family’s old-country meals into a cornerstone restaurant in town, enabling him to build this stone mansion for his family. He was probably rolling over in his grave with her stepmother now calling the shots.
Bella glanced at the heirloom cherry clock in the living room. Eight minutes to spare. Then she turned to face the wicked witch. Not that she called Madeleine that. Well, at least, not to her face. No need to annoy the woman any more than her being alive already did. “I’m never late for Sophia’s bus.” She kicked off her pumps and dug her toes into the hand-tufted rug on the marble foyer floor.
“Sophia’s bus? I’m talking about the ladies’ tea. They’ll be here soon and you have yet to prepare the food.”
Bella rolled her eyes as Madeleine descended the foyer staircase, trailing a manicured hand down the curved railing. The woman thought she was royalty. Always had, ever since she’d finagled her way into the family. She’d been Dad’s homecare nurse after the accident, and when his depression had set in, she’d used the opportunity to slide into Mom’s place almost without anyone noticing.
Bella had noticed. But at seventeen, there’d been little she could do. As she’d found out, to her chagrin. Ten years later, she still didn’t have many options.
“The food will be ready, Madeleine. It always is.” Though she’d truly love to succumb to the temptation to just skip the whole affair. But Sophia would end up suffering. A cancelled horseback riding lesson, a dance class inexplicably filled, no friends able to make it for a play date… It wouldn’t be the first time.
She had to get Sophia out of Madeleine’s clutches.
“And what happened to your skirt? I will not have you serving the women of the Ladies’ Auxiliary looking like something the cat dragged in. Honestly, Lucinda, I’d think you’d try to rise above your peasant upbringing. We are in the new world, you know, no matter how much you try to remain in the past with that restaurant.”
“That restaurant is responsible for everything around you, Madeleine. I wouldn’t speak so disparagingly about it if I were you.”
“Well you’re not me. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You loathe the idea that I control your sister’s life and your father’s estate.” Madeleine’s eyes narrowed to make her pinched face look like the weasel she was. “And if you don’t want her sent half a continent away or the restaurant sold to the highest bidder, I’d suggest you march your self-righteous attitude into the kitchen and get the food ready. The Board will be announcing their selection soon so I need to make a good impression—”
“I get it, Madeleine.” It just wasn’t worth the energy to go down this road again. If only Dad had changed his will, she’d be Sophia’s legal guardian and own the restaurant outright. But he hadn’t, which pitted her against Madeleine when it came to the business, the house, and her sister. If she hadn’t seen the fall that had put her father in the coma herself, she would have sworn Madeleine had had a hand in it. “You’ll be asked to join the Arts Center Board, the most prestigious group in town.”
Madeleine hissed. “You needn’t make it sound so mercenary. The Arts Center holds many charitable events for our community and—”
“And will put you in the limelight and get you invited to all the social events of the year.” Where she hoped to snag a rich husband. Again. “I know.”
Madeleine’s bony fingers gripped the pewter skirt hugging her anorexic hips. “You know, I’d think you’d thank me for trying to raise our station in this town so that sister of yours can aspire to be something other than a busboy.”
Bella so wanted to unload on the woman, but with legal custody of Sophia, Madeleine held all the cards. And the witch knew it.
Bella was amazed she didn’t have an ulcer from keeping her mouth shut for the past ten years. If only she’d won that catering contract, she’d be able to put her money where her mouth wanted to be.
The grandfather clock chimed and Bella turned back to the door just as Sophia’s bus pulled up outside.
“Sophia’s home.” It was all she needed to say to get Madeleine to leave the foyer. The woman had as little interaction with Sophia as possible. For all intents and purposes, Bella been Sophia’s guardian while their stepmother had played at being the put-upon wife whose husband lay unresponsive in a hospital bed for years.
But suddenly none of it mattered as a tornado of energy bustled through the door. A tangle of arms, legs, schoolbags, and long blonde ponytail, all eagerly wrapped themselves around Bella’s waist.
“Bella!” the tangle shrieked.
“Sprite,” the tangle’s sister returned. “Welcome home, honey.” She unwound the gangly appendages, pushing the ponytail out of the face of her ten-year old sister. “How was school?”
“It was great! Me and Cara got to take extra long turns on the swings because Nicoletta got a time out for pushing Joseph. Then Marco’s mom brought in cupcakes for his birthday, so I won’t be hungry for dinner. Maybe I’ll just have dessert.” She looked up, eyes wide.
“Nice try.” Bella tweaked her nose. “But if you’re going to eat anything, it’ll be something good for you rather than more sweets.” She bent down to kiss Sophia’s cheek. “Besides, you’re sweet enough as it is.”
Bella wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her tightly, her last link to their parents. Parents Sophia didn’t remember. It was up to her to make sure Sophia never lacked for love since Madeleine had about as much capability in that department as, well, Cinderella’s stepmother. The woman did love to play to type. “Want to help me set up for a tea party?” She touched Sophia’s nose with her own.
“A real live tea party?”
“A real live tea party.”
“Okay!” Sophia shrieked and raced to the kitchen.
“You will keep her under control while the guests are here.” The order was dictated from the landing above, accompanied by the tapping of one pointy Prada.
Bella looked at her stepmother as she rose. “Don’t worry. Sophia and I will be nowhere near your precious tea party.”
Or anywhere else around her if only dreams could come true.
***
“You’re a miracle worker. How do you do it?”
Reese smiled at Jake, his business partner, on the other side of his desk. “I simply pointed out the positive publicity she’d get for her career as she comes out of retirement.”
Jake arched an eyebrow. “Sure it didn’t have anything to do with a dinner invitation, oh royal prince?”
“Not you, too, Jake,” Reese tossed the dossier onto his desk and stood up. “I’d like to think it was my sparkling wit and charming personality that won her over.”
“Well, there’s that I guess, but I’d put my money on the HRH thing. It
always gets their attention.”
Reese walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the river. Ever since The Injury, this view had always soothed him, but even the view couldn’t make the “royal prince” thing any better.
HRH—Henry Reese Hapsburg Charmant. He shook his head. His mother, star of stage and screen, had given him one hell of a moniker. His dad’s, his own, and that of some obscure long-lost great-great-something-uncle of the famed European royal family. The press had picked up on it, dubbed him Prince Charmant, and he’d been dealing with the jokes about fairy tales and lost shoes ever since.
Ironic that he’d actually put Bella’s shoe back on her foot. He’d made a point of never doing that for any woman just so he wouldn’t fuel the stories.
But Bella wasn’t just any woman.
Reese grimaced. Great. Now he was the one buying into the fairy tale. At thirty-four, he ought to know better.
He watched a pair of speedboats race down the smooth-as-glass surface of the river, their wakes splitting the water like a sharp knife through freshly-baked bread, then stuck his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, whatever did the trick for her, Bella McIntyre said she’d be able to make—”
“Bella?” Jake joined him. “I thought her name was Belinda McIntyre.” He grinned at Reese in the window. “Or is Bella a nickname only a select few know about?”
Hell. He had to get his mind back on the job—or there’d be no job. “No, you’re right, it’s Belinda.” Reese walked back to his desk and picked up the dossier with the papers he’d gotten the golfer to sign earlier. “She’s agreed to participate in Community Hospital’s ‘Auction for Action.’ I got her to promise nine holes to the winning bid, with full press coverage from ESPN.”
“And that came through...?”
“An old buddy in the high-ups who owed me a favor.” Reese set the contract papers down. The auction was the first big contract Promotional Sports had won. His name and celebrity status would only carry him so far; he had to deliver. He was determined to make his mark with the event, so he’d called in as many favors as he could. “But business is business. ESPN gets an exclusive, Belinda gets her publicity, the bidder gets the chance to golf with a pro, Community gets its donations, and the kids in the foster system get their programs.” He tapped his knuckles on the stack of paper. “Everyone wins.”
“And we’ll get our fee and make a name for ourselves.”
Reese nodded. “As I said, everyone wins.” He picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser on the file. Everything was falling in to place with this event. “So what else do we need to go over?”
“Well, you need to pull out your miracle-making stops again. There’s a problem. With Conlon’s Catering.”
He’d spoken too soon. “What problem? I talked to Marisa last month. She was good to go for the event.”
Jake slapped a file on his desk. “But did you know that she and Luke went away together recently?”
“Don’t tell me.” The pencil tapping picked up speed. “He dumped her with all the panache he’s always had.”
Jake didn’t even need to nod. His silence said it all.
“Damn it!” Reese threw the pencil onto the desk and the graphite tip slid across the outside of Belinda’s folder in an angry black slash. The Midnight Maiden’s top chef would be at his annual culinary conference during the auction; he needed Conlon’s for this event. “I’ve told him to stay away from my personnel! There aren’t enough women in the world for him to blow off? Now he’s got to pick someone I need? God, you’d think he would have gotten it after my fiasco with Devin.”
Reese rubbed the back of his neck, the old tension headache starting at the thought of that nightmare. Coach’s daughter had been the one to seek him out. She’d been around pro sports all of her life, had known the score. Reese had figured he’d been just another hotshot for her to date.
He winced. That made her sound callous and shallow, when she really wasn’t. Devin was a nice girl. Too nice in fact. They’d started dating and she’d started thinking forever. He never saw it coming.
The breakup had been horrible. And public. The team’s owner hadn’t liked the negative publicity. And Coach just plain hadn’t liked it—to the point where the bad feelings began affecting their interactions. The fact they won the Super Bowl that year was due more to the team’s competency than him as a shining star or to Coach’s management. Reese knew the man had hated him for “using” his daughter. Not that he had, but perception was nine-tenths reality.
There’d been talk after the win of either trading him or letting Coach go. The team couldn’t manage the tension. However unprecedented it would have been, there were serious discussions of breaking up the championship-winning pair.
Reese could never allow that. His talent and his reputation; they were who he was. He’d refused to be traded to another team in shame and refused to let Coach leave in the same manner. So he’d ignored the stories, learned how to evade the questions, wore his game face 24/7, and toughed it out. But when he’d ruptured his Achilles tendon the following season, he’d opted out. Went out on a high note. Blaze of glory. All the banner stuff.
And then found himself at a loss when it came to employment. Retirement had always been in the future. It’d taken him a while to regroup, figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Slowly but surely Promotional Sports was panning out. Yet now his “good buddy” Luke was about to bring it down with his Casanova crap.
“That explains why he decided not to show for our appointment today.” Reese leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “But how can Marisa do this? It’s business.”
“I tried that with her,” said Jake, “but he must have done a hell of a number on her. Her exact words were ‘I want nothing to do with anything that weasely maggot touches.’ I tried to explain that he wasn’t involved with this, but she wasn’t buying it.” Jake tossed his own pencil onto the file and sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “We’re tainted by association in her eyes.”
Reese bit back the foul words he wanted to say. He’d been counting on Conlon’s. “How the hell are we supposed to find another caterer at this late date—”
Another caterer. Bella. And she’d already bid on the contract; was she still available?
In more ways than one—
Reese shook his head. It figured. The one woman to affect him in a long time was one who could make or break his business.
Chapter Four
Bella opened the glass door to Casteleoni’s the next morning and ducked as a flour-laden something whirled past her head, exploding into a vast cloud of white mist when it hit the front counter.
“You are a madman!”
Not again.
Bella waved through the powder and closed the door, then flipped over the OPEN sign and flicked on the dining area lights. The scent of freshly baked bread and muffins wafted toward her as Giacomo, a tall toothpick of a man with a dyed black handlebar mustache, swished angrily from the kitchen, his gangly arms flying about his head.
When he reached the break in the counter, he flung back the hinged top and pirouetted through, sputtering, “You simply cannot make spinach-filled donuts. We work hard to make the name Casteleoni a proud one and you produce this... this,”—his tongue tripped over itself—”abomination.”
Twirling, he pranced to a booth, shot a look of pure misery at Bella, then collapsed onto the vinyl-covered cushion in an exaggerated heap, his long, thin fingers massaging his temples as he shook his head, muttering to himself.
It was a familiar sight.
A booming voice bellowed from the kitchen. “Pah!” The superior inflection of disgust spoke volumes. “You! You know nothing! You are afraid to reach for the heavens, you provincial, bourgeois peasant!”
Bella winced at the tinny sound of copper pots clanging against the steel prep table.
“Only I have the vision, the desire, the ability to reach
for the stars while you...” A rag came sailing through the swinging doors. “You settle for mediocrity!”
Bella held her breath as the short, rotund Guiseppe, a ring of graying hair encircling his bald head like a coronet, strode through the saloon-style doors between the counter area and the kitchen, turning awkwardly to shovel his girth through the small space.
“You!” His stubby finger pointed at Giac heaped in the booth. “You—go! I cannot work under these conditions. I will not.” As he squeezed out of the counter, he flung another flour-covered rag at the foot of the booth.
He looked at her, red-faced, with his fists clenched, and his native Italian accent made heavier by emotion. “It is Giacomo or Guiseppe—not both.”
Bella advanced further into the war zone, ponytail bobbing over her shoulder as she skidded to a halt at the too-familiar site.
“Okay, Giac.” She leaned across the booth to plant a kiss on the bald patch at the back of the heap’s head. “What is it today? Zucchini torte, cucumber flan, or cream cheese chocolate chips?”
Giac leaned back against the booth’s blue vinyl and crossed his arms. “This idiot...” He nodded at the idiot in question. “Thinks our patrons are salivating for spinach donuts.” He shook his head. “Incredible.”
“If they try them, they will like them.” Guiseppe, who went by Gus in his calmer, less Italian-accent-laced moments, gave Giac the Evil Eye before looking at Bella. “Everyone, they want healthy food. I try to give our customers what they want and he—”
“Healthy donuts?” Giac shot to his feet. “Are you out of your mind, man? You simply cannot make healthy donuts. The term itself is an oxymoron.” He approached the counter, planting his hands on the floured surface. “Just like the person inventing them.”
Gus turned purple, the veins on the sides of his head above his hairline threatening to pop. His knuckles turned white. “Why... why... you…”
If The Shoe Fits Page 2