Say Yes

by Celia Juliano

  Say Yes

  Everyday Angels Book One

  Celia Juliano

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, incidents, and scenarios are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  Say Yes Everyday Angels Book One

  Copyright © 2012 Celia Juliano

  celiajuliano@celiajuliano.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any format without the author’s consent.

  First Digital Edition March 2012

  First Paperback Edition March 2012

  ISBN-13: 978-1470105921

  ISBN-10: 1470105926

  For my mom, who believes. For Aunt Judy and Uncle Scott, everyday angels. And for Grandpa Steve, who inspired a love of family, food, and all things Italian.

  1

  Lita leaned closer to him as their kiss deepened. His hands eased down her hips. His name beat in her mind in time with her quickening pulse. Lorenzo. But he wasn’t. She pulled away, slouching at the weight of her disappointment.

  Rich stepped back, frowning, but he’d taken her hint. “We’re practically engaged. I want you alone.”

  “We’re not engaged,” Lita said. She wanted to love Rich, wanted to trust him. But she didn’t, not completely. Lita preferred the safety net of company unless she was with someone she truly trusted. Which would total two, or maybe three, people in the world: her older brother Lee, her cousin Emma, and maybe Lorenzo.

  “I’ve tried to give you more time--”

  Lita shook her head. Rich got her meaning if his resigned shrug was any indication. She had to get over this thing she had for Lorenzo. And her misgivings about Rich’s family. At first, they’d seemed a happy, traditional family, the kind of family Lita hoped for. But after awhile the pleasant exteriors cracked and revealed ugliness and dysfunction. Still, she didn’t want to discount Rich just because of his family. She knew the sting of being shunned because of your family, or lack of it.

  Rich continued on his agenda, as he usually did. “My grandparents want to meet your mom. They’d like you, your mom, and your brother to come for dinner. How’s next week? I haven’t even met Lee yet.”

  Lita poofed out a breath. Her older brother Lee wouldn’t like Rich. No guy was ever good enough for her, according to Lee, and he didn’t want her to get married young, either. But Lita did—she wanted a traditional family, her own home, a loving husband.

  “Jane meeting your family? No thanks. I’ve told you, she won’t even let her own kids call her mom, she’s an atheist, among other things that would offend your family.” Like having Lita out of wedlock. And acting like she didn’t even know who Lita’s father was. Lita shifted her feet. Too many times she’d plastered on smiles, as if not having a father was great. Though pretending had been better than continuing to be teased and ridiculed about her mother’s lifestyle or Lita’s unknown father.

  “It’s going to happen sometime. If you’re worried my family won’t like you anymore once they meet Jane, don’t. Grandma thinks you’re sweet.”

  So did his parents. Most older people and kids did. But people her own age usually teased Lita for being too good, too girly, too old-fashioned. And those were the nicer ones.

  Rich held her hand and ran his finger over her palm. She squeezed his hand. Actually she wanted to drop it and get a drink of water to combat the acrid taste in her throat. Not again. I’m over that. But the images pushed into her imagination. The pawing, grabbing hands. Hands holding her down. The heavy weight of a man on her as she fought to catch her breath, get him off her…She sucked in a breath and turned to reach for her coat and evening bag. Rich wasn’t like those men. People were good. She believed in kindness and decency.

  “Thanks.” Lita searched for something kind to say about his family. “I can’t wait for her to show me how to make manicotti.”

  Rich chuckled and kissed her. Lita struggled against the urge to lash out at him. Her tummy jittered like crickets in a jar. Trapped. She pushed at Rich’s chest.

  “Can we go? I’d rather get there early before it’s too crowded.”

  Rich eased up behind her, helped her slide on her coat, and kissed her neck. Her stomach churned at the pressure of his tongue. She stepped forward.

  “I only want to show you how much I love you, princess.”

  Lita swallowed. Here was this kind guy who loved her and all she could think about was her past. And Lorenzo, San Francisco’s most infamous bachelor. Though handsome, intelligent, and loyal to his friends and family, he ran his father’s strip clubs and was a womanizer like the other guys she’d dated, who’d demanded she “prove” her feelings for them. She hadn’t even seen Lorenzo in over two years. He probably wasn’t all she’d built him up to be.

  “There’s only so much a guy can take,” Rich muttered as he led her to his car. Maybe it was time to end things with Rich. He was getting more demanding, more intrusive. Like how he’d followed her up to San Francisco after they’d both graduated from Cal Poly. She’d hoped to settle back into her neighborhood—she’d missed the small town yet sophisticated feel of the city. But instead she’d been distracted by Rich and his claims on her time.

  And there was her own fault of always thinking of Lorenzo. Lita’s stomach tightened as she slid into the passenger seat of Rich’s car. A black Mercedes like Lorenzo’s. She’d get over this silly crush. She knew what she wanted in life and Lorenzo couldn’t and wouldn’t give that to her.

  Concentrating on Rich, she ignored the uneasy prickling in her limbs as he sped through the brightly lit streets to the club. The dark sky, a captivating, ever-changing indigo vision over the static city skyline, drew Lita’s attention.

  Blinking, Lita entered the strobe-lit club. Rich grabbed her hand. She smiled and pulled him out to the floor, shaking her hips to the beat of Justin Timberlake’s “Lovestoned.” Dancing helped free her, though more so at home alone, where no one was around to stare or jostle her. After about an hour, she gritted her teeth, as people bumped into her and the pungent smell of alcohol permeated the air. Rich noticed her discomfort, found a table, and bought them drinks.

  Rich talked on and on about his plans for them. Lita only half listened. The booming music made it difficult to hear everything he said anyway. Scanning the club, she stopped and stared a moment at a handsome, well-dressed man.

  She crossed her legs. Lorenzo sat across the club, slightly facing away from her. A couple skinny blondes lounged on either side of him. Her attention was diverted by the waitress appearing and sliding a fourth beer in front of Rich. Lita still nursed her same drink.

  “Who’re you looking at?” Rich said, his words on the edge of slurring. He didn’t hold his liquor well.

  “No one.” She smiled at Rich, hoping he wouldn’t figure out who she’d been staring at as he scoped the room. Not that he knew Lorenzo. Rich studied her. She forced herself to keep smiling and meet his eyes.

  Uneasiness prickled her skin again, similar to the discomfort of roller skating into a blackberry bramble near her Aunt Cass’s Berkeley home when she was nine. She excused herself to freshen up.

  Of course there was a line down the hall for the ladies’ room. A few girls in front of her kept glancing at her, giggling. Lita tugged the hem of her dress. Why had she listened to her cousin Emma and bought this too-short, boob-popping dress? Lita preferred to look classy, like a nineteen fifties actress. Secretly, she wanted to be like sultry Sophia Loren, not cutsie Sandra Dee. And she hoped for her own Cary Grant—polished, sophisticated, fun, and sexy. That was Lorenzo, she thought with a sigh. She needed to break up with Rich. It wasn’t right, what she
was doing, using him as a substitute for Lorenzo.

  After finally getting her turn in the restroom, she delayed by brushing her hair at one of the hazy mirrors. Her hair was one feature she was proud of—dark chestnut, wavy, and thick. It had never given her trouble, unlike her short stature or her tendency toward chubbiness, her too-wide eyes and pert nose. Or her lips—Lita had loved herself as a girl, but then puberty hit and with it the attention of boys, which by her early teens had become too much, often uncomfortable. Boys and even men would see something in her pouty lips, her innocent gaze, her curious questioning, or her curvy body, some invitation that wasn’t there.

  She shoved her tiny hairbrush back into her bag. Better get back before Rich came to find her.

  Her steps felt heavy as she approached their table. Lorenzo loomed over Rich.

  Lorenzo was more handsome than in photos or her vague daydreams of the past two years. Well-polished black loafers, immaculately pressed flat-front black slacks, a garnet v-neck sweater, short, thick, dark hair, strong profile, a boyish dimple in his left cheek, but every inch a man, Lorenzo made her insides flutter like a floating feather.

  As the two men glared at each other, she slipped into her seat. Throat parched as stale bread, she reached for her drink.

  “Don’t drink that, Lita.” Lorenzo’s tone chilled her. Had she heard him right? The pulsating music made it difficult to hear. His eyes blazed into Rich’s. She rubbed her arm, her nerves raw. How had Lorenzo even recognized her without once glancing her way?

  “Shut up. Who is this guy?” Rich said.

  Before she could answer, he tried to stand, but Lorenzo deftly pushed him down. Rich knocked against the tiny table and spilled Lita’s cosmo. She jumped up before it could run onto her dress and edged near Lorenzo. He took a step, placing himself in front of her.

  She stepped beside Lorenzo. “He’s a friend of my brother’s. What’s going on?” She didn’t need this, not now. Just when she hoped to finally push Lorenzo from her mind, here he was, virtually acting out her silly fantasies of him rescuing her from unwanted advances. Except Rich’s attentions weren’t like that. It was all in her mind. All an excuse for breaking up with him.

  “He put something in your drink while you were gone,” Lorenzo whispered in her ear.

  Lita trembled at his hot breath on her and his accusation. She glanced at Rich before scrutinizing Lorenzo. His jaw flexed as he faced Rich again. Rich stood and tried to reach for her, but Lorenzo gripped his arm. She took a deep breath. Lorenzo’s scent, citrus and spice and masculinity, eased the growing tension in her throat. But only for a moment.

  “Lita, he’s crazy. Don’t listen to him,” Rich said with desperation in his voice, his brow furrowed. Her stomach clenched. Not Rich. She couldn’t be that dumb again. Her faith, her beliefs, had already been nicked, a fine cord now unraveling from the hundreds of small cuts.

  “Are you sure? I can’t believe he would…” she whispered to Lorenzo, who nodded.

  People stared at them. Still gripping Rich’s arm, Lorenzo said “Let’s go.”

  “No,” Lita said. “You must’ve misunderstood.” She moved to Rich and took his hand. It was clammy. She would get him to take her home. She certainly wasn’t going to ask Lorenzo—she needed to forget him, not make him her hero, again. Lorenzo’s furious look only heightened his strong features. Lita forced herself to face Rich.

  “Damn right.” Rich shoved past Lorenzo. Lita glanced back at Lorenzo. He tracked them, his arms crossed. Some skinny blonde draped herself behind him, but he shrugged her off.

  “You’re with me,” Rich said, pulling Lita along, out of the club. His tone raised the hairs on her arms. Her mind sped through a few scenarios. Before she could decide the best action, Rich’d led her to a darkened alley beside the club. He pressed her against the dank wall. Her limbs tingled in panic.

  “He’s that guy you always talk about, huh? You denied you’re into him. I saw the look you gave him. You’re mine,” he muttered.

  His breath soured. Lita cringed, darting her eyes for some escape. He had her pinned. His arms hemmed her in, his fingers dug into her biceps.

  “You’ve been drinking…you know how you get,” Lita said, trying to buy herself a few minutes to map a plan.

  “That’s what my mom says to my dad.” He chuckled.

  “No one deserves to be spoken to the way he talks to your mom.”

  Rich tightened his grip. Lita’s legs tensed, a cat crouching before she leaps in attack. It wouldn’t be the first time. She’d hoped Rich was different.

  “Don’t defend that cheating bitch to me.”

  His eyes glazed. Lita rammed her knee up, into his groin. He buckled over with a grunt and she dashed to the side, but not fast enough. He grabbed her arm and tugged her into him. Her heel caught in the buckling concrete and she stumbled into his chest as he righted himself. Twisting, he held her in a sickening deadlock, his right hand squeezing her breast painfully. She writhed, but this only exposed her neck to his exploration.

  Shoes scuffed on the pavement. A moment later, she was free. She whirled around. Lorenzo, in one quick move, shoved Rich against the wall and pinned his arm behind his back. Lita gasped a sharp breath at the smack of skin on brick. Her head pounded and her body quavered, both from the adrenaline racing through her and the rancid smells of ammonia and vomit in the dim alley.

  “Shut up or I’ll break your arm, you little shit.” Lorenzo made no other sounds, while Rich panted and grunted.

  “Listen carefully: leave town and never come within even fifty feet of her again. And don’t think I won’t know, because I have eyes all over the city.”

  “Lita,” Rich groaned.

  Lorenzo grimaced and studied Lita, who shook without a sound, her body cold. His hesitation gave Rich chance enough to break free. He swung a punch at Lorenzo, who blocked him and followed with a crumpling jab to Rich’s gut. In a swift movement, Lorenzo grabbed him again and whacked him into the wall, this time gripping Rich’s arm with one hand and squashing his face into the bricks with the other. A warm red oozed into the grime of the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, nothing had changed.

  Clutching her throat, she reminded herself to breathe. She fumbled in the pocket of her coat for the cell Lee’d given her. She could call 911…no, she’d been down that path before too. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Lorenzo could handle things. Six years she’d been away from home. She was tired of fighting, of relying only on herself. If her body wasn’t as tense as a brittle tree trunk, she’d have crashed to the filthy concrete in exhaustion.

  “You’re pretty slow. I can finish you right here, but I’m being nice for Lita’s sake. Not that I expect you care. I’ll try to make it clearer. Heard of the DeGrazias? Want to be on their bad side?” Rich shook his head in a frantic, mute gesture. “No? Then stay the hell away from Lita and don’t try that crap on anyone else. Understand now?”

  Clamping his eyes shut, Rich tried nodding and grunting yes before Lorenzo shoved him one last time into the wall and let go. Maybe all those rumors of the DeGrazia family, Lorenzo’s maternal relatives, being corrupt were true. She didn’t care anymore. Safety mattered more than morality sometimes.

  “Get out of here. I’ll be watching you.” Lorenzo scowled at Rich, who staggered down the alley.

  If Lita didn’t sit down, she might fall over. The buildings seemed off center. She shivered and hugged her arms to herself. Lorenzo draped his jacket, a warm embrace, around her shoulders. With one hand hovering over her waist, he led her out to the street. Lita took a deep breath and tried to clear every horrible sight and smell from her senses. The groups of people and numerous cars driving by now seemed sinister and loud though all had been cheerful and vibrant when she’d arrived earlier.

  “I’m parked over there, in that lot.” Lorenzo’s low, intent tone wrapped around her. “I’ll take you home.”

  Lita nodded and walked to Lorenzo’s black Mercedes coupe. Lor
enzo watched her as she slid into the deep leather seat. He shut the door. The loud thump startled Lita, but she leaned back and her breathing steadied. She could rely on Lorenzo. He’d been a loyal friend to her and her brother for fourteen years and, from what Lee told her, rivaled Lee in his protectiveness of his female relatives. Her throat tightened dangerously. She wouldn’t cry. Lee and Lorenzo had protected her and when they hadn’t, she’d made herself safe. Lorenzo drove across town, the multi-colored lights flashing past her window.

  “Jane home?” His fingers dug into the steering wheel. Anger rippled from his rigid form and his tense tone.

  Lita tried to fathom what he was thinking, but her thoughts pushed each other, an uncontrolled mosh pit. “No, and she might be out all night. I don’t want to be alone. He knows where I live.” Why hadn’t she listened to Lorenzo in the club? Maybe Lee was right, maybe she was too trusting, too ready to believe the best in people. But she didn’t know how else to get by in life, how else to keep the possibility of the life she wanted open.

  “I’ll keep you safe. Want me to call Lee or Emma for you?”

  His words warmed her. “No, it’s almost midnight and I don’t want anyone to know what happened. I shouldn’t have trusted him.” When would she learn? But she didn’t want to learn not to trust anyone. She wanted to have hope, believe in goodness.

  “It’s not your fault. He’s a creep, maybe a rapist. Don’t blame yourself.”

  “If you hadn’t been there…” Lita faltered and pulled down the hem of her dress.

  “You would’ve been okay. Don’t think about it.”

  “You don’t understand. To have my first time be…” Lita said. She exhaled a shaky breath. Why had she said that? Lorenzo didn’t need to know she was still a virgin. “I feel sick.” She leaned her cheek against the cold window and closed her eyes against the harsh lights.