“Where are all the patrons?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen another customer in the place.
“I closed the restaurant to host a private event.”
“You didn’t have to close it for me.”
“I know I didn’t. I wanted to do it. What will you do now that you’ve solved your case?”
“I’m not sure yet. It feels good to be in my home town again. What about you? Do you think you’ll always stay in New York?”
“I will always consider New York my home, but there are many places I’d like to see. I don’t want to live here. I want to live everywhere.”
It sounded like the ideal life.
“Where are you off to next?” I asked.
“Machu Picchu in Peru. But first I have some business in Sicily.”
“I’ve never been to Peru.”
“You should come with me.”
“Maybe I will.”
Giovanni pointed to a dish in the center of the table.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Uova al cirighet. Fried eggs in a lemon sauce. It’s my mother’s recipe. Try it. Tell me what you think.”
I scooped some onto a spoon and sampled what may have been one of the best egg dishes I’d ever had.
“It’s amazing.”
“I remember everything about the time we spent together in our younger years, including how often you cooked eggs.”
We spent the next several minutes talking, savoring each dish, and sharing a bottle of wine. It was hard to believe a couple of hours earlier I’d fretted over seeing him again. Sitting there now, I was filled with a sense of ease. It was like we’d picked up right where we’d left off, and I didn’t want the night to end.
“When are you going to Sicily?” I asked.
“In a few days from now. I won’t be long, just a week or two. I’m taking care of a few things for Daniela.”
“You know, in school I thought your family ... well, it’s just ... there were times when I wondered if your family was tied to the mafia somehow.”
He grabbed his glass, swilled a bit of wine, and set the glass back on the table. He seemed uncomfortable answering the question, but I was no longer good at tiptoeing around issues.
“Is your family in the mafia?” I asked.
“You’re a smart woman, Gigi. You have good instincts about people. What are your instincts telling you now?”
His question was my answer.
“It’s different than it used to be,” he said. “It’s much more civilized. My role is to help Daniela when she needs it. Nothing more. Do you think less of me for it?”
I didn’t know.
I didn’t think so.
“At the moment? No. I see you as I always have.”
The one who got away.
“I have a question for you now,” he said. “Why did you leave Cambria?”
I folded my arms and stared into my lap. “It’s ... something I don’t like talking about.”
“I hope you know you can tell me anything, but I won’t press any further.”
I knew I could tell him anything.
It was one of the things I liked most about him.
When we were together, I always felt safe.
“I had a daughter,” I whispered. “Her name was Fallon.”
Tears welled in my eyes, tears I didn’t want to come but always did whenever I spoke her name. I wanted to keep my head down, to avoid eye contact, but I couldn’t. I looked at him. Any resolve I’d had to contain myself melted away, and the floodgates opened.
He nodded and then said, “Come here.”
I wrapped my arms around him, and he kissed my forehead. “It’s okay, il mio cuore. It’s okay.”
I took the time to regain my composure, and then I leaned back.
“You don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to, all right?” he said.
“I’ve never talked to anyone about what happened to her before. Sitting here now, I want it to be you.”
He nodded and waited for me to begin.
“Fallon was three years old when she died. I was in the house, putting some clothes into the dryer. Frank Sinatra was playing on the record player. Fallon wanted to go swimming, and I promised we would after I finished a few chores around the house. She was impatient. I suppose she got that from me. I’d left her playing in the sandbox outside. It was a bit windier than I realized, and the door latch for the pool area came open. Fallon must have walked inside and jumped in. Because of how loud the music was, I didn’t hear it. I don’t know how to explain it, but standing in the laundry room, I felt something was wrong. A mother’s intuition, I guess. I wasn’t away from her for more than a few minutes, but by the time I walked back outside, it was too late.”
He leaned forward, wrapped his hands around my arms, and said, “I’m sorry. You must know it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”
“I walked away. I left her alone. If I hadn’t, she’d still be alive. She’s dead because I was a bad parent. The day she died, I learned toddlers can drown in a pool in as little as twenty seconds. Because of my ignorance, she’s dead.”
I’d always thought talking about her death would make me feel worse. Reliving it now wasn’t easy. But I also felt a sense of relief, like sharing it with him had relieved me of bearing the entire burden myself.
“Daniela isn’t my only sister,” he said. “I had another one. Her name was Viola. She was thirteen when she died.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
He nodded. “I was fifteen. My parents were out of town. They’d left us with Flavia, our nanny. After Flavia went to bed, I found the keys to my father’s Mercedes, and I took Daniela and Viola for a joyride. I never planned to go far, just a couple of blocks, but once I got behind the wheel, Daniela pushed me to see how fast it would go, and I was happy to oblige. I got it up to seventy-eight before I noticed the street ended with an abrupt cul-de-sac. I took my foot off the pedal and tried to make the turn, but it was too late. The car plowed into the side of a house. Daniela and I suffered a few scrapes and broken bones, but Viola was thrown from the car, and she died.”
Shocked, I brought a hand to my chest. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Daniela never spoke of her.”
“I haven’t told that story for a long time, but hearing what you experienced and seeing the pain you carry, I knew you needed to hear it.”
“I did. I’m glad you chose to share it with me.”
“All of us bear scars in some form or another. What matters is learning to forgive yourself. We cannot change the past. What’s done is done. But we can use the lessons we’ve learned to write the story of our future. You’re a good person, Gigi. You need to forgive yourself.”
Sergio returned to gather the plates, and Giovanni suggested we go for a walk before calling an end to the night. He draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, and we headed onto the street, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells that were the beauty of New York City.
The air seemed different tonight, and my breath felt different, like I was taking it in for the first time. I looked up at Giovanni, and he stared into my eyes like he read my thoughts. He leaned down, and we kissed.
When our lips parted, he said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me enough to share the most intimate part of your life, and for kissing me back. I’ve wanted to do that for twenty years.”
THE END
Thank you for reading Little Girl Lost, book one in the Georgiana Germaine mystery series.
I hope you enjoyed getting to know the characters in Gigi’s world as much as I have enjoyed writing them for you. This is a continuing series with more books coming after the one you just read. You can find the series order (as of the date of this printing) in the “Books by Cheryl Bradshaw” section below. And if you’re on Pinterest, be sure to check out Cheryl’s photo inspiration for this series HERE.
In Little Lost Secrets, Book 2 in the series,
Georgiana is swept up in a cold case murder when a dead body is found within the walls during a home renovation. How did the body get there? And what ties does it have to Georgiana’s father’s death more than three decades earlier?
Order Little Lost Secrets now by clicking HERE.
Want a sneak peek of Little Lost Secrets?
Here’s an exclusive look at chapter one ...
CHAPTER ONE
It had been a long, arduous half hour for Tiffany Wheeler, and she feared it would get worse before it got better. Her boyfriend, Russell, stood a few feet away, his head cocked to the side, eyes wild. He brushed a lock of his black hair out of his eye, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and stared at her the way he always did right before his blood reached its boiling point and was about to bubble over.
“What do you mean you don’t want to live in LA anymore?” he asked. “Why not?”
“I’ve already told you why,” she said. “I’m tired of the fast-paced life. I want to move back home.”
“You said you were coming here to do a few simple renovations to this house before you listed it. I get here and the place is a flipping disaster. You’ve torn down walls, gutted the kitchen. What gives?”
Tiffany remained quiet, considering the best way to proceed. It didn’t matter what she said. Russell was used to getting his way, something he wouldn’t get tonight.
He was in denial.
She was avoiding what had still been left unsaid.
Confrontation of any kind had always been difficult between them in the two years they’d been together. Russell was used to the high life, climbing the corporate ladder, and taking any steps necessary to rise to the top. In their relationship, it had always been his way or no way. And Tiffany now realized since they’d been together, she hadn’t just lost her identity; she’d lost her voice.
I think we should break up were the words she needed to say.
Such simple words.
And yet, she struggled to bring herself to say them.
“I’ve decided to keep the house,” she said. “And I think we should ... it’s just ... I’ve done a lot of thinking since I’ve been here, and you’re a good guy. But I don’t think we’re right for each other. I waited until tonight to tell you how I was feeling because I hoped the doubts I’d been having about our relationship would go away. They haven’t, and I need to be honest ... with you and with myself.”
Russell clenched his jaw and stepped back. “What you’re saying is, I’m a good guy, but not a great one. I’m good for you, just not good enough.”
In a moment of childish defiance, he scooped the flowers he’d just given her off the counter and tossed them at her face.
“You want to tell me what’s really going on here?” he barked. “You stepping out on me? Huh? You screwing somebody else?”
“Of course not!” she said. “Calm down. You’re being irrational.”
“You want irrational? I’ll give you irrational. I planned on surprising you tonight.” He reached a hand inside his pants pocket, pulled out ring, and shoved it in front of her face. “I was going to surprise you with this.”
An engagement ring?
The subject of marriage had never even been discussed before.
“You were going to propose?” she asked.
He jerked his arm back and hurled the ring across the room, and she watched it disappear into a pile of drywall scraps.
“I was going to propose,” he said. “Not anymore. I thought we felt the same way about each other. Turns out, I’m the idiot. I like you, and you like someone else.”
“What are you talking ...? I’m telling the truth. There is no one else.”
“The least you could do is not lie to my face.”
He pushed her to the side and stormed into the living room, crouching over the area where he’d tossed the ring. She bent down beside him, reaching a hand into the pile to assist. He grabbed her wrist and snapped it back.
“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want your help.”
She ignored the comment and reached in again.
He flashed her an infuriated look and thrust a hand into her chest, hurtling her backward. Her head smacked against the wall behind her. Outraged by his physical assault, her first instinct was to shove him back, but when they locked eyes, the only thing she saw in his was pain—a man whose life had just crumbled to dust without any forewarning.
“I love you, Tiffany,” he said. “I have no idea what I did to lose you, to deserve what you’re putting me through right ...”
He stared at the wall, allowing his words to trail off before balling his hands into fists. Not knowing what would come next, Tiffany said, “No, Russell. Whatever you’re thinking of doing ... don’t.”
She darted to the side. He drilled his fist into the wall inches from where her head had just been and then slumped to the ground beside her.
“I’m gutted,” he whispered. “You’ve torn me in half tonight.”
Tiffany exhaled a long breath of air and then placed a hand on his shoulder. She let it rest there for a moment, and then she crawled over to the pile of drywall. She ran her fingers through the scraps, searching for the ring. She found it and turned, holding the ring out in front of her.
“Here,” she said. “Take it. Take it and go. Okay?”
She dropped the ring into his hand, and he nodded. He pushed himself off the floor and walked toward the front of the house, stopping to glance back at her one last time before he left.
“I feel like I have no idea who you are,” he said. “The Tiffany I know shops at Gucci, stays in five-star hotels, and loves the energy and hustle of the city. This ... what you’ve got going here, it isn’t you, and it will never work. Enjoy your crap life in your crap house.”
He walked out, allowing the door to slam behind him. She went to the window, pushed the curtain to the side, and watched him tear into the night. The breakup had been much more bitter and raw than she’d expected. But she was certain she made the right choice, even though she was sickened by what had just transpired between them.
She slid the curtain closed, grabbed a bottle of red wine out of a cardboard box, and guzzled half of it down. The recent weeks of pent-up frustration came flooding back in a wave of tears. She set the bottle down and walked into the living room, staring at the hole Russell had left in the wall. She reached down and picked up the construction worker’s sledgehammer, running its forged-steel head along her hand. She lugged the hammer behind her and swung at the wall, again and again and again, breaking the drywall, piece by infuriating piece. As her blows ripped the wall apart, her anger began to subside.
She dropped the hammer and fell to her knees, allowing weeks of repressed tears to flow. When her eyes opened again, she blinked into the hole she’d created, aghast to find she wasn’t the only one taking up residence within the walls of the house. There, in the wall’s hidden crevices, Tiffany made a gruesome discovery. Preserved in layers of dust-filled plastic were what appeared to be remains—human remains.
...
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About Cheryl Bradshaw
Cheryl Bradshaw is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author writing in the genres of mystery, thriller, paranormal suspense, and romantic suspense, among others. Her novel Stranger in Town (Sloane Monroe series #4) was a 2013 Shamus Award finalist for Best PI Novel of the Year, and her novel I Have a Secret (Sloane Monroe series #3) was a 2013 eFestival of Words winner for Best Thriller. To date, almost a dozen of Cheryl’s novels has made the USA Today bestselling books list.
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Books by Cheryl Bradshaw
Sloane Monroe Series
Black Diamond Death (Book 1)
Charlotte Halliwell has a secret. But before revealing it to her sister, she’s found dead.
Murder in Mind (Book 2)
A woman is found murdered, the serial killer’s trademark “S” carved into her wrist.
I Have a Secret (Book 3)
Doug Ward has been running from his past for twenty years. But after his fourth whisky of the night, he doesn’t want to keep quiet, not anymore.
Stranger in Town (Book 4)
A frantic mother runs down the aisles, searching for her missing daughter. But little Olivia is already gone.
Bed of Bones (Book 5) (USA Today Bestselling Book)
Sometimes even the deepest, darkest secrets find their way to the surface.
Flirting with Danger (Book 5.5) A Sloane Monroe Short Story
A fancy hotel. A weekend getaway. For Sloane Monroe, rest has finally arrived, until the lights go out, a woman screams, and Sloane’s nightmare begins.
Hush Now Baby (Book 6) (USA Today Bestselling Book)
Serena Westwood tiptoes to her baby’s crib and looks inside, startled to find her newborn son is gone.
Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1) Page 21