by Jan Moran
There it was. The validation of his intent. Though his touch didn’t thrill her as another man’s had, she softened her eyes and allowed a smile to creep onto her face. “It might be complicated.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing we can’t work out. I can run the vineyard for you and your mother.” He put an arm around her and drew her to him. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said. “Hmm, you’re still wearing the perfume I gave you.”
She put an arm on his shoulder to balance herself. It would be so easy to begin dating him again, become engaged and married. Let Ted run her life. She thought of her friends Donna and Beth and the marriages they’d settled for. They’d married because they had no other options. But she had a profession, and supposedly, a house in Italy. She had options. Yet she was also a mother, and her little girl needed a family. Her own family. Would Ted agree to adopt Marisa? “Ted, we really need to talk.”
“I can’t imagine what you might say to change my mind this time.” Ted placed a finger on her lips. “Maybe you needed time then, but I know we are meant to be now.” His lips curved into a smile. “And I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve remained pure for me.”
Had she heard him correctly? She inclined her head. “Would that have been a problem?”
“You are, so it doesn’t matter, does it, Cate?”
Again with the Cate. She lowered her eyes. “No, it doesn’t matter, Ted.”
He nuzzled her neck around her collarbone, which was exposed in the wide neckline she wore, and planted a soft kiss on her lips. When she pulled away, she caught a glimpse of someone at the edge of the party. She let out a small gasp.
She recognized him at once. The broad span of his shoulders, his long legs, his thick hair. His confident stance, hands on his narrow hips. A shiver coursed along her neck. He looked like a Roman god. She couldn’t face him. Not here, not at a party.
The thought of him—and what love really felt like—yanked her back to reality. She took a step back from Ted.
“What’s wrong?” Ted grabbed her hand.
Her head was spinning with conflicting emotions. “For a moment, I thought I saw a ghost.”
He chuckled. “There’s nothing to be frightened about. I’m here for you now.”
She glanced over Ted’s shoulder, feeling the captivating draw of another man’s charismatic presence. Her breath constricted in her throat, and heat gathered in her torso. The memory of his touch flamed within her.
She dragged her gaze back to Ted. She would never feel the love for him that she felt for Marisa’s father. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Or to Marisa. Yet she yearned for the feel of another man’s arms around her.
How could she possibly pretend with Ted? She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, knowing that she was dashing Marisa’s chance for a father, her mother’s hopes for a union, and Ted’s abiding love for her against the haunting memory of one unforgettable night. But she had to. She couldn’t live with herself any other way.
And in her heart, she knew he would never fully accept Marisa. “Ted, I’m sorry, but on second thought, I don’t think we’re meant for each other, after all.”
Ted’s mouth opened in astonishment. “Cate, what’s the matter with you? Have you lost your mind again?”
“No, in fact, I think I just came to my senses.” She and her daughter could be happy by themselves. Or as well as they could be.
She stared past him, her heart pounding, but now she saw nothing. Where did he go? Had he seen her yet? I have to get out of here. She turned and hurried toward the house, skirting the patio lights and ducking into the shadows as she went.
As she reached for the brass doorknob that led to the kitchen, a man’s hand covered hers, scorching her with its energy.
“Caterina.” His deep voice reverberated in his chest.
She whirled around. Beneath a slash of dark eyebrows, a duplicate of Marisa’s blue eyes blazed into hers. The natural lure of his magnetism heightened her senses, and her pulse picked up. The air between them seemed charged with electricity.
Santo Casini was still dangerously attractive.
6
“What are you doing here?” Caterina cried. Of all times for Santo to reappear in her life, why tonight? She leaned against the rear door of her house to support herself. His mere presence had unhinged her; his attraction was instantly as powerful as it had ever been.
His sun-bronzed hand on hers rooted her to the spot, and a current crackled between them. “I have to talk to you.”
“I … I can’t.” She tore her gaze from the depths of his azure eyes. She saw her mother charging across the crowded patio toward them, slicing through the festive partygoers with hardly a glance around her.
Though Caterina loved her daughter more than life itself, she’d already made one drastic, irrevocable mistake with this man. However, despite her resolve, if Santo beckoned again, she would fall. Already her limbs tingled as if her will were seeping from her body.
“Caterina, I must speak to you.” Santo’s words were urgent. His musky masculine scent drew her in with every breath she took.
Caterina clung to the sanity of her pragmatic mind. He had avoided her many times before. What could be so pressing now? A thought sprang into her consciousness, and she tamped down panic. Does he want to tell me he’s getting married? She couldn’t bear to hear those words from his lips. “Please leave me alone.” Caterina spun away from him and flung open the door.
Santo called after her, but she couldn’t stop.
Once inside, she fled across the tile floor and sought sanctuary in the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, Caterina splashed water on her face, not caring whether her mascara and eyeliner trickled down her cheeks or not. She had run away from Santo, terrified by his presence. And before she’d raced into the house, she’d seen the anger etched on her mother’s face.
Soon there would be hell to pay.
She unbuckled the straps on her high heels and stepped out of them, wriggling her toes on the cool tiles, stalling for time. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she swayed to the muted music playing outside, her heart shattering as she remembered the last time she’d danced with Santo. If she hid in the house the rest of the evening, Juliana or her mother were bound to come looking for her. She couldn’t hide forever. She dabbed her eyes, trying to repair what was left of her makeup.
A hard rap sounded at the door, and she leaped back, stumbling over the mauve velvet fainting couch her mother had positioned just so in the large guest bathroom. Is that Santo? A basket of rose petal potpourri tumbled to the tile, releasing its scent as she hyperventilated.
“Caterina, are you all right?” Ava’s voice pierced the thick oak door.
“I’m fine. I was just a little warm.” Struggling to breathe, she knelt and scraped up shriveled rose petals and dried orange rinds.
“I’d like to talk to you, s’il te plaît.”
Caterina replaced the basket and stood on shaky legs. She leaned into the gold-framed mirror to inspect herself before facing her mother. She smoothed her cheek rouge and drew a ruby nail under her matching lower lip, wiping the slight smudge Ted had left when he’d kissed her. She fastened her shoes and then opened the door.
Her mother was a vision in a Jacques Fath white satin cocktail dress. Beyond her, outside the French-paned doors, the party continued. Where is Santo? She could see the Thornwalds sweeping away, with Ted lagging behind his parents, his hands thrust into his pockets. But Santo was nowhere to be seen.
Her mother’s eyes flashed with anger. “What did you say to Ted?”
“Can’t this wait until morning?”
“You must go back to him.”
“I will not. Besides, they’re leaving, Maman.” Caterina nodded toward the door.
“You’ve driven them away.” Ava clasped a hand over her mouth. “How could you behave like that?”
“Like what?” She folded her arms and cocked her head. “I wil
l not marry a man I don’t love.”
Ava pressed her temples. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to help you, Caterina?”
“What about what I want in life?” Caterina stared at her. And where is Santo?
“Don’t be so quick to decide I’m wrong.” Ava blew a puff between her perfectly red lips. “We’re women; we don’t always get exactly what we want in life.”
How well I know that. Yet she shot back at her mother. “You had your family and a business, Maman. Why can’t I?”
“I made the best of the hand I was dealt, from your father, to Prohibition, to the Depression when we nearly lost it all, to the war—”
“Oh, don’t be so tragique, Maman.”
“How dare you be so impertinent? We lost young men across the valley—Juliana’s Alfonso and boys younger than you. We all mourned them.” Ava’s voice sounded strained. “What do you know of hardship? Why, in Italy—”
Ava stopped, but Caterina latched on to her words. “What about Italy? You never speak of your life there.”
Ava’s eyes were like hard, glittering stones. “What does it matter? Leave it alone.”
“You’ve had your struggles, and I’ve had mine.” Caterina swallowed her fear. “I want to do the right thing now.” Whether it included Santo or not.
“You always do exactly as you please,” Ava hissed, turning around. “You always have, you willful child.” She wagged a finger in Caterina’s face. “You should marry Ted while you have the opportunity. You’re getting older, and you have no prospects for marriage. When do you plan to have children?”
Caterina hesitated for half a beat. “I have a child.” There, she’d said it. Her entire world slipped on its axis.
Ava inclined her head. “What?”
Her words burst out like a coiled spring. “I have a little girl, she’s a year old, and her name is Marisa.” Caterina watched as her mother’s lips parted in astonishment. Guilt surged through her. She should have confided in her mother long ago.
“No, no, no.” Red splotches dappled Ava’s chest, and she pressed a hand to her throat.
“It’s the truth.” She looked past her mother, but Santo was gone. Just like before.
Ava swiftly regained her composure and smirked in disbelief. “Oh really? And just when did this occur?”
This was the bitter anger Caterina had sought to avoid. She closed her eyes, struggling against a torrent of conflicting emotions. When she opened her eyes, she spoke in a flat voice. “I had her at the end of the spring semester. I told you I was taking an art course in Los Angeles. That’s why I graduated late.”
As realization settled heavily on Ava’s shoulders, she touched the wall for support. “You gave birth in Los Angeles?”
“No, in San Francisco, at a private maternity home.”
A pained expression crossed Ava’s face. “You were afraid to tell me. This is horrible.”
“She’s a beautiful baby. I’ll bring her here, Maman.”
“Who forced himself on you? Tell me,” Ava demanded, rage rising in her voice.
“No one forced me. It was … mutual. It was love.” Caterina glanced through the doors, but there was still no sign of Santo.
“Love? What do you know of love?” Ava’s trembling lips were rimmed with white fury. “Why, you reckless, wanton child. How dare you! You are ruined with Ted and any other respectable man.”
Caterina turned back to Ava and folded her arms. “I don’t care if I ever get married. I have my little girl, and I’m not going to hide her from you anymore.” She paused, summoning strength. “I need help, Maman.”
“You have shamed yourself, you have shamed me, and you have shamed Mille Étoiles.” Ava’s voice cracked. “How could you?” She huffed with derision. “You’re a stupid girl. I can’t even look at you.”
Though Caterina had known her mother would reject her for this—Ava had always warned her, hadn’t she?—her words still hurt, slicing through her heart like a scythe.
“You must adopt her out. You cannot keep an illegitimate child.”
“Of course I can.” Caterina straightened her spine, drawing herself up over her mother. “And I’d like to bring her here.”
“Here? Non! Don’t be ridiculous. You must get rid of her, give her to a family who can care for her. You cannot do this alone.”
“You did.” Caterina saw Nina behind them, closing the doors to the patio, where guests were turning curious faces their way as their voices rose above the music. “She’s my daughter, and I’ve been caring for her just fine—without your help.” She paused, still yearning for a word of comfort, a touch—anything from her mother. But Ava stood resolute. “Not that you’re offering to help, obviously.”
“No, indeed. You must go to confession at once.” Color drained from her face, and her eyes widened. “Is she Ted’s child?”
Caterina glared at her mother. “No.”
“Then who is the father?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She didn’t matter to Santo, so why mention him? Then Raphael would be involved … it was far too much to imagine. They were too incestuous here on the vineyard, removed from the village of Napa and the city of San Francisco, cloistered above the fog line.
Ava clutched her arm. “You must tell me.” Then her voice dropped to a strangled, feather-thin whisper that Caterina had never heard before. “It’s not Santo, is it?”
“And what if it were?” Caterina couldn’t look away; Ava’s face was stilled in the most tortured expression she’d ever seen.
“You’d be horribly … ruined. Anyone … but him.”
Why? Something in Ava’s voice signaled a dire warning. Why such a dramatic response? Why does she so loathe Santo? Caterina swung her head slowly to one side in disbelief and then came back to center. As she did, Ava dissolved with relief, clearly assuming that she meant no.
“Thank God. Who, then?” Ava demanded. “A boy at school?”
Caterina shrugged. Not exactly lying, not exactly telling the truth. She’d learned that from observing her mother.
“And he left you. Does he even know?”
“No.” That was the truth.
“Then do the right thing—get rid of that baby.”
Caterina watched her mother’s emotions churn through her. “No. ‘That baby,’ as you call her, is my daughter. I’d sooner cut off my arm. Surely you can understand that.” Caterina’s worst fear was unfolding before her.
“Insolent child.” Ava raised her hand to Caterina’s face, but caught herself. Her voice cracked. “She will wreck your life. Do not bring that baby here. I have no desire to see her.”
“That’s fine, because I will not subject her to your abuse.” Caterina bit back the hurt that enveloped her. She jerked away from Ava’s grasp and started across the room.
“Don’t come back until you’ve gotten rid of her.”
Caterina stopped and whirled around. “I’ll leave in the morning.” She clenched her teeth and strode from the living room, clattering up the stairs two at a time as tears burned in her eyes. Her heart seemed to splinter, just as she’d known it would, torn between Marisa and her mother. And where did Santo go?
When Caterina reached her room, she sank to her feet and collapsed against the wall in the dark, her chest heaving with sobs that racked her body. She had clung to a tiny hope, small as a grape seed, that her mother would yield, fold her into her arms, and forgive her. Isn’t that what their religion taught?
Caterina sat in the blackened room for what seemed an eternity. As the burnt-orange moon climbed high in the night sky, Caterina vowed that she and Marisa would survive. Without Ava. Without Santo.
* * *
Ava sat alone in her room. The party was over, and the guests were gone. Raphael and Nina had gone to bed. And Caterina might never speak to her again.
She turned over the dilemma in her mind. She could hardly remember a time when she hadn’t had to conceal the truth. As a teenager, she had nearly destroyed
her life, and she’d rather die than let Caterina make the mistakes she had.
Ava knew her angry outbursts weren’t productive, but she couldn’t help herself. She was a passionate woman, and it took every bit of strength she had to control her emotions and keep their lives and business on track. She was often tired and short fused; unfortunately, she directed her frustration toward Caterina.
But Caterina was no longer a child. She had grown into a beautiful young woman with the slender frame of a ballerina and brilliant peridot-green eyes flecked with gold that blazed with intelligence and curiosity.
And she has a baby.
Ava sank her face into her hands. How had she failed her? She had not protected her daughter as she should have. But why had Caterina acted so irresponsibly? What in heaven’s name was being taught at the university? Ava patted her face, drying her cheeks.
At least the father wasn’t Santo. Ava couldn’t have borne that travesty. Caterina must rise above the wounds inflicted on our family in Italy.
But how? What would they do now?
7
The next morning, Caterina caught up with Ava in the vineyard after her early morning church services, which Caterina hadn’t attended. She had far too much to confess, but then, so did her mother.
“Maman, wait up. We still need to talk.” Besides Marisa, she had to know why Ava hadn’t told her about her grandmother. Or had the investigator made a mistake? She hurried through the vineyard row, the sun already warm on her shoulders.
Ava turned and glared at Caterina. “You didn’t find it necessary to talk to me about your baby.”
“Her name is Marisa.” Caterina braced herself for another argument. Stalling for a moment to order her thoughts, she plucked a grape from a well-manicured vine, inspected it, and popped it into her mouth. It wasn’t ripe, but the flavors were intensifying. She brushed her hands on her dungarees. “I was scared and hurt. And afraid of what you’d think.”
Ava arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow. “You were certainly right about that. If you’d told me, I would’ve seen that you went to a good maternity home, had decent care, and arranged an adoption. We could have taken care of this situation sooner.”