A Family Affair: The Secret; Truth in Lies, Book 8

by Mary Campisi

  Kate laughed. “You and Rourke have had your moments, but I’d say you’ve reached an understanding.”

  “Yeah, we stay out of each other’s way.” Angie shrugged, hid a smile. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s a lot to ask so close to Christmas, but I really appreciate it. Plus, I need you here to meet prospective clients.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” Kate clasped Angie’s hands, her blue eyes sparkling. She was so in love, so happy…so lucky. “The girls are thrilled for a chance to see New York in December, and Rourke knows how much I’ve missed you.”

  When Angie returned to Montpelier several weeks ago, she’d worked nonstop to complete the other two projects: the Heart Sent and Nate and Christine’s log cabin. If she stayed busy, Roman Ventori didn’t invade her thoughts, weigh down her soul with recriminations and regrets of how life could have been had she been honest with him. She’d thought of calling him once or twice, but then she remembered the disgust and shock on his face the last time she saw him. He would have nothing to say to her. How could she have known she’d meet the flesh-and-blood version of the man she’d fantasized about in the magazines? And worse, that she’d fall in love with him? Angie did not find handsome hunks with sexy smiles and eyes that could undress a girl attractive—ever. And yet she had, and the only person who would understand how scared she’d been to risk her heart again—and worse, to lose her heart to a man—was Kate. Angie hadn’t made it past two days back in Montpelier before she called Kate and confessed the whole, sad story.

  “Angie? Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Fine.” She forced a smile, nodded. “I wish we’d find out who commissioned these pieces and gave us this show, but the gallery manager says he doesn’t even know.” Angie made a face. “Rich people and their eccentricities.”

  Kate glanced in the mirror, adjusted an earring, and said, “Do not talk about people and their eccentricities because you might not have a boatload of cash, but you’re definitely in that category.”

  Angie laughed. “True. But who do you think it could be? I’m guessing someone from New York.”

  “Rourke thought he spotted Candace Prescott a little while ago, but that’s big bucks and serious clout. I wouldn’t know what she looked like, but he’s seen her in his finance magazines. He says Prescott is one of the most powerful names in New York, and she runs the family investment business so I seriously doubt it’s her.”

  “Yeah, not likely.”

  “It doesn’t matter who it is; all that matters is somebody saw the houses and fell in love with them. They must have visited Magdalena and fallen in love with that, too. Who cares who put up the money and gave our business this exposure?” Her smile spread, her voice burst with enthusiasm. “And tomorrow, when we meet with potential clients, we’re going to get more business. This could be the beginning of something huge.”

  “That husband of yours is pushing for a Chicago office, isn’t he?” It wasn’t a bad idea; actually, it was a great idea if the business could sustain the growth, and if tomorrow turned out as well as anticipated, they might be discussing a Chicago office. Still, Angie didn’t like Rourke Flannigan butting in.

  “He’s a good businessman and he likes to see me happy.” Kate shrugged, slid a smile at Angie. “There are worse things.”

  Like knowing you screwed up your chance at real happiness. “I know, but that man does not get to be in charge of everything.”

  Her best friend laughed and said, “Trust me, he’s not.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to run. I’ll come and get you in fifteen minutes; just relax and practice your smile.”

  “Funny.” Angie forced a smile. “See. Big smile.”

  “Great job.” Kate kissed her cheek, gave her a quick hug, and said, “Now make that look real.”

  She left Angie alone to try and relax and practice her smile and the small chit-chat she’d be expected to make. Ugh. What was the point of senseless chatter, and why were people obliged to participate in it? Angie had never been one for fluffy nonsense, either speaking it or listening to it. It wasn’t her style and she was horrible at it—h-o-r-r-i-b-l-e. She was so busy thinking about the many ways she failed at conversation and how she absolutely detested empty chatter, she didn’t hear the door open or the footsteps approaching, didn’t know anyone was in the room until a very male, very familiar voice spoke.

  “Hello, Angie.”

  She swung around and came face to face with Roman Ventori. She gasped, stared at the man who lived in her heart. He was more handsome than the last time she saw him, if that were possible, dressed in a black tux, the white of his shirt stark against his tanned face. His dark gaze was unreadable, his full lips straight, the brackets around his mouth, firm. “Roman?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and moved toward her, those eyes sliding from the tip of her fancy hairdo to the toes of her three-inch heels. “You look beautiful. Classy. Tempting.” His voice dipped and he finished with, “Untouchable.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “No one has ever used those words on me, but thank you.”

  Roman shrugged. “I’d say the same thing about you if you had on a T-shirt and jeans.”

  That broke her heart all over again. She did not want to hear such sweet words pouring from him, making her wonder if they might have another chance. It would be too painful to live through another rejection. Angie cleared her throat, clasped her hands together, and said, “Thank you.”

  “It’s just the truth.”

  The truth. The word pinged her brain, squeezed her belly. He’d accused her of not telling him the truth and that had killed their chances.

  “You’ve got a big group out there,” he said. “Dad would be thrilled to see what you’ve done with his store.”

  “I plan to send him pictures once the show’s done.”

  He nodded. “He’d like that.” Pause, a shift from one foot to the other, and then, “I see the Desantros’ log cabin’s out there. How did you ever convince Nate to agree to put his house on display?”

  Oh, but that was a story, though she doubted Nate Desantro wanted everyone to know about the kind, gentle side of him. He’d paid her a visit when he learned of her breakup and given her permission to replicate his home. That offer had almost made her cry. The replication was stunning, like the couple who lived there. Of course, it helped to have Christine Desantro backing her, and this is what she shared with Roman. “Nate has a very persuasive wife.”

  “That helps.”

  More staring. Why was he here? He couldn’t have known about the show unless he was looking for it. Was he looking for it? If so, why? There was only one way to find out, and if this had to be the last time she spoke to him for the rest of her life, she’d make it count. “What are you doing here?”

  Roman ignored the question, asked one of his own. “What if I told you I came because I couldn’t stay away? That maybe I was wrong about you, and these last few months have been pure misery, and no matter how far I try to run—” he paused, placed a hand on his chest “—you’re still here.” He smiled, pointed to his head. “And here.”

  She didn’t trust herself to interpret the meaning behind his words, not when she wanted it so badly. “I’d say I don’t understand vague references, and you should just tell me what you mean.”

  His gaze narrowed the tiniest bit as if he were trying to figure out if she were playing him, or serious. “Rourke Flannigan contacted me, said you were friends with his wife, and he wanted to talk to me.”

  Rourke Flannigan, her nemesis-turned-husband-of-her-best-friend? “What on earth did he want?”

  “He told me how he and Kate were torn apart, how they lived separate lives for fourteen years.” Roman moved toward her, his voice soft. “How after he finally found her, he almost lost her again.”

  Angie nodded. “All true.”

  “And he also told me you were responsible for helping get him and Kate back together, and he owed you.”

  “Rourke Flanni
gan said he owed me? He actually said that?”

  “He did, and he meant it. He told me a few other things, too, about how you’re loyal, trustworthy, and the best friend a person could have.” He rubbed his jaw, smiled. “Though now that I think of it, that does kind of sound like what people say about their dogs.”

  She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin. “Did that man compare me to a dog?”

  “No.” Roman laughed, his dark eyes bright. “I did that.”

  “Well, thank you.” Angie tried to hide a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment since I like dogs better than most people.”

  “I’ve missed you, Angie, and it took Rourke Flannigan to make me see I could keep my pride and fear of getting hurt and lose the one true love of my life.” He reached out, stroked her cheek. “I caved. I got the information about the show, called your father, and had a nice long conversation with him, asked him what he thought about his daughter living a plane ride away, or if he’d ever consider a move to Chicago. He was very agreeable to both.”

  “Roman? What are you saying?” The air in the room fizzled and made it hard to breathe. Was he asking what she thought he was? Could that even be possible? She sipped air, tried to remain calm.

  “Flannigan thought it was a good idea for you to move to Chicago, said you and his wife make a good team, and he had a few ideas—”

  “Damn that self-serving beast!”

  “That’s not all he said.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, met her gaze. “He said you had a good heart and if you gave it to somebody, you didn’t take it back. He wasn’t your only supporter; Sasha Rishkov had a lot to say about missing out and regrets. Something about that woman said she was more than a free-spirited, wandering painter.”

  “Yes, she was.” Angie smiled up at him. “She was my friend.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I don’t want to talk about Sasha or anybody but us right now. Kate’s going to come in here any second and drag you away for the rest of the night, and I won’t see you for hours.”

  “But I’ll be watching you.” Her heart swelled with love and hope. “I’ll know you’re here and that will make my world perfect.”

  “And after the show, maybe you can give me a private showing.” Roman traced the neckline of her dress. “What do you think?”

  “I think I like the sound of that.”

  His expression turned serious, his gaze dark. “I love you, Angie Sorrento. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you, and I will love you until I draw my last breath. Marry me, end my torment, and make me the happiest man on this earth.”

  “Yes.” She leaned on tiptoe, kissed him softly on the mouth. “I love you, Roman Ventori.”

  “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.” He pulled her into his arms, held her close. “Let’s get married as soon as possible.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And Dad is going to want that baby…”

  She kissed him again. This one deeper, longer, a pledge from her heart to his. “And we’re going to give it to him…”

  ***

  Thirteen months later

  Page 3 of the Chicago Nightlife Magazine.

  The caption beneath the photograph reads:

  Mr. Beautiful and Mrs. Gorgeous, Roman Ventori and his wife, Angie, strolling along Michigan Avenue with the newest edition to their family, Salvatore Roman. Baby Ventori joins his four-legged brother, Labrador retriever Oliver. Stay tuned for more from the New Darlings of Chicago!

  The End

  Many thanks for choosing to spend your time reading A Family Affair: The Secret. I’m truly grateful. If you enjoyed it, please consider writing a review on the site where you purchased it. (Short ones are fine and always welcome.) And now, I must head back to Magdalena and help these characters get in and out of trouble! If you’d like to be notified of my new releases, please sign up at my website: http://www.marycampisi.com.

  As you read this book, did you wonder about Rourke Flannigan and his wife, Kate? They’re the main characters in The Way They Were, Book 2 in That Second Chance series, but they weren’t always the perfect couple. They were young and in love until tragedy tore them apart…but fourteen years later, destiny will bring them back together. The Way They Were is the prequel to A Family Affair: The Secret.

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  Next in the Truth in Lies series is A Family Affair: The Wish. Bree Kinkaid is finally going to get a chance for her happily-ever-after with Adam Brandon from Paradise Found, Book 4 in That Second Chance series, but it’s not going to be quick or easy… You won’t want to miss the fireworks as one of Magdalena’s favorites meets Mr. West Coast. Should I mention he’s handsome, intelligent, wealthy, and an all-around good guy? (Oh, but he has a broken heart…forgot about that.) Guess that makes him a wounded hero in need of a second chance, and we all know Magdalena’s just the place for second chances.

  Excerpt from The Way They Were

  The Way They Were

  By

  Mary Campisi

  Dedication:

  To young love, true love, and the beauty of second chances

  Chapter 1

  “Once a year, I will pretend you are mine.”—Kate Redmond Maden

  Journal entry—May 4, 1997

  It has been six hundred and thirty-three days since I last saw you. When you left, I destroyed all the pictures of us—everything—first out of anger, then despair, and finally, fear. I didn’t want to remember the thick silkiness of your hair beneath my fingers, or the tiny chip in your bottom front tooth…I didn’t want to remember there was ever an us, but your voice, your touch, everything about you, has consumed me for almost two years.

  I’ve forced myself to wait until today to write. This has proved the hardest task of all. This is a special day—my daughter’s first birthday. Her name is Julia. Her eyes are just like her father’s—the color of a summer storm. She’s the reason I have the strength to write this letter and not mail it. (Where would I mail it anyway?)

  Where are you?

  Do you ever think of me?

  Do you ever wish things had been different?

  Clay is good to me and I try to be a good wife to him. I try. He’s an honest worker. A family man. He even changes Julia’s diapers and reads her Good Night Moon at bedtime. I pretend I don’t see the hurt in his eyes when he touches me and I flinch—not so much anymore, just a little. He’s always gentle, but he’s not you. Nobody’s you.

  How can I go on living like this—wanting you, thinking about you, wondering where you are and who you are with? And why you could not trust our love enough to get us through what happened? The pain is so deep I think sometimes it will ooze out of me and I won’t be able to stop it. But I have to. For Julia’s sake.

  Where are you???? You promised me nothing would ever separate us. Were those words only to get me into bed? I won’t believe that. I can’t.

  I chopped my hair off right after you left and dyed it red, but when I looked in the mirror, I still saw my mother’s face. I am not my mother! What happened was not my fault but you blamed me, didn’t you? And then you walked out of my life. I hate you—hate you—HATE YOU! That’s not true. I love you. But you don’t care, do you? I’ll never love anyone else this way. Not even my husband. How sick is that? Clay saved me and all I had to give him was one tiny promise. Never mention your name again.

  Not much. Unless your name was in every breath I took, every moment of my waking thoughts, every pore in my body.

  My tears keep smudging the ink and I can hardly see what I’m writing. But I still see your face, right here in front of me, as though six hundred and thirty-three days had not passed, as though I could turn around and you would be standing there in your old faded jeans and Rolling Stones T-shirt—as though everything were normal.

  No one talks much about what happened anymore unless someone new passes through. Then the gossips start whispering like scattered leaves. I’m sipping Chardonnay 1991, remember? I
plan to save this bottle and toast us once a year when I open this book and write you letters I’ll never send. I bought this book when Julia was six months old. I told Angie (remember her?) it was to keep track of Julia’s milestones. But the way she looked at me, she knew it had something to do with you. Somehow, she always knew.

  I waited six more months to write in it—six, long, tempting months. But there was Julia to think about. And what good would it have done anyway? So I hid the journal in the back of my closet, inside a shoebox, and spent the next several months devising a plan. I’d dig it out on Julia’s first birthday while she was taking her afternoon nap, and the cake was in the oven, and the chicken was marinating for the dinner I’d planned for Clay’s parents. I’d lock the bedroom door and pour myself a glass of Chardonnay from the bottle tucked away in the closet behind my dresses. Then I’d sprawl on the bed and ease open the first blank page. And dream about how life could have been. If you hadn’t left me.

  It’s the only way I can survive the years to come. Once a year I’ll permit myself to think of you, not in anger and hatred, but with the truth—with a love that cries for you, hurts for you, and a memory that stops with the last time we made love and erases the blood-stained sheet covering your mother’s body. Once a year, I will pretend you are mine. And it will be enough. It will have to be.

  ***

  Fourteen years later.

  Kate Maden watched her husband rifle through the dresser drawer in search of his Syracuse T-shirt. He called it his lucky shirt, but Kate knew a tattered orange and blue T-shirt had nothing to do with Clay’s success. Hard work and a will as strong as his twenty-two-inch biceps were what made Clay Calhoon Maden “lucky,” but there was no use telling him that.

  “Aha!” He yanked the T-shirt from the drawer and tossed it on the bed, then pulled open a second drawer.