by Mary Campisi
Those blue eyes filled with tears. “We knew, Roman,” she whispered.
Yes, they’d known they wanted a life together, or at least thought they’d known. Young, in love, filled with more dreams than common sense. He reached out, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
The single knock came first, then the door opened. “We need to talk and don’t tell me you…” Angie Sorrento barreled into his office, once again shooting off her mouth before taking in the situation. And what situation was that? Old lovers reunited? No way was he admitting that one to her, but it didn’t look like it was necessary because, from the way her gaze assessed the absence of personal space between him and Charlotte, she’d already figured it out. And then there was the cool, detached tone. “Hello.” She plopped a file on top of his desk, zeroed in on him. “Am I interrupting?”
She knew damn well she was interrupting and the look on her face that said curious told him she didn’t care. “Charlotte and I were having a private conversation.” It was his turn to zero in. “Closed door, which usually means don’t open until admitted.” Surely, she could figure that out. “Can you give us a few minutes?” Why in hell some eccentric would hire Angie Sorrento to replicate Magdalena was beyond him. The woman might do great work, but she did not know the meaning of boundaries or politeness.
“Oh.” Angie glanced from Roman to Charlotte, back to Roman. “Sure.” She hefted her small frame onto the credenza, folded her arms over a nonexistent chest, and snatched a copy of The Wall Street Journal he’d planned to read during lunch.
The humming came next. Low, persistent, embedding itself in his brain. Was she humming one of those lovesick, cheating heart country songs? Roman sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to Charlotte, who regarded him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Too many years had passed for him to still be angry with her for not trusting him enough and no matter how much she wished things were different, the fact was, she had a husband and two children, and a life that did not include him. “It was really nice to see you again.” He lowered his voice so the busybody in the corner didn’t hear and said, “I hope things work out.”
She worked up a smile, leaned on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Call me.” Another kiss, and a whispered, “Customer service has my phone number.” Then she was gone, taking her lilac scent and sad smile with her.
“So, what was that all about?”
Roman glanced at Angie Sorrento, who sat perched on his credenza, paper spread on her lap, and staring at him like she’d rather punch him in the gut than have a conversation.
“That was about it’s none of your business.” If his personal pain in the butt hadn’t picked that exact second to barge in, Charlotte might have confessed more than he should hear. Past was past, no matter how big a crater she’d left in his chest.
“That woman is on the hunt, and you’re the hunted.” She sighed, tossed her nest of black curls over her shoulders. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Roman scowled. “Charlotte’s a friend.”
“Charlotte?” Angie slid off the credenza and moved toward him, hands on hips. “Ah, the girl who ditched you the second you lost your golden boy status.” When he glared at her, she shrugged and said, “Mimi told me all about it. She’s a big supporter of yours, said you got cheated, and she doesn’t think too much of your old girlfriend either. According to Mimi, your Charlotte ran right into another guy’s arms and ended up marrying him.” She tapped a finger against her chin and said, “And now it looks like that guy lost his golden crown, too, which is why she’s sniffing around you. What do you think?”
“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about.” It wasn’t that Charlotte hadn’t cared about him, but she’d never done well in crisis situations. She’d needed him to protect her from the unpleasantness that often surrounded life’s lessons. All those years ago, his eighteen-year-old brain had believed he could be strong for both of them and that would be enough.
“I’m a stranger here but I know people, and I know what getting played looks like. Buddy, you are so getting played by that woman’s tears and whimpers.” She let out a sound that could only be classified as a snort. “Run. That’s my advice. Fast, or you’ll get reeled into the ‘why does everything bad happen to me’ and you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to fix a person who doesn’t want to be fixed.”
“And you know this how?”
Another snort. Had he ever heard a woman snort? No, he couldn’t say he had. “Life lessons. I’ve watched enough relationships implode with manipulative people and that’s why I avoid them.”
It was his turn to snort. “What are you avoiding? The relationships or the people?”
“Both.”
The answer didn’t surprise him, but the seriousness on her face did. Angie Sorrento didn’t want an involvement with relationships or people, and he’d bet that meant men in general. Either she’d been burned or had been unable to form anything that looked like a personal connection with a man. He’d guess the last one. Yup, that’s where he’d put his money. “Huh.” He studied her, noted the flared nostrils and the set of her small mouth. Yeah, this was a subject she did not want to discuss. “Sounds like you don’t have much experience in either, so why not keep your opinions tucked away in your brain instead of spewing them out like an oil gusher?” Roman crossed his arms over his chest, met her gaze, and challenged her to comment. She did not disappoint, but her words weren’t what he expected, nor was the smile.
“Do what you want, Roman Ventori. Rescue the woman.” Her lips pulled into a slow smile. “That is your specialty, isn’t it? Rescuing women in distress?” She laughed, flounced the wild nest of curls she called hair and said, “Only question is, who’s going to rescue you, because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one who needs rescuing from relationships with the wrong women.”
“Hah! I’m very capable of taking care of myself and my relationships.”
The smile spread. “Uh-huh. That’s why your father and Pop Benito are making a list of potential mates for you. As a matter of fact, I think they were working on it over ham and cheese omelets and a side of pancakes at Lina’s Café.”
Did she know her name was on that list? He guessed not, judging from the level-headed comments and near-calm demeanor. Well, she’d find out soon enough, and then there’d be fireworks…grand ones…and they’d be aimed at him. “Huh.” He was not ready to deal with an explosion from her, so he sidestepped it with another question. “How’d you find out?”
“Have you ever listened to a conversation between those two?” She shook her head, laughed. “Nothing’s a secret, not when it has to be repeated twenty decibels higher than a normal speaking voice.”
“So you were eavesdropping.”
She raised both hands, said in a tone that told him she did not like the accusation, “No. I was standing at the counter, trying to decide between a cream puff and a chocolate donut, and their voices sort of floated to me.”
“Uh-huh. And did they see you standing there?” Pop and Sal were no fools; if they spotted Angie Sorrento, their prime candidate for this matchmaking shambles, it might have been a set-up, so she’d think they were considering other women and not her. She’d relax and think she was safe and that’s when they’d come after her.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Of course they saw me. I stopped at their table to say hello. How do you think I know what they were eating?”
“Don’t get all huffy. I’m just asking.” Oh, yeah, they were definitely setting her up. He’d enjoy the set-up a hell of a lot more if he weren’t the other half of the equation.
“So, did some woman really send you see-through panties?”
Okay, this was not a conversation he was having with her. Roman ignored the question and the curiosity on her face and said, “You’re really nosy, do you know that?”
Big smile. “Hah! It’s true.” The smile flipped to a frown and a loud, “What w
oman would do that?” Her gaze inched from his chest to his eyes. “And why?”
She really did sound confused. Well, he’d enlighten her on the many reasons a woman would send him lingerie. And baked goods. Candy, too, like the three different packages that showed up at the front door around dinnertime. “I’m a catch; women want to let me know they’re interested.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re a catch all right.” The smirk on her face said she thought he was about as great a catch as a stick on the other end of a fishing line.
“What do you know,” he muttered under his breath. Her next words let him know she’d heard—crystal clear.
“I know when a guy’s getting played, and you, Roman Ventori, are getting played.” She shrugged and tossed more barbs at him. “That woman isn’t as sweet and innocent as she seems.”
“And you could tell that how?” Charlotte might be sad, even heartbroken and a little desperate, but the woman was still sweet and innocent; that hadn’t changed.
“Intuition.” He tried not to laugh when she pointed to her head. “And I saw the way her eyes narrowed on me and her nostrils flared like a rabid dog when she spotted me. She didn’t like that I intruded on your rendezvous. Humph!” Angie Sorrento crossed her arms over her chest, tapped her sneakered foot. “You know, the past has a way of blurring the truth, making us forget what was for what we want it to be.”
It was damn hard to take a woman in red high-topped sneakers seriously, especially when she was tapping that sneakered foot in staccato. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do that.” She jerked her head in a nod. “Now if we’re done discussing your love life, can we talk about how we’re going to work together on the replication of this place?” Pause. “Your father wants it, and you and I both know you’re not going to let him down.”
Chapter 8
The whole town was talking about Roman’s secret admirers. Some said they’d heard the rumor that Roman Ventori was available and looking. That prompted them to send their goodies his way: pies, cakes, cookies, jams, chocolates, two bottles of bourbon, and the much-talked-about see-through lace underwear that bore the stamp and the name of that hussy, Natalie Servetti.
Roman dragged the towel from around his neck, wiped his face, and sucked in a breath. He’d left the house before anyone was awake, in part because he needed to get his run in, but the other half had to do with the questions his parents had been hammering at him since the first gift arrived at their door two days ago.
Well, isn’t this interesting? Not one admirer, but several, from his mother.
And his father, Nobody ever brought me pies and cookies. Pause. I’ve got a taste for a slice of lemon meringue pie. Mind if we cut into it?
Pop Benito had stopped over, too, acted like he had no clue how Roman’s relationship status had gone viral in Magdalena, but Roman knew the man was behind it. This had to stop. A guy could only eat so many pieces of pie and stuff so much chocolate in his belly before he went into sugar overload, and the lace panties, courtesy of Natalie Servetti? Yeah, that was not really an announcement he cared to share with the whole town. Most of all, he was damn tired of seeing the sanctimonious expression on Angie Sorrento’s face and her overblown know-it-all attitude, as one gift after another poured in and she found out about it.
Who the hell was telling her? And why? He swiped the towel over his face again, blinked sweat from his eyes. It had to be his father and Pop, and it had to be because they thought he and Angie Sorrento had a shot at a relationship and a baby. Right. When hell froze over twice.
“Roman? My goodness, look at you!”
He swung toward the voice that pulsed with sex and lots of it. “Hello, Natalie.” If seduction had a name, it was Natalie Servetti. Toned, tan, and more beautiful than she’d been in high school, she stood a few feet away, her dark gaze making no effort to hide her blatant perusal of his person, starting with his neck, sliding to his chest, belly, lower still where she lingered before dipping to his thighs, calves, then back up again. “My, oh, my, you’re all grown up.”
Roman slung the towel over his shoulder, grinned, and took in the second-skin peach sundress. “I could say the same about you.”
Her full lips pulled into a slow smile that might suck the air from a less experienced man. “You could.” Pause, a flick of dark hair over her shoulder. “How long will you be staying?”
He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Depends on my father.”
“I hear you’ve got a string of women vying for your attention.” Before he could respond, she tapped a pink nail against her chin. “And I hear I’m one of them.”
He should have known Natalie wouldn’t be shy about telling him what she wanted. Roman pictured the scrap of lace in the black box she’d sent. Word had it she favored lace panties…or no panties. He coughed, sputtered, and cleared his throat. “About that gift…”
“Yes, about that gift.” She stepped toward him and a swirl of coconut melon invaded his senses. “I didn’t send those panties.”
Roman looked up, stared. “What? But the note had your name on it.” From what he remembered, Natalie had a reputation for not exactly telling the truth, but why would she lie about not sending the panties, especially if her purpose was to get his attention?
“I didn’t send them.” Her smile wobbled seconds before it fell flat. “I bet you’re wondering how I know what was inside the box if I didn’t send them, aren’t you?” When he nodded she said, “Because this isn’t the first mystery box that’s been sent with my name on it.” Her eyes grew bright, and she murmured, “Three last week, and now yours. They’re always panties, lace, see-through—” her words spilled out one on top of the other “—like the kind I wear. Were these black or red?”
“Red.”
She nodded, shoulders slumping. “Figures.”
“Natalie, why would somebody pretend to be you?”
The look she gave him said he ought to be able to figure that one out. “Come on, Roman, think about it. I know you’ve been gone a long time, but some things don’t change.” She paused and her blue eyes turned bluer, brighter. “Like reputations. I did enough over the years to deserve the town’s hatred, but I’m not that same person anymore.” She must have seen the doubt on his face because she clutched his arm, said, “I’m really not.” And then, “I met someone.” Those last words slipped out part confession, part prayer, part dread.
“You did?” That could mean anything with a woman like Natalie. “Why don’t we head over to that park bench and you can tell me all about it?” He didn’t particularly want the town gawking at him and Natalie, creating more gossip where there was none. The bench sat in a shaded area of the park—away from busybodies and too-curious onlookers. She nodded and followed him to the old bench that had been around since Roman was a boy. This one resembled several others throughout the park with couples’ names carved on them. Roman had carved his and Charlotte’s initials on the back of a bench several yards away. He’d wanted to do his handiwork in large block, on the center of the seat, but fear that his old man would find out and make him sand every bench in the park kept him from such a gallant display of affection. He turned to Natalie and said, “Tell me about this guy.”
Her eyes sparkled, her face blushed the palest pink, and her voice shifted, not the voice of a seductress, but that of a woman in love. He’d only seen that look a few times: with Jess in the beginning, with the guy who bought Roman’s Porsche, and of course, with Charlotte. “His name is Robert.” Hushed words, spoken with reverence. “He’s an accountant. I met him at a ballroom dance class.”
“A what?”
She smiled and shrugged. “A ballroom dance class. I took one about an hour from here.” She shrugged, lowered her gaze. “You know, so nobody would recognize me.”
“Oh. Good. I’m happy for you.” Everybody deserved a second chance, why not Natalie Servetti? Okay, so maybe it wasn’t going to be that easy for her, seeing as she’d probably wrecked a few relationships
and couldn’t just claim “do-over,” but what the hell? If she said she’d changed, who was he to question it? Though he might tell her she’d look more convincing if she lost the second-skin outfits.
“Of course, I can’t bring Robert to Magdalena.” She paused, bit her lower lip. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
Roman rubbed his jaw, considered this. “How’s that going to work? The man’s going to wonder about your family.” Or had she kept Robert the Accountant too busy with “other things” to think about family? With a woman like Natalie, it would be damn easy to get distracted.
She looked away, said in a quiet voice, “I made up a story. I told him I…was a physical therapist and had spent a few years in Denver, but just moved back to the area and had to wait for my license to practice in New York State.”
“Huh.” He scratched his head, studied her. There’d been another Servetti in high school, the quiet, studious one. Kind of plump, no nonsense. Hadn’t his mother told him she’d become a physical therapist? It was hard to keep the gossip straight, but he swore she’d told him that, and something about that Servetti marrying a cop. “Isn’t your cousin a physical therapist?”
Natalie expression turned to pure misery. “Yes.” Who would have thought a single word could contain such pain? “In all of my life I never thought I’d end up wishing I were my cousin, Gina.” She sniffed, sniffed again, but that didn’t stop the tears from spilling. Crap, he hated tears.
“You…want to be like your cousin?”