by Mary Campisi
She shook her head, more tears slipped down her cheeks, to her chin, landed on the neckline of her peach sundress. “Yes. No. Kind of. I just want the part I told him about me being the physical therapist to be true. But that’s not me.” Pause, a swipe of hand across her cheek. “That’s Gina. See what I’m saying?”
He dragged a hand over his face, focused on her words. Women were the most confusing creatures; they said one thing but meant another or they said nothing and meant something. Why couldn’t they just lay it all out there, so a guy could understand it the first time around? And better yet, say it in three sentences or less? “So, you want him to think you’re a physical therapist because…”
“It’s impressive. What do you think he’d say if I told him I did nails and facials?”
She must really like the guy if she was ready to create a persona that had nothing to do with the real Natalie Servetti. But why did she need to do that? If Robert cared about her, she should be able to be who she was. Roman considered this. Or…maybe not. This wasn’t about Natalie doing nails and facials for a living; this was about Natalie wanting to erase a past she regretted. That, he got. “You’ve got to tell him.”
Her voice cracked, split open with heartache and pain. “I can’t. He thinks I volunteer at the library and teach Sunday school. How can I tell him the closest I’ve come to the library or church was the parking lot?” Her cheeks turned scarlet. “In a car. In the back seat?”
Damn, but he felt sorry for her. “Maybe you can break it to him slowly, start with mentioning you dated a lot back in the day, and make sure you slide in the part about nobody being like him. It’ll make the truth a little easier on him.”
“Oh, Roman, we both know what I did with those men couldn’t be called dating. I stole boyfriends and husbands, and I never thought about what I was doing or why. All I wanted was the next fix, the next man to tell me how desirable I was, so beautiful, so perfect. But it was all a game; they used me as much as I used them. And you know what happens when you finally realize that? It almost destroys you. I really care about Robert, like, really care, and now I don’t know what to do. If I tell him, I’ll probably lose him, but if I don’t, then what? I’ll live every day wondering when I’ll be found out.”
“You have to tell him, Natalie. If it’s meant to be, you’ll work through it. I’m not saying it will be easy, but you’ll find a way to make it work.” Listen to him, giving advice on relationships as though he actually knew what the hell he was talking about. If he were such a relationship guru, he’d still be with Jess. Or maybe he wouldn’t have been with her in the first place.
Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes misted like she was getting ready for another round of tears. “I know. I do know.” She tried to work up a smile, managed half of one. “I need a little time. Robert’s taking me to meet his grandmother next weekend. She lives in a small town outside of Albany. After that, I’ll think about how to tell him.”
“Okay. Sure.” He heard the words, but not the conviction in them. How could he fault her for avoiding a conversation that could end her relationship when he’d done the same with Jess, for a hell of a lot longer than a week?
“I do have a favor to ask.” This time she did get the smile in place, a real one, too.
“A favor?” What kind of favors did a guy do for Natalie Servetti? That was a loaded question, but if she really had changed, the answer would be more straightforward, less dangerous.
“I want you to help me find out who’s sending men lace panties and pretending to be me.”
***
“You want us to help Natalie Servetti?” Nate Desantro’s face shifted to soot, his words spewing out in a snarl of disgust. “I’ll forgive you for asking, this time.” Another snarl, coated with more disgust. “Do it again, and I won’t be so nice about it.”
Roman raised a hand, zeroed in on Nate Desantro’s dark gaze, the flared nostrils, the twitching jaw. Yeah, this guy was pissed and ready to blow. “Hey, I didn’t mean any disrespect, I’m just trying to help right a wrong.”
“Right a wrong?” This from Ben Reed, Magdalena’s town cop. The man’s snarl was almost as fierce as Nate’s. “Do you have any idea what she did to this guy?” Those blue eyes turned to ice. “She almost destroyed his marriage with her bullshit shenanigans. There is no helping that pariah, you got that?”
“Damn straight.” Cash Casherdon clenched a fist, pounded it on the table. “She tried to put the moves on Ben, too, like he would look at her when he has Gina.”
“She made her bed,” Nate ground out. “Let her smother in it.”
Ben nodded, added, “She thought every man was fair game, married, engaged, dating… I say she’s on her own.”
“Yup.” Cash lifted his beer, took a healthy swallow, his gaze on Roman. “I say that sounds about right.”
Roman finished his beer, considered his options. It would have been helpful if Natalie had owned up to the extent of her “dating” before she asked for his help and insisted he include the other three men at this table in the hunt to expose the panty gifter pretending to be her. Yeah, it sounded like Natalie had a little more reforming to do in regard to what the truth looked and sounded like, as in, she should have told him these men might not be so eager to help her out, and she should have told him why. Still, he knew what getting blackballed and ostracized looked like, and that’s what made part of him want to help her. “Natalie screwed up big time,” Roman said, eyeing each man before swinging his gaze back to settle on Nate. “She was selfish, cruel, inconsiderate—”
“A bitch,” Cash Casherdon said with a cold smile. “A selfish bitch who hurt a lot of people and broke up a lot of relationships.”
“Almost broke up Nate’s,” Ben Reed added, his stare slicing Roman’s intentions in half. “We don’t care about her situation.”
“We don’t even care if somebody sends the whole town underwear with her name on it.” Cash leaned forward, both elbows on the table, and bit out, “We. Don’t. Care.”
“Okay, I think he gets it.” This from Nate Desantro who seemed the calmest of the three, a curious observation considering the fact that he was the one Natalie had done wrong. But Desantro was the type who sparked loyalty, like a general heading into battle to fight alongside his soldiers—fierce, committed, determined, a man of honor and integrity. He’d taken over the family business when his father died, gone without to pay his employees, tried to protect his mother from an interloper like Charlie Blacksworth, and, above all, loved and protected the product of the union he despised—his sister, Lily. Roman’s mother had filled him in on Nate Desantro and his many attributes, which, according to the town, had matured and grown since he married his nemesis’s daughter, Christine Blacksworth. Now they had a child and another on the way. According to his mother, the man was one of the most caring, empathetic, reasonable people in this town. Next to Pop, that was.
But Roman didn’t see anything caring, empathetic, or reasonable about the man at the moment. What he did see was hatred and disgust and a hardness that was not about to forget and sure as hell not forgive, no matter how calm he appeared.
Desantro pinned him with a look that dared him to say one word that wasn’t the absolute truth and said, “Why is it so important that we help clear her name? You haven’t been back to Magdalena more than five times since you left, and you’re only here short term if what I hear is correct. So—” the stare burned him “—why does it matter to you?”
He wanted the truth? Fine, he’d get it. “Because I know what it’s like to get blamed for something you didn’t do.” He met Desantro’s stare, held it. “My own father didn’t believe me. When that happens you stop believing in good and right, and you just don’t care. It’s not a good place to be. Natalie says she’s changed; maybe she has, or maybe she’s feeding me a line of bull. Don’t know, but what I do know is that whoever’s sending those panties has a sick sense of humor, or maybe they’re out to make her pay.” He turned to Ben Re
ed. “What if Natalie’s safety is at risk and you ignore it? Aren’t cops supposed to protect people?”
Reed’s gaze narrowed on him. “Are you saying I’m not doing my job?”
“Sounds like it to me.” Cash glared at Roman. “That’s exactly what it sounds like.”
Casherdon was a wildcat. He might be wily and leaner than the other two, but Roman would not want to tangle with the guy. “Come on; don’t make this into something it isn’t. If you don’t want to help, just say it and I’ll find the person myself.”
“We don’t want to help,” Casherdon said.
Ben Reed blew out a breath. “We don’t want to help, but we will. And if these two don’t, I’ll check it out.” Those blue eyes froze him in his seat. “I’m not having some city boy call me incompetent.”
Roman nodded, rubbed his jaw. “Thanks.” Wasn’t Ben Reed from Philadelphia? He could have sworn his mother told him that. So, didn’t that make him a city boy?
Nate lifted his beer bottle, took a healthy swig, and set it on the table. “That woman almost ruined my life and I will never forget what she did. I’d just as soon let her drown in her supposed regrets, but I don’t like this cat-and-mouse game somebody’s playing. Next time it could be one of us or our wives.” He met Roman’s gaze head-on, his voice determined. “My wife is pregnant. So is Ben’s. We are not bringing drama into our homes.”
“I get it. Sure.” And then, because he didn’t like the way Desantro had a bead on him, Roman tried to make a joke and turned to Cash. “Is your wife pregnant, too?”
The man didn’t answer, but the clenched jaw and bulging neck veins said Roman had crossed a line into a subject he had no business asking about. Later, he wondered if Casherdon might have reached across the table and punched him if Nate hadn’t stepped in with a distraction.
“There’s only one way I’ll consider helping.”
“Name it,” Roman said. Getting Nate Desantro’s approval was like getting an endorsement, and steering off the subject of babies? Vital to Roman’s health and well-being. But Nate’s next words told Roman that getting a yes from the guy wasn’t going to be easy. In fact, it wasn’t even up to him. “It’s my wife. Natalie Servetti almost destroyed our marriage and Christine’s going to decide what happens next.”
***
When Tess Casherdon made her way to the workshop and invited her for a cup of coffee and brownies, Angie ignored the sideways glance Nate Desantro and Tess’s husband gave each other and said, “Coffee and brownies? I’m in. Give me a sec.” She tossed her buffing cloth on the table, wiped her hands on a towel, and followed Tess outside.
“Ignore those two,” Tess said, shaking her blond head. “They’ll get their own plate of brownies and a pitcher of milk.”
“Brownies and milk?” Angie stared at Tess. “Those two? They look like the beer and pretzel type to me.”
Tess’s laugh skittered across the gravel path, landed at the doorstep of the log cabin. “Do not be fooled by those two.” Another laugh. “They do have growls, but they don’t bite.” She opened the door and said, “Hey, ladies, Angie’s joining us.”
Two very pregnant women sat at the kitchen table, one with dark brown hair, the other black. “Hi Angie. I’ve heard a lot about you.” This from the black-haired woman who smiled and said, “I’m Christine Desantro. Nate’s my husband.”
“Ah.” The pearls and haircut said high class. How had a flannel-wearing, shaggy-haired monster of a man like that snagged a woman like this? Angie nodded and slipped into a chair next to the other woman. Was everybody in this town pregnant, trying to get pregnant, or recently pregnant? She slid a look at Tess who handed her a mug of coffee and a plate with two brownies. Other than that first day, Tess hadn’t said much about having a family, but it didn’t take a psychologist to see the sadness in her eyes or hear the longing in her voice when she talked about children. Maybe one day, she’d have a child that wasn’t a four-legged one named Henry.
“I’m Gina Reed.” The woman next to her thrust out a hand. “Christine said Nate’s impressed with your work.”
“He is?” Angie swung her gaze to Nate’s wife, who sipped her milk and nodded.
“He danced around the subject the first few nights, but then he admitted you’ve got a way with a scroll saw and a sander.”
“Thanks.” Angie snagged a brownie, munched on it. “This is delicious. Did you make these, Tess?”
Christine and Gina laughed. Tess shrugged, hid a smile. “I’m what my husband likes to call a work in progress in the kitchen. I am learning, though.”
“Sure you are,” Gina said, picking up a slice of apple from her plate. “I think you’re on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, right?”
“Stop.” Tess set a mug of coffee in front of Angie and sank into her chair. “You’ll make Angie think I’m a total loser.” She leaned toward Angie, said in a low voice, “If you need marketing or promotions, I’m your person. I’m very good at it.”
“Okay. Got it.” Angie saluted her with her coffee mug. “So, if you didn’t make the brownies, who did?” She figured Christine Desantro might be the baker, but the woman shook her head and said, “Not me. Not Gina either, though she can cook and bake.”
“I don’t bake, however,” Gina added, her left hand resting on her belly. “Too tempting, especially for somebody who can plow through a plate of cookies and wonder what happened.”
So this was the woman Mimi told her about whose husband scavenged for sweets outside the house? Had to be her. That was serious willpower on Gina’s part and serious love on her husband’s. Wow, she couldn’t imagine caring enough about a person to sacrifice brownies, and she sure as heck wasn’t giving up chocolate.
“Nate made them,” Christine Desantro said in a soft voice.
“Nate?” Angie stared at the luscious fudge brownie on her plate. “Nate Desantro, the man outside who doesn’t smile or talk? That Nate Desantro?”
“Uh-huh.” Her smile spread, those blue eyes turned bluer, and did a person’s voice ever say I love my husband without saying the words with more feeling than this woman’s?
“Don’t you know once a guy meets his match, he crumbles like a week-old cookie?” Tess bit into a brownie, chewed. “It happened to Nate, and Ben.” She paused, her voice shifting. “And Cash.”
“Now that is truly impressive.” Angie bit into the second brownie, thought about Kate and Rourke Flannigan. Yeah, that guy had definitely crumbled when he realized he still loved Kate.
“No special someone for you?” Tess asked. When her friends gave her a look, she said, “I’ve got to ask since Bree isn’t here to hit Angie up with the point-blank questions.” She turned to Angie, offered a smile. “Well?”
“Nope.” Not on a good day. All gone. That ship has sailed. Hasta la vista.
“Oh.” Tess sipped her coffee, nodded, and said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Not even Roman Ventori?”
“What? Good Lord, no.” She coughed, coughed again, and fought to get a clean breath. “No,” she repeated once the coughing stopped. “The man is a pain in my behind.”
“But not bad to look at.” This from Gina who studied her with dark eyes that said she wasn’t buying the protests. Well, she should because there was nothing between Angie and Mr. Beautiful. “Not bad at all.”
“I can’t believe he’s spending time with Natalie Servetti.” Tess made a face. “Nasty.”
“Who’s Natalie Servetti?” This was better than the entertainment magazines under her bed. Glamor, intrigue…
“Natalie Servetti…” Gina began as though she had a mouthful of cookie blocking the words. “She’s my…cousin…”
“That’s right,” Tess added, her tone a bit too bright, gaze darting around the table like a fly looking for a place to land.
“I hear she ran into Roman the other day.” Gina’s hand inched toward the plate of brownies. Closer…closer… She shook her head and snatched her hand back in her lap.
“I he
ard that, too. Huh.” Tess shrugged and worked up a smile. “Isn’t that just the strangest thing?”
“Will you two stop?” Christine’s blue gaze narrowed on them, her lips pinched. “I know your husbands told you what Roman asked them.” The words sifted through the room, fought for meaning. “And I know they told you what Nate said.”
What were they talking about? Angie sat very still, trying to figure out what Roman Ventori had to do with these women’s husbands and especially what he had to do with Natalie Servetti. He was a busy, busy man. First there was the old girlfriend who’d come after him with sighs and tears in her eyes. And now there was a woman named Natalie Servetti whom Tess had labeled Nasty. The three women glanced at Angie who pushed out of her chair and stood. “I think I’ll grab one more brownie and head back outside.”
“No.” Christine held up a hand, motioned her back to her seat. “Nate says Roman’s a good guy and you seem to be the one who’s been around him the most.”
“Me?” Angie tried to push back the heat climbing up her neck. “Not by choice, you can count on that.”
“There are worse things than getting stuck with Roman Ventori,” Tess said.
“And don’t think he doesn’t know it.” Angie snatched a brownie off the plate in the center of the table, waved it at them. “The man is insufferable. God’s gift in jeans and an Oxford button-down.” The women laughed, sent her knowing looks, and encouraged Angie to spew more dirt on Roman Ventori. She told them about his father’s matchmaking attempts with her as the match, and Roman’s sarcastic comments, moodiness, and the old girlfriend who slobbered all over him… Angie told them all of it while she scarfed brownies and drank two cups of coffee. When she finished her tale, she scratched her head and said, “So, who’s Natalie Servetti?”
“That’s a story for another day,” Gina said, tossing her friends a look.
“Right,” Christine chimed in. “Today’s about you and your discovery. Natalie Servetti can wait,” she said, her lips puckering like she’d tasted two lemons.