by Mary Campisi
The tears burst from her like a broken pipe. Hard, fast, powerful. “But I’m just getting to know her.”
“I see that, and those are memories you can live on for the rest of your life. Real love makes the tough choice, the one that saves the child.” He met her gaze, held it. “What’s it gonna be?”
“But all that money, the properties, the houses…she’s entitled to her share.”
“You’re a smart woman, no doubt about that. You don’t know by now it’s not about money? It’s about living a life that matters, knowing that you matter, and that’s not counted by the number of zeros in a bank account. Angie’s gonna be okay, she’ll find her way, and maybe she’ll find her way back to the Ventori boy. I’m betting on that one.”
“Do you think he loves her?”
“I think he loves her so much he can’t see through his hurt right now.”
She swiped at her eyes, didn’t know or seem to care she’d smeared her eyeliner halfway down her cheek. “Can’t you think of a way for me to help her?”
“Yeah, I can think of one. Find a way for Roman Ventori to forgive her foolishness and admit he loves her.” Pop nodded. Oh, but he liked that idea. “Do that and it’ll be like giving her half your estate.”
Candace Prescott’s eyes sparkled with hope and promise, her mouth spreading into a real smile. “I can do that,” she whispered.
***
“Why’d you split with your girlfriend?” Natalie Servetti came toward him like sex in motion, stopped when she was an arm’s length from the park bench. The woman really had to work on toning down the hip swinging and hair flouncing if she was serious about reworking her image from sex maven to hometown girl. That he’d like to see. “Roman? What’s the real story?”
He dragged a towel over his face, flung it on the bench. “What’d you do, follow me?” His gaze landed on the three-inch sandals. “How’d you know I’d be running and end up here?”
She sighed, crossed her arms over her very ample chest. “You’ve been like clockwork these past few days. You take a run at the same time, use the same path, stop at the same place.” Natalie pointed to the bench. “It’s steady and dependable like you, Roman, and that’s why I know the rumors about you not wanting to get involved right now are just not true.”
Of all the people in town who wanted to call him out, Natalie was the only one who had the guts to do it. Maybe she was changing; he hoped so. Hoped, too, she didn’t wait much longer to tell Robert she wasn’t a physical therapist, and that she’d made some pretty bad choices that hurt people. Not that she had to lay it all out there for him with names and dates, but the sooner she told him something, the better the chance for survival. A guy does not want to get blindsided from the woman he cares about—one day believing they’re on their way to a future together, and the next day he’s finding out she’s been stalking him. Roman blasted that last thought from his brain, stared at the base of a giant oak tree. Chicago had trees and jogging paths, and enough noise and diversions to bury a guy’s crushed heart. Maybe that’s what he needed: diversions, starting with a change of scenery, like a place that did not live and breathe memories of Angie Sorrento.
“Roman.” Natalie perched on the bench next to him, crossed her tanned and oiled legs. “Talk to me.”
The woman was not going away but that didn’t mean he had to spill the pitiful tale of how he got played. Better let them all think he was a jerk than to feel sorry for him. But there was also the other piece he hated to admit: he was not going to expose Angie. Period. And he was not going to analyze the reasons behind that decision. “Let it go.”
“But—”
“Stop.” He turned, met her gaze. “I’m done talking about this and no matter how nice or how many different ways you or anybody else asks, what I said isn’t going to change.”
“Ah.” Her blue eyes searched his face as though she could find the truth there. Good luck with that. How the hell could she find it when he didn’t even know what it was? “You love her.”
“Natalie, that’s enough.”
She raised a hand, touched his arm. “Okay, no more. I get it; believe me I do. I didn’t come here just to talk about your relationship issues.” Natalie lifted the flap on her handbag, pulled out two pieces of paper. “A few tidbits for your reading pleasure.” She handed them to him. “I couldn’t wait any longer for Nate or Ben to find out who’s pretending to be me, so I did my own digging. That old girlfriend of yours is the one sending my panties around town, and she’s the one who sent them to a fifteen-year-old. Seems I can press charges if I want to; that’s what my investigator says.”
“Charlotte pretended she was you?” Roman squinted at the papers Natalie had given him. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she thought her husband was having an affair with me. I guess I’m the logical choice given my history and notorious love of lace.” She pointed to a section of the paper he held. “It’s not me. Look. Steven Simmons has been having an affair with Abigail Gooden, the town’s tax collector.”
Talk about still waters… Roman stared at the name on the report. Abigail Gooden had been two years younger than him in high school, didn’t wear makeup, attend dances, or go on dates. Looks like a few things had changed since then.
“Never would have guessed that one, huh?”
“Nope.” Charlotte had sent the lace panties? “That’s almost impossible to believe.”
“Well, believe it. I’m not the only one who’s a witch, or is that a bitch?” She nudged his arm, said, “That was a joke.”
He didn’t laugh. “Right. Any more surprises?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I just want to say one more thing about your old girlfriend. The woman’s a nut case, so stay away from her and let her drown in her own lies. She and Steven can deal with their cheating ways because it’s all on them.”
Interesting to hear Natalie comment on a cheater and the deserved repercussions. If Roman’s world kept shifting, it would land right on his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do that.” She cleared her throat, placed a hand on his forearm, and said, “I didn’t plan on saying anything because I thought it was all smoke, but Charlotte went to see Angie, kind of warned her off of you.” Pause, a dip in her voice. “Angie held strong but I guess it wasn’t pretty.”
Charlotte had confronted Angie? “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Why? So you could charge in on your white horse, rescue Angie, and toss Charlotte in a dungeon?” She sighed. “Angie’s a big girl and she can handle herself, so not like that weak-willed former girlfriend of yours who tries to defame a person’s name through lies and lace underwear.”
Roman did not want to think about Angie and the strength she possessed, or any of her other qualities. If he did, he might soften, might want to see her again, and seeing her again would make him want to touch her, be with her, forgive her…and damn it, that was not going to happen. “What’s the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
“It’s about Paula Morrisen. My investigator’s been watching her house for the past few days, snapping pictures, creating logs. There’s been some very interesting activity going on.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a few photos. “The boy’s definitely not yours, but look who’s with him? And look how much they resemble each other.”
Roman took the photos, studied them. The man and the boy shared the same jaw, same black hair, same lanky body, even the same fair skin. Of course he recognized Brett Carlisle, heir to the Carlisle auto dynasty. Who didn’t know the man or his family? The Carlisles did not tolerate accusations of impropriety, not when such accusations could be squelched and diverted to another sucker with the stroke of a very large check. Fourteen years ago, Brett Carlisle was heading to Princeton and nothing would get in his way, least of all a stupid mistake. Obviously, he hadn’t minded pinning that mistake on Roman, and he certainly hadn’t concerned himself with the repercussions of such a claim. After all, Roman w
as the son of a grocery store owner, middle class, not well-connected, while the Carlisles had money, connections, and power. No wonder the Morrisens clamped their mouths tight and headed out of town. “Do you have proof Brett’s the boy’s father?”
Natalie smiled. “My guy found one of Paula’s sisters who’s willing to testify to the family’s misdeeds and how the whole thing was a setup. Seems the sister hooked up with some guy who got accused of the same thing, and now she’s all about doing the right thing.” Her smile spread. “You know how those reformed sinners are.”
“Thank you, Natalie. You came to me for help and you’re the one who helped me.”
“That’s okay. You know, it feels good to finally be on the right side. And you did help me, more than you know.” She clasped his hand, squeezed. “You were my friend, and I can’t say that about many people. I’ll always owe you, so if there’s ever anything I can do, like talking to Angie…”
“There’s not, but thanks.” He worked up a smile. “Now don’t forget what I told you about your guy. If you want a chance with him, tell the truth as soon as possible.” He wished someone had told Angie that because it might have given them a shot at a future together.
So, Brett Carlisle and Paula Morrisen? How about that? Maybe Roman should let it go, but maybe he deserved a face-to-face with one or both of them. Later that day, he drove to Paula’s house in Renova, pulled up the winding driveway, and parked in front of a big, red brick house with black shutters and a wraparound porch. Very nice. Natalie told him Brett Carlisle had a pregnant wife and a four-year-old daughter back in town. Did they know about Paula and the boy? Doubtful.
He stepped out of the car, made his way up the steps of the colonial, and rang the bell. The boy answered and one glance at him told Roman the truth: Brett Carlisle’s DNA was stamped all over the kid. “Is your mother here?”
The boy hesitated, eyed him with a mix of curiosity and concern. Before he had a chance to respond, a woman’s voice interrupted. “Zachary, who’s there?” She appeared around the corner, an older version of the girl she’d been. When she spotted him, she paused, gasped. “Roman?”
“Hello, Paula. This must be your son.”
The blue eyes widened seconds before she rushed forward, her words spilling in a mix of agitation and nervousness. “Yes, this is my son.” She turned to the boy, said in a low voice, “Will you go check on Laurel? I’ll be up in a minute.”
The boy shot Roman one more look as if considering whether it was safe to leave his mother. “Call me if you need me.”
When he disappeared from earshot, Paula lowered her voice and said, “What are you doing here?”
“You’re not going to invite me in?”
She ignored the question, stepped outside, and pulled the door closed behind her. “What do you want?”
“Now there’s a question. What do you think I’d want?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Take your time. I’ve waited fourteen years for this. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.”
The blue eyes that had once begged him to help her with calculus so she could stay on the cheerleading team clouded, the lips pulled into a thin line. In high school, she’d been a fresh-faced beauty with a childlike voice and a gentle temperament. She’d been a doer: volunteering to head up the annual food drive, copy edit the yearbook, decorate for Homecoming, but nothing excited her more than her spot on the cheerleading squad and when she was in danger of failing, she’d begged Roman to help her out. It had been a gesture of kindness on his part because he felt sorry for her. And months later, she’d taken that kindness and used it against him.
“Roman.” She clasped her hands tight. “I didn’t know what to do…it wasn’t personal…”
“Wasn’t personal?” He stared at her, noticed the knuckles on her hands had turned white. From fear? Nervousness? “You stole my reputation, took away years of my life, brought a wedge between me and my father.” He drew in a sharp breath, spat out his next words. “How do you live with yourself?”
She looked away, bit her bottom lip. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand? You got pregnant by Brett Carlisle.” When she gasped, he said, “Yeah, I know. So what about that pregnant wife of his?”
She flashed him an angry look, snarled. “He doesn’t love her.”
“Right.” Roman leaned toward her, lowered his voice. “He loves you, doesn’t he? You and Zachary, you’re his real family.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Keep telling yourself that. You and Carlisle hurt a lot of people and for what? His parents didn’t want your kind marrying their son, and he was too much of a chickenshit to stand up for what was right. And what about your parents? I’ll bet they took a nice payoff. How does it make you feel to know you can be bought, that you’re good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to sit at the family dinner table at Thanksgiving, and your parents are okay with that?”
“Stop.” She shook her head and her hair floated about her shoulders, reminding him of the girl she used to be in braids or pigtails, doing cartwheels and roundoffs. Well, she wasn’t that girl anymore. “He loves me,” she said, her voice cracking. “He does.”
The door opened and Zachary stood in front of them, holding a young girl with black hair and green eyes in his arms. Carlisle eyes. “She wouldn’t settle,” he said, his gaze darting from his mother to Roman. Questioning, borderline antagonistic. The boy was protecting his mother, keeping their secret. What a burden for a child.
“I’ll be right in. Give me a minute.” When the door closed, Paula Morrisen turned to him and said, “Good-bye, Roman. Please don’t come here again.”
He thought about the visit on the drive back to Magdalena. Talk about messed up and secretive. Natalie had offered to have her guy dig up more information, said she could get whatever Roman wanted, but how far did he push and for what? Besides, what price did Natalie have to pay for this information? Roman didn’t want to know. Nor did he want to know about Charlotte and her schemes against Natalie. He was done listening to his old girlfriend’s sad tales of regret because she chose the wrong man. Did she feel that way because her husband was cheating on her and she saw Roman as an easy way out? Real love, strong love would have stood beside him fourteen years ago instead of dumping him. Charlotte had issues and he was not going to get drawn into them any longer. As a matter of fact, he was done with women for the foreseeable future, maybe longer than that.
When he pulled into his parents’ driveway, he spotted his father sitting on the front porch, newspaper in his lap, iced tea on the table. The old man’s color had come back and he’d been given the okay to head back to work a few hours a day. No lifting, nothing that would get him worked up…like worrying about his son. Roman knew his father wanted to talk about Angie, but for once, Sal kept his thoughts and his opinions in his head.
“Want a glass of tea? There’s sugar cookies in the kitchen. Still warm.”
Roman bounded up the steps, leaned against the railing. “Not right now, but thanks.”
His father nodded, adjusted his glasses. “Your mother said you’re planning on leaving soon.”
Yeah, he supposed they had to have this conversation. At least, it was better than the one that contained a certain someone’s name he would rather not remember. “Not yet. I’ll make sure everything’s in place before I go.” He zeroed in on his father’s face. “I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? I’m not leaving before you’re ready.”
Another nod, a jaw scratch. “I know.” He shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, and took on an I-wish-I-were-anywhere-but-here expression before he said, “I’m sorry, son.”
Sorry for what? Sorry he and Angie had split up? Sorry he hadn’t believed enough in his son after Paula’s pregnancy accusation? Sorry for the lost years? There was a helluva lot to be sorry for, but it wasn’t all on his father’s head. In fact, if Roman were really honest, he’d admit his own part in this mess he called his life.
He shouldn’t have stayed away from his family and Magdalena for so long, shouldn’t have married a woman he desired, maybe even loved, but certainly didn’t like most of the time. Why had he done it? To fit in with the rest of his social crowd, or because he was reaching the age to settle down and choose a mate? And Angie—why had he dived into a relationship with her and risked his heart when there was so much he didn’t know about her?
Stupid. Reckless.
“I never should have pushed you,” his father went on as though he didn’t realize that Roman hadn’t responded. “I got scared after the heart attack, like my life had an expiration date on it and it wasn’t ten years, or five, maybe not even two.” He gripped the arms of the rocker, said in a hoarse voice, “I didn’t want to die without holding my grandbaby and I know it was wrong, but damn, I was desperate and scared. It doesn’t help when Pop’s yakking in my ear about possibilities and plans. That man can make a blind person believe he’ll see again.” His eyes misted. “You and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a long time, and most of that is my fault, too. Your mother says I’m a stubborn old geezer who’d rather cut out his tongue than admit he’s wrong. She’d be right on that one, but then your mother’s right most of the time.”
“It’s all right, Dad. I get it.” And he did.
“It’s not all right, and I wish I hadn’t tried to play matchmaker to you and Angela. Maybe if you hadn’t been forced together, you could have done it on your own time. A cup of coffee, a chit-chat, who knows? Things could have been different; you might have found it in your heart to want a relationship again.” He shook his head, sighed. “That poor girl must be crying a river and a lake right now. I could see the way she looked at you the last time you were together. I’m betting she was an inch away from falling in love with you, or maybe it was already too late.”