So Marc had done exactly that. He’d studied hard, kept his scholarships and earned more. And owning this sax had allowed him to hold his own at a conservatory filled with overprivileged snobs with parents who threw money around. Marc may have been a scholarship student, but he’d been a damned talented one. He’d made it two full years before Nic had called with the news his father had died of a massive heart attack. One minute he was fine. The next he’d been dead.
Only after the funeral, after the finances had unraveled, did Marc find out how his parents had paid for his school.
By taking a second mortgage on the house.
He’d only found that out as his mother had been about to lose it, leaving the entire family without a place to live.
So he could study music.
By the time Marc shook off his shock, he realized the kitchen was so silent he could practically hear the sound of everyone holding their breath. He pushed himself up, unfastened the case by rote, buying himself time to figure out what to do with this.
And there it was.
Just as perfect as it had been all those years ago. His first new sax—not a used student version, but a professional instrument with the sweetest, most flexible and centered tone. The brass still gleamed. Whoever had packed it away had preserved it well. His mother most likely. She would know.
Marc ran a thumb along the bell, touched the key guard. His whole life had once been tied up with this instrument. Now he had no clue what to do with it. He only knew his sax shouldn’t be here, not when he’d hocked it long ago to catch up on the mortgage so his family didn’t wind up in the street.
The fact that no one had said a word spoke volumes. The only thing he knew right now was how much his response mattered.
Because his family mattered.
And he mattered to them so much more than he’d been able to deal with. Right now. Back then.
They probably expected him to blow up and storm out of the room. A few weeks ago that’s what he would have done.
He couldn’t face his mother yet, not when everything felt so fragile inside him. He looked at Nic instead. “How is this here? And how is this your best man gift to me?”
“It would still be sitting up in Mom’s closet if I didn’t go get it.”
“Nic,” his mother said, but there was no fight in her voice right now, absolutely none.
Nic spread his hands. “All right, I tracked it down.”
Anthony nodded. “We all bought back the ticket.”
“I saved it during the hurricane, thank you very much,” Vince said. “I told Mama to take it with her. You saved her life and didn’t even know it. She had the thing wrapped up so well, she used it as a flotation device.”
That broke the tension with a round of laughter.
“Why would you claim the ticket?” Marc had given up music.
“Because your father wanted you to have that sax.” Tears trembled in his mother’s voice. “He wanted his incredibly talented son to have whatever he needed to follow his dreams. It was the most important thing in the world to him.”
And what had Marc done with those dreams?
Nothing. He’d given up.
He glanced at Araceli, who watched him with big, dark eyes. That kid had moved mountains to follow her dream. But Marc had put making money to help out the family before everything else. Sure, he’d wanted to help, had needed to, but that had been an excuse, too.
Why had he abandoned what had been important to him—to punish himself? Because he felt guilty his family had sacrificed so much for him? Because he felt he might have been responsible for his father working himself to death? Because he didn’t feel worthy of jeopardizing everyone for his dreams? Because he was afraid he couldn’t live up to their expectations?
All of the above?
Or was he way the hell off base?
Marc didn’t know.
But he didn’t think it would be so hard to figure out why he’d been running all these years.
He finally met his mother’s gaze, saw how much she hoped right then. Felt how much they all did. Even Courtney beside him, leaning in close enough so her shoulder touched his hip.
Just so he knew she was there.
There was nothing he could say worthy of the sacrifices they had made, for all their love.
So he just said, “Thank you.”
Such simple words, but he meant them.
* * *
THE REVELATIONS OF the previous night had left Courtney reeling. After they had returned home, and Araceli had gone to bed, Marc and Courtney had sat on the back porch, where he had revealed the circumstances that had resulted in him giving up his private education. What he hadn’t said was as important as what he had.
Learning about his past had put some pieces in place about the man she had fallen in love with. The distance he kept with his family suddenly made so much sense. Courtney suspected he didn’t let people too close because he felt the responsibility for those he cared so deeply about.
Marc had proven how much he cared by his actions—financing his family, making enough money with his high-risk, high-profit career to see to the needs of everyone who had needed his help.
Unselfishly. Unconditionally.
How had she ever thought he wasn’t the same caliber as the rest of his family?
She had discovered that he was even more of everything she loved about the DiLeos. The kind of man who could be bullied into a search he had wanted no part of, then move heaven and earth to find a young girl. He had promised Araceli the moon to get her cooperation to return to New Orleans.
And he had delivered.
Their relationship might not be traveling a conventional path of friendship and dating, but the man who was slowly opening up and letting her know him was a man Courtney could respect, admire, trust. Their future would be exactly what it was meant to be, and she was determined to stand beside him and cherish every second of their right now.
Marc was officially renting the cottage, a formality on which he had insisted. She didn’t argue, although she had been there nearly as much as he was, popping in to visit during the days, bringing Araceli over for dinners at night.
Araceli had been spending a lot of time helping Violet prepare for the wedding this weekend, and on the nights two newfound friends had slept at Violet’s or Mama’s, Courtney had slipped into bed with Marc, eager to pick up where they had left off.
She had been at his side during every wedding event. Until now at least, when she sat in a church pew with her brother, her niece and Araceli, watching the action at the altar, where Marc stood beside Nic, looking so handsome, the most handsome DiLeo brother without question.
Her excitement was palpable, and she wasn’t the only one caught up in the love that filled the church. How could anyone not be affected when the bride and groom were beginning their married life together surrounded by so much love?
By the time the newly united Nic and Megan DiLeo kissed for the first time as husband and wife, their guests applauded enthusiastically and cheered uproariously, not stopping for a full five minutes.
There was so much goodwill and laughter that when the guests headed outside the church for the short walk to the reception hall, anyone within earshot might have thought they had crossed paths with a Mardi Gras parade.
The only thing that would have made this perfect day even more perfect was if Courtney had been at Marc’s side. But the best man escorted his niece Violet, who was the maid of honor. So Courtney hung back as the guests filed out of the church and stuck close to her brother, niece and Araceli.
Mac and Toni were disappointed Harley couldn’t be with them, so they had gone out of their way to include her in the events. They had brought a photo of her, which had been making the rounds all day.
Gu
ests posed with Harley’s photo, smiling cheesy grins. The photo had traveled on a riverboat. A streetcar. Through the zoo for family day. Through Harrah’s during the bachelor party. The photo had sat in a church pew and in a reserved seat at the reception. Meanwhile, Mac and Toni and quite a number of the guests snapped pictures, then texted the results to Harley with amusing captions.
Harley battles the privateers, and kicks their butts!
Mom hanging from the streetcar—while it’s moving. Gasp!
Harley bringing the groom luck at the blackjack table.
Courtney wouldn’t have been surprised if Harley’s photo got a dance at the reception.
But Courtney was the one surprised by an invitation onto the dance floor.
Marc showed up at her table, so handsome in his tux and the promise in his whiskey eyes that the horror of the search that had brought them together seemed like another lifetime.
He extended his hand. “I want to dance with my girl.”
Slipping her fingers into his, she smiled at Araceli and waved goodbye. Excitement made her tremble as Marc led her to the dance floor.
He hung his cane over his arm. “Don’t expect much,” he told her. “I’m good as long as it’s a slow dance.”
“You’re good all the time.”
His eyes gleamed with a look that promised to show her just how much better he could be.
Courtney couldn’t even imagine. She sounded breathless when she said, “I don’t expect anything, Marc, but I want everything.” Pressing against him, she savored the strength of his body against hers and followed his motion. “Lean on me.”
And he did.
With his cheek against her forehead, the rest of her lined up so perfectly against him, they moved to the music, their bodies alive in that unique way they always were together.
“Everything’s yours already.” His warm breath burst against her ear, sent tingles through her, a sensation she only felt in his arms. This man brought her to life. “I thought you knew that.”
“I do,” she admitted. “But I’ve missed you today. The view from where I sat wasn’t a bad consolation prize, though.”
She could feel his smile, knew he understood she referred to him. He pressed a kiss to her temple, a gesture that told her without words that he felt the distance the way she had.
“Oh, man. Look at you two.” Anthony swept past with Tess. “What’s next? The tarantella?”
“Yeah, right.” Marc snorted with laughter.
Courtney knew the Italian folk dance. She had actually learned the dance at Anthony and Tess’s wedding, where Mama and all the DiLeo boys had taught everyone the dance because no one could marry into an Italian family without dancing the tarantella for luck. That wedding had been another celebration that had set the standard for just how much love could be crammed inside a reception hall.
If possible, today might even push the bar, because love was everywhere Courtney looked, on every smiling face, in the laughter, the dancing, the toasts and the tinkling of silverware against glass that signaled the bride and groom to kiss often.
And each time the bride and groom kissed, Marc stole a kiss himself, not shy about showing his emotions.
No one had asked any questions about what was happening between them. Not Mama or Mac or the rest of the family. Mama had probably threatened them all with death by starvation if they opened their mouths.
Courtney would have to thank her.
Only Harley had dared weigh in with an opinion. She had chided Courtney for not keeping her bedroom door locked, then charged her with caring for the DiLeo brother who was the most loving and loyal of them all. Or else she would answer to Harley.
After she recovered from delivering the newest little Gerard, of course.
Courtney had promised, even though she thought Harley was getting way ahead of herself.
Still, she took to heart her relationship with Marc, determined to enjoy the moment and no longer afraid to hope for where the future might lead them.
And while she and Marc swayed together, their bodies deliciously close, she whispered, “You good?”
“I couldn’t be anything else with such a beautiful woman in my arms.”
She melted inside, couldn’t help but sigh. Content.
He chuckled against her ear, an easy sound that assured her he meant what he said. “I got down that aisle all right.”
“And to the reception hall.”
Lifting his head, he gazed at her, and the desire she saw in his handsome face stole her breath. “We might think about doing this one day ourselves.”
And just like that, their right now suddenly had a future, and it would be together, filled with so much love.
Tipping her mouth to his for another kiss, Courtney breathed one word against his lips. “Perfect.”
Because life was just that when they were together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TODAY WAS MY first day back to work. I had waited to start working again, so I could get everything settled. First there had been decorating my new room in Courtney’s house. I called her Aunt Courtney now because that’s what Violet called her.
Then there had been wedding planning and the appearances in the judge’s chambers and arrangements for school—I had decided to switch to a real school with Violet since we were both in the same grade. Then there were visits to the attorney who made arrangements for Mama and Paolo’s return.
I couldn’t wait to see them again, but the wait wouldn’t be terrible because Aunt Courtney and Uncle Marc had given me a special gift. All wrapped up in a pretty box with a big happy bow had been a cell phone that could make calls internationally with unlimited minutes.
They had sent one to Mama, too.
The gift reminded me of something Debbie would have thought of. Papa had said sometimes we had to look really hard to find love, but right now I could see it with my eyes closed.
Love was everywhere, and I was so very grateful.
I filed Debbie’s death certificate, after Courtney promised I wouldn’t get into trouble for not filing sooner. She said the judge would take care of everything.
We did get a surprise, though, in a letter from an attorney in Nashville. Debbie had visited him before she died to make arrangements for her estate. She had never told me.
When her death certificate became part of public record, the attorney had been instructed to contact me by my real name. It took him a few weeks to track me down, but once he did, he explained that Debbie had created a trust fund for me with what remained of her own trust fund.
It wasn’t a crazy amount of money, but it would be enough to pay for my housing and supplies for the whole time I went to art school if I got good scholarships. My angel. The only person who knew how much I wanted to study art. Even now when she was no longer with me, she still helped me live out my dreams.
But far better than the money was the long letter she had left, written in her handwriting and her beloved chatty voice I missed so, so much. She began with:
My dearest Araceli,
I always wanted a child of my own. From the time I was a little girl and wished for lots of siblings to play with until the time my darling David went home to heaven. God in his loving kindness gave me the best daughter I could have ever dreamed of. You. And I cherished each and every minute we were together....
She had touched me from heaven.
Courtney suggested I tell Debbie’s old uncle of her passing. So I wrote him a letter about how she had gotten sick and how peaceful her passing had been. I put a copy of her death certificate in the envelope, and Courtney had mailed everything. I also wrote a tribute about the amazing woman Debbie had been to let all the church people know she had passed after a long illness. I told them if they wanted to honor her they could ma
ke donations in her name to the church’s missions.
In some tiny way, I had helped settle her affairs with the people she loved, and I thought that would have made her happy.
I had always known Papa watched over me from heaven, and now I had Debbie as my angel, too. I felt sure they must both be sending me luck on my very first day back to work because I was able to set up my pitch where Papa had always set up his. On St. Ann’s close to Decatur Street.
“You might think to be so visible on Decatur would be best,” Papa had explained, “but people who sit for you will feel a tiny bit shy. They don’t want to be in the middle of all that craziness with the carriages and traffic. Right here is perfect. They can see lovely trees and flowers and smell the beignets.”
I was home again.
Only now a sign hung from my rack.
Art by ARO.
Ryan had sent that with me when we had taken my gallery down. Now I would proudly sign every sketch with my name.
Araceli Ruiz-Ortiz.
I hadn’t signed my name in a long time, so I practiced it in different handwriting until it looked like art and felt like mine again.
My first morning was off to a very good start. I was filled with memories of all the times I would sit in this square with Papa, watching the people pass by, all sorts of people—tourists, locals, workers, police.
Papa had taught me how to guess who was who. The police were obvious. Tourists carried cameras and were never dressed right for the weather. They wore shoes that were not good for walking or wore long pants on steamy hot days.
Locals usually rushed around on their way to wherever they were going, not noticing anything around them. They didn’t see the beautiful city. They didn’t smell the river or the lovely flowers that grew everywhere. They didn’t let the excitement that was always in the air touch them in their hurry, missing everything worth seeing.
The workers were easy to tell, like the police, but much more fun because many wore costumes. Pirates from clubs along Pirate’s Alley and Bourbon Street. Men in top hats and tails who drove horse carriages. Women dressed as wenches from the museums. Ghost-tour guides who carried scythes.
Love In Plain Sight Page 27