Hope felt her cheeks heating to a nice shade of crimson. “He’s been wonderful.”
“I’ve never seen him like this. He and Vincent are even getting along better.” Her blue eyes brightened with the mention of her husband. Tracy lifted a brow. “I’m not trying to pry into your personal life, but you really settle him, Hope. It’s a nice look on him. I just . . . never in a million years did I ever expect to see the day when my brother-in-law would be taking a couples prenatal yoga class.”
“I never thought I’d be taking a prenatal anything either. We’re both completely out of our element.” Hope realized she’d implied that he and she together equaled a we. “It’s still difficult for me to accept the idea that I’m going to be a mother to this baby. Antonio has a way of making me feel more comfortable in my own skin.”
“Does that mean—?”
Tracy’s question was cut short by Hope’s phone vibrating on her desk. Before she could even read the text, Tracy’s phone chirped inside her tote sitting on the floor beside her chair.
I need you at the vineyard.
Would you please come over to the old tasting room asap?
A chill ran through her, studying Antonio’s text. Ignoring the icy twist in her gut, Hope moved to her feet. “Hmm, apparently I’m needed at the vineyard.”
“Me too. Vincent just sent me a text asking me to meet him over there. Maybe they have good news about their meetings today.” Tracy hitched the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Days like these, when Vincent gets to spend the entire day in the field, constitute as the best days ever. He loves getting his hands dirty.” She paused at the door. “We should have dinner together.”
Hope followed right behind, re-reading the text. Something seemed . . . abrupt. Without thinking she muttered, “Antonio mentioned that Vincent doesn’t like to hang out . . . as couples.”
“He said that?”
Hope nodded walking out the door.
“Maybe it’s time we change that.”
Part of her struggled with the fact that Tracy was her boss and a woman who she’d become very fond of. At first, Hope assumed it was because Tracy reminded her of Faith, but the more time they spent together, she truly enjoyed her company. Tracy was incredibly intelligent yet grounded with common sense. “I think Antonio would really like that.”
Most group tours visiting the Giovanni Estates were directed to the newer, more modern, tasting room at Amore Mio Winery. However, some smaller groups and walk-in tourists preferred to visit the more intimate ambiance of The Giovanni Vineyard. The public areas had been rejuvenated with a fresh coat of paint and new furnishings, but the history remained, displayed in the dozens of family photographs artfully hung on the brick wall, offering guests a glimpse into their heritage.
Hope and Tracy drove their own vehicles, meeting up again at the front reception area. Hope’s typically long stride began to taper at the end of the day, her stance widening into a bit of a waddle as they made their way inside.
Voices filtered through the long brick corridor. Hope’s heart seized in her chest hearing an obnoxiously familiar cackle. Her knees locked standing outside the open double doors. She could barely make out her mother’s phony flamboyant laughter over the blood-rush pounding in her ears.
“Are you okay?”
Everything slowed to a crawl. Crippled by dread and loathing, she trembled all over. The sensations of her surroundings were moving too slowly making her feel dizzy and weak, like she was in a bad dream. A fucking nightmare. Hope didn’t want to go inside.
She nervously raked her fingers through her hair. “I think my fucking mother is in there.”
Tracy opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut. The concern mounting in her eyes grew each time she attempted to say something. Finally, she managed, “I take it that’s a bad thing.”
“It’s a very bad thing.”
Tracy clasped her by the elbow, steadying her sway. “Hope, you’re turning white. I think you need to sit down.”
“I’m okay,” she assured, her voice nothing more than a murderous growl.
Pushing down her immediate erratic response of bolting through the door and ripping her mother’s head off, Hope began pacing in a circle like a caged animal. Why on earth is she here? What does she want? Hope swept the back of her hand across her forehead to get rid of the sweat.
“Tracy, I’m just going to warn you, my mother’s crazy. So no matter what happens, I’ll try to get her out of here as fast as possible.”
“Hey, it’s not a problem.” Tracy reached down and took Hope’s hand, giving it a jiggle until their gazes met. “Do what you need to do, but you need to calm down. It’s not good for the baby for you to be this upset. I can have her escorted out, if you want.”
Hope neither accepted nor denied the offer. Straightening her stance, she drew in several cleansing breaths, slowing the adrenaline that pumped through her veins. Giving Tracy a brief nod, she entered the room.
Her mother sat, tan legs folded perfectly to expose as much of her thigh as possible, between Vincent and Antonio with an unlit cigar settled into the V of her fingers. Her long bleached-blond hair fell in loose curls to the middle of her back. The sound of her pretentious laughter sent an embarrassing shrill down Hope’s spine.
Spotting Hope out of the corner of her eye, her mother spun in her chair. Her overly-decorated wrist clanked and jingled, ostentatiously tossing her hair over her shoulder. “There she is. Oh! My! Gawwd! Look at you.”
Tracy released a hushed gasp as Hope’s mother scooted from her seat, her mini-dress, which appeared to have been purchased from the junior department, inched beyond the top of her thighs, flashing the entire room. Hope instinctually cradled her stomach, as if protecting her unborn baby from the sight. She was certain that Tracy was praying to the vagina Gods, thankful there were no patrons at the far end of the room.
“As if she hasn’t shown that to enough people already,” Hope seethed under her breath.
Her mother’s boobs bounced wildly as she trotted toward Hope. The room’s collective gaze turned to watch, but Hope wasn’t going to put on the show her mother wished for.
“Don’t even think about it,” Hope bit out through gritted teeth, lifting her palm as a clear warning. “What are you doing here?”
“Now, what kind of way is that to greet your mother after she’s flown half way around the world to visit her only living daughter?”
The arrogance in her mother’s tone turned Hope’s insides to ice. She felt a strong, uncontrollable urge to protect the child growing inside, knowing that if her mother even tried to touch her belly, she’d rip her limb from limb. Her arms hung at her sides, fists curled into tight balls, nails cutting into the fleshy pad of her palms. Hope glared at her mother with a stone-cold expression.
“Let’s take this into another room.”
Antonio watched the train wreck from over his shoulder with a frigid, stone-like expression. Hope could feel the weight of his incensed mood from across the room. Heat stung the back of her eyes. She knew she’d have some explaining to do. Though, she never lied outright, she’d let him believe her mother was dead. Witnessing the hurt and distrust strung tightly in his jaw brought memories of the night he came to her apartment after finding out she was pregnant, flooding her mouth with saliva.
“There’s plenty of time for that after I finish my wine.”
Hope started to disagree, but her mother had already bolted back to her seat. Anger gathered force, her lips pressed into a thin firm line. Antonio’s stare bore straight through her, scrutinizing every emotion, dissecting them one at a time. Hope’s entire past was right there on display, scars of her childhood written on her face; embarrassment, hurt, anger, insolence, detachment. There was no place for her to hide; he was trampling through every single bit of it.
His brows tugged together creating a deep crevasse, watching as she drew in a deep breath, and then another, attempting to slow her rushed breathing. Before she k
new it, he was standing right in front of her.
Staring blindly at his shirt front, she blinked back the waterworks welling behind her eyes. Antonio captured one of her wrists, laying his fingers along the pale thin skin, testing her distress.
She stared up at him with soft contrite eyes, silently pleading for him to understand, her voice nearly inaudible, “I’m sorry.”
“We’re going to talk about this later, but right now you need to sit down before you fall down.” His harsh tone, unwavering, was like a jab to the ribs.
Unknotting her fingers, he took her hand in his and escorted her to the bar. With a quick wave of his hand, Antonio called for a bottle of water. There was no way to prepare for the disaster that was about to ensue, so Hope figured it would be best if she could at least make an effort to control the mayhem.
“Antonio, Tracy, Vincent . . .” Hope colored with shame. She waved a shaky hand between the couples. “This is my mother, Cindy.”
“It’s Cynthia,” she corrected in a chiding tone, while taking notice of the way Antonio held Hope’s hand.
“Whatever. This is my mother Cynthia.” Hope’s voice was laden with offense. Ancient old pain and rage, blended with fury creating a very dangerous concoction. How dare her mother just show up on her doorstep . . . halfway around the world.
Something was wrong, very wrong.
“Why, Hope—” Her mother suddenly came down with a southern drawl, oozing with enough sweetness to fill her honey jar for a year. “—a person’s name has a powerful impact on people.”
“By people—” Hope curled her fingers making quote symbols. “—she means men.”
The muscles on her mother’s face remained perfectly smooth, but steam began to build in her eyes. Beneath the layers of foundation and paint and plastic surgery, the woman from her past appeared older and weathered, like someone who’d spent a lifetime in the desert sun. The scent of stale cigarettes and cheap floral perfume turned Hope’s stomach.
“A name, said correctly, solidifies an initial positive impression. A person’s name is the only way people identify you. It’s a powerful impact.”
“Believe me, you definitely make a first impression.”
“Now, don’t be souring Antonio’s impression of me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Warding off a full-body embrace, Antonio offered his hand, but Cynthia denied his cordial hello, slinking her body tight to his, wrapping her arms around his wide shoulders. Loosening her grip, she eased back so the shelf of her breasts were on full display. She pushed her index finger against his chest as if she were summoning an elevator, before swatting at him playfully like a school girl. “You scoundrel. You didn’t tell me you were Hope’s boyfriend. I can tell these things, you know.”
The man behind the bar set a glass of water in front of Hope and she gulped it down, praying it would wash away the nightmare standing beside her.
“Maybe the stories I heard were all wrong. Maybe this baby isn’t even Faith and Ryan’s.”
“His name was Riley,” Hope boomed. Her heartbeat nearly exploded in her chest. The baby kicked her in the ribs causing her to suck in a sharp hiss of air and readjust her posture. Antonio rubbed his hand along her shoulders, crowding her closer to his side.
Tracy gently intervened, making an effort to ease the growing tension. “How did you come up with the names Hope and Faith?”
“I’m a church-going woman. Both their fathers just up and left when I was nine months pregnant, drove off in the middle of the night. Sometimes Hope and Faith are all a woman has.”
Turning her back on her mother, Hope rolled her eyes in disgust. Her mock whisper just loud enough for her mother to hear. “I’m pretty sure she was trying to seduce a priest.”
Cynthia drew in a small breath, choking on the small gasp, wisely opting to ignore the dig.
“Now that we’ve got the introductions out of the way, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see how you and Faith’s baby are doing. I came to help my grandchild.”
“Help?” The word knifed through her, leaving Hope breathless. She sprang from her chair grabbing her mother by the arm. “We’re taking this outside.”
Antonio stood, moving his hand along her back, indicating he was coming with her. Hope couldn’t see him through her flare of anger. Her vision distorted by a red haze of pulsing fury.
“My mother and I need a few minutes. Alone.” Her forged smile felt like breaking glass. One wrong move and she’d fall to pieces, cutting sharply on the way down.
“Not a chance in hell,” Antonio replied.
“But I’m not done with my wine.”
“I’ll make sure you have a bottle to take with you when you leave.” Antonio’s persistence was inexorable, holding out his arm, insisting Cynthia move from her seat.
He led them through the corridors to his office at the end of the north wing. Cynthia talked the entire time, rambling on, fabricating dreamy visions of Hope’s childhood. Her mother’s perception of the truth was absolutely ludicrous and total bullshit.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s a good thing this baby will have Faith’s genes. She was much easier to raise than Hope.” Cynthia’s voice was condescending, as if scolding a small child. “Well, with all your issues, you were always the difficult one.”
Standing outside Antonio’s office, Hope glared at her mother, asking darkly, “Exactly what kind of issues are you referring to?”
Her mother brushed up against Antonio as he ushered them inside, rolling her eyes in commiseration. “I’m guessing she probably hasn’t told you about her . . . mental issues. This one was always good at hiding things.”
Hope sat in one of the antique winged leather chairs. Propping her elbow on his desk, her head sagged into her palm as her fingers turned small circles at her temples. “You mean the mental issues you made up so you could try and medicate me when I was little? The mental issues that even the doctor said didn’t exist? The ones that you couldn’t get a prescription for so you bought them from a dealer on the street and tried to drug me with? Are those the mental issues you’re referring to?”
“You see what I’m talkin’ about? This one lies about—”
“Cynthia,” Antonio interrupted sternly. Beneath his calm exterior, a fierce protectiveness darkened his grey eyes. “Have a seat.”
Cinching the satin material beneath her armpits, Cynthia hiked up her dress a bit, before sitting in a chair identical to Hope’s. Antonio took his place beside Hope, keeping at least one hand on her body at all times. The light pressure made her feel safe and protected.
It was a feeling she’d never experienced.
A feeling she welcomed for her and the baby.
A feeling she feared was about to disappear.
As her mother crossed one leg over the other, bile rose in Hope’s throat, knowing Antonio shared the same view. Anger laddered up her spine, filling her with rage.
“All those years you couldn’t even bother to drive across the state line to see us, so why have you come all the way to Italy?” Her tone was direct and unforgiving. “What do you want, Mother?”
“I came to check on Faith’s baby.” Glancing down at her hand resting on her thigh, Cynthia straightened her fingers inspecting a fresh manicure. “You don’t know anything about having a baby. I figured I’d stay here until you deliver and then I’ll take it home and take care of it. I am its grandmother.”
Hope felt Antonio’s grip tighten on the tip of her shoulder. Out of all the things Hope could’ve imagined coming out of her mother’s mouth, this was unforeseeable.
“Like hell you will. You won’t be taking anything. You might as well crawl back in the hole—”
“You’ll have nothing to do with this baby,” Antonio promised, his low murderous tone, dark and threatening.
Too stunned to speak, Hope remained silent, a dozen thoughts pummeling her brain. First and foremost, the desperate urge to protect and defend her
baby. She sat tall, squaring her shoulders, crossing her arms over her belly as a shield.
My baby.
“Well, now, that’s not really for you to decide.” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed to slits, casting a penetrating stare. Evil intentions distorted her reserved face. “Faith would’ve wanted me to raise this baby.”
A hard twitch jolted Hope’s entire upper body, unnerved by her mother’s complacency. An old fury, one she’d buried for years, licked its way through her veins like molten lava. Hope inched to the edge of her chair. “Faith wouldn’t have let you near this baby. You sold her out. Remember?”
“Don’t start with those lies again, little girl.”
Something about the loathing in her mother’s tone drew shivers up her spine.
“Why on earth would you think—” Anger splintered and flashed like a warning beacon. “This is about the money, isn’t it?”
Faith and Riley’s combined life insurances totaled one million dollars. Her mother had a way of using her best assets to get blood out of a turnip . . . or any insecure male. It wouldn’t have been difficult for her to research how much life insurance a fireman carries.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to me,” she replied, appalled innocence suffocated her typical over-the-top reaction.
“It’s not nice or pretty, but it’s the truth. He threw you out, didn’t he? Your latest fiancé.”
“Earl has nothing to do with this.” Flipping her hand in the air condescendingly. “I’ll love this baby and give it a proper upbringing.”
“Love—” Hope snapped, drawing in a harsh breath. “You’re incapable of love.” She shook her head in disgust. “You really are crazy.”
“All your friends thought you had it so easy, remember?”
“I remember raising my little sister because you were never home.”
“Don’t act all high-and-mighty now. You had it easy, little girl.” Scoffing indignantly, a bit of white rolled behind her mother’s false lashes. “Every kid in the neighborhood wished they had your mother.”
“After the age of fifteen, half of them did,” Hope snarled. “I didn’t have a mother. You were nonexistent.”
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