America's Star-Crossed Sweethearts

by Jackie Braun

  I love you.

  The words were on the tip of her tongue, begging to be said. She wasn’t sure he would want to hear them, though, so she kept them to herself as she lay next to him in the dark.

  She thought Angelo had dozed off until she heard him say, “You’re quiet.”

  “Speechless is the better word.”

  He rose on his elbow and studied her in the dim light. “Was it…okay for you? You seemed…hesitant.”

  She stilled. “I did?”

  “Just a little. And only at first.”

  The old Atlanta, weighted down with sexual hang-ups, would have excused herself and hidden away in the bathroom, mortified. The new Atlanta rolled on top of him, determined that whatever memories he took away from their time in Italy would be positive. Those were the only kind she wanted to have as well.

  “Let’s see what you think this time.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE sun was up when Angelo woke. He stretched and reached for the woman who was responsible for the smile curving his lips. His hands found only cool sheets. He opened his eyes. The room was empty. A breeze wafted through the open windows bringing in the clean, earthy scents of the countryside. He preferred the lingering scent of the woman who was absent. He dressed and went downstairs to find her.

  Atlanta was seated at the table outside, having espresso and reading another script. The cobblestones were strewn with leaves and debris, signs of the previous night’s storm. She looked…peaceful. She smiled when she saw him, her expression at once that of the seductress and the ingénue.

  “I was wondering when you were going to wake up. Sleep well last night?”

  “I did.” Partly because she’d been there beside him. He walked to where she sat and dropped a kiss on her mouth. “I liked being awake even better.”

  She flushed. “Me, too.”

  He took the chair opposite hers and nodded to the papers in her hand. “Another script?”

  “Yes.”

  As he had before, he helped himself to her espresso. “Does it hold any more promise than the last one?”

  “My character is a serial killer.” She grinned wickedly. “She doesn’t see herself that way, of course. She’s a nurse and her victims are people who have little or no family. She thinks she’s doing them a favor, relieving them of their loneliness.”

  There was an eagerness in her tone that he hadn’t heard before. “You sound excited.”

  She smiled. “I guess I am a little. It’s got some serious meat for me to chew. I’m only a few chapters into it, and I can already tell the characters are well developed.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  A shadow fell across her face. “The only problem is the guys who sent it to me have had a few big duds. As a result, they’ve had a problem attracting financing for their last few projects. If they land me, they can land a backer. I’m sure my bankability is a big part of my draw.”

  “What? You don’t think you can handle the part?”

  “I know I can.” He found her confidence as sexy as her wind-tumbled hair. “Which is why I’ve spent the past half-hour seriously thinking about financing the picture myself.”

  “As in forming your own production company?”

  “Exactly.” Her brows rose and on a grin, she asked, “Well? Think I’m crazy?”

  “I told you once you’re a force to be reckoned with, Atlanta. All I can say is, watch out, Hollywood.”

  Her smile wobbled a little. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For believing in me.”

  He nodded. “Same goes.”

  He left not long after that, eschewing her offer to make breakfast. Sharing a meal with her after a long night of lovemaking was just too domestic, especially since they’d spent the better part of the past twenty-four hours together. Still, it wasn’t because he didn’t like the idea that he declined. It was because he did…way too much.

  On the way back to his villa, he stopped in town at the little coffee shop where he and Atlanta had shared cannoli their first full day in Monta Correnti. It seemed a lifetime ago. He’d changed so much since then. They both had changed, and so had their relationship. And not only because it had turned physical.

  Last night, after they’d made love a second time, she’d asked him what would happen when they returned home.

  “We resume our lives,” he said evasively, rather than giving her the answer that had come so readily to mind. He wanted to keep seeing her, logistics and complications be damned. Things didn’t have to end…in Italy.

  He was returning to his car, lost in thought and balancing a cup of coffee and a pastry, when he heard his name called. He didn’t recognize the raspy male voice, but he knew the speaker’s identity in an instant. He stopped abruptly and he swore his heart did the same. As he turned, time reeled backward.

  “Papa.”

  He whispered the name, but it scraped his throat as viciously as a blood-curdling scream would have. For one crazy moment Angelo was a confused and heartbroken little boy again, wondering what he and his brother had done to deserve being sent away.

  I’ll be good.

  Bile rose in his throat. How many times had he made that promise in the days leading up to his ouster?

  Now in his late sixties, Luca’s light brown hair was streaked with gray at the temples and his expressive face was creased with lines. Those seemed to be his only bow to age. He remained a tall man, only about an inch shy of Angelo’s six feet three, and, even though he wasn’t as broad or as thickly built as his twin sons, he commanded attention. But that wasn’t why he commanded Angelo’s.

  Papa.

  He didn’t say it aloud this time. He kept the name to himself. He wasn’t quite as successful, however, at stopping the memories. They flashed in his head like an old film reel, a bit grainy from age, but clear enough to pry open what he’d thought were ironclad defenses. He recalled riding on his father’s shoulders and climbing up on his knee. He remembered giggling riotously as Luca tossed him high in the air, and then begging for another turn after Alex had received the same treatment.

  Ti amo, Papa.

  Love in its purest form—that of a child for a parent—welled up. Anger, confusion, grief and fear helped banish it. They rose with the force of a tsunami to wash away the memories and the words he hadn’t recalled in more than three decades.

  So it was that as Luca drew even with him and broke into a smile, Angelo was clenching his teeth.

  “Angelo! My son. I can barely believe my eyes.” Luca smiled and extended, not his hand, but his arms, clearly expecting to wrap his long-lost son in a welcoming embrace.

  Angelo took a step backward, not in retreat but to make a stand. He’d been sent away, exiled. He wasn’t sure he could be as forgiving of that fact as his brother Alex was. Luca’s expression faltered but he nodded as if he understood this reunion would not be so tidy after all.

  “I’ve wanted to come by your villa after sending the welcome basket, but Isabella said I should wait, give you more time.”

  God bless Isabella. Even so, Angelo said quietly, “I’ve had thirty-five years of time.”

  Luca flushed. “I…I have no excuse to offer. Only an apology, which I hope that you will accept.”

  Angelo ignored the words. “Actually, I’m glad you didn’t come by. I’ve been enjoying my stay.”

  Despite the implied insult, Luca nodded. “That is good. The company of a beautiful woman helps.”

  Of course he would know about Atlanta. “It does.”

  “Perhaps the two of you could come by the restaurant one evening and let me buy you dinner.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “I only wish to buy you a meal,” Luca pointed out, his reasonable tone in stark contrast to Angelo’s petulant one.

  He moderated his. “I’ll bring her to Rosa for the meet and greet with the relatives that Isabella has planned. I assume you’ll be picking up the tab for that.”
>
  Luca’s expression was sad as he held out a hand in entreaty. “How I wish I could change the past.”

  Angelo’s eyes stung. Because he wanted so badly just then to believe his father meant it, he shook his head. “But you can’t, Luca. You can’t.”

  Back at his villa, Angelo paced in agitation. Who did the man think he was acting so hurt, looking so sad and offering apologies that were three decades too late? Well, he wanted an apology even less than he wanted his old man to buy him and Atlanta dinner at Rosa.

  “I don’t want you in my life,” he muttered. “I don’t need you.”

  Stone by stone, Angelo rebuilt the wall around his heart where his father was concerned. If not for Atlanta, he would be packing his bags and making arrangements to return to New York. But they had plans for later. That was the only reason he was staying in Monta Correnti. Otherwise, his mission here was complete, as far as he was concerned.

  He said as much to Atlanta when she arrived for dinner that evening. He’d had the meal catered, making the arrangements through Isabella with no mention of the meeting with their father, though he figured she’d probably heard about it. Just as she’d probably heard that he’d snubbed Luca’s offer of dinner at Rosa. Angelo had paid in full for the meal, offering a generous tip to the young man who delivered it.

  As they sat at the patio table Atlanta said, “I’m glad you’re sticking around. Not just for me, for you.”

  He knew what she meant. On a sigh, he admitted, “I didn’t think this was going to be so difficult.”

  “Confronting the past never is easy.”

  He angled his head to one side. Questions nagged. “You’ve never mentioned much about your family.”

  “That’s because I don’t like to talk about them,” she said quietly.

  “Neither do I, but I have.”

  She sipped her wine. “Let me put it another way. Luca is Father of the Year material compared to my stepdad.”

  Angelo snorted. “Right.”

  “Definitely. Duke was pure evil. I found it best to make myself scarce whenever he was home, especially if my mother wasn’t around.”

  Dread pooled in his stomach. No. No.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said mildly.

  “You do?”

  “You’re trying to match what I just said to the story the public has been fed.”

  God help him, he wished that were what he was thinking. Still, he said, “They don’t add up.”

  “No.” She sipped more wine. “My so-called humble beginnings were a little seedier than that.”

  “You said stepfather. What about your dad? Where does he figure in all of this?”

  “He doesn’t. The truth is I don’t know my biological father’s identity. Even my mother isn’t sure. It could be one of a half-dozen different men. She wasn’t terribly discriminating, especially if the guy had a few bucks in his pocket and could help her make the rent. Before she married Duke, a slew of ‘uncles’ lived with us.

  “I don’t tell many people this, of course. In fact, only one other person knows the truth.”

  “Zeke,” he said.

  “My attorney.” That came as a surprise. “He sends my mother checks to keep quiet.”

  “What about your stepfather?”

  “He died five years ago. Until then, I was sending Duke checks, too. He demanded more than my mother.”

  “Why?”

  She said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes. It was a good thing the man was dead. Otherwise Angelo would have had to kill him.

  “They blackmailed you.”

  “Yes.” She pasted on a smile. “See what I mean. Your family is the portrait of normal by comparison.”

  “I wouldn’t say normal, but…” He reached across the table for her hand. “I’m sorry, Atlanta. So damned sorry.”

  Angelo’s touch, combined with the compassion in his eyes, was almost her undoing. She called on all of her acting skills to suppress her emotions.

  “There’s no need to be. I came to terms with the situation a long time ago. I’ll never have a relationship with my mother other than as her meal ticket. She’s made it clear that’s all she sees me as. I never hear from her on my birthday or at the holidays. The only time she contacts me is through my attorney because she’s running low of funds.

  “As for Duke, I actually celebrated when I learned that he’d died of a heart attack. That’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s the truth.” She fingered the stem of her wine glass. “I drank champagne. Half a bottle of it.”

  “Piper-Heidsieck?” Angelo asked.

  She glanced up and smiled. “That would be the one. Not a magnum, though.”

  “I’d say you were entitled, even if it had been half a magnum.”

  “I thought so, too. Zeke was appalled when he arrived home and found me listening to old-school country music and well on my way to being snockered.” She laughed dryly now at the memory of her ex pacing their bedroom and demanding answers while she’d giggled hysterically and done her best Tanya Tucker impersonation.

  “Family is one big pain in the backside,” he grumbled.

  “I’d have to agree. Still, I wish it could be different.” At his surprised expression, she added, “I still fantasize about my mother coming to me, begging for my forgiveness and telling me that she’s proud, that she cares.”

  “Make no mistake, Luca doesn’t care. If he cared, he would have been there all of these years. Come to that, if he cared, he would have been the one to contact me and Alex, instead of leaving that chore to Isabella.”

  “Maybe he was afraid, Angelo.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of your reaction. Maybe he was afraid you would reject him, again. You know how that feels.”

  “Don’t.”

  But she pressed ahead. “He made a really bad choice and he knows it.” Atlanta was thinking of her own poor decisions when she added, “Things like that haunt you.”

  He sighed. “I’m usually a pretty easygoing guy. I’ve been hit by pitches that were thrown with the intention of taking me out of a game. I shake it off. I’ve even been known to buy the pitcher a beer after the game just to show there are no hard feelings. But this…” He shook his head. “I can’t get around the fact that Luca sent us away. I can’t forget. I can’t forgive.”

  “That line in the sand you once spoke of?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  Atlanta thought about Zeke and her stepfather. Both men had left her with scars, emotional, psychological and physical. Had she forgiven them? Would she ever be able to forget?

  “Maybe it’s enough just to move on,” she said after a moment.

  The meal was finished. The moon was rising. At least one of them had come to terms with the past.

  “That hot tub looks inviting,” she mentioned after a moment.

  “Too bad you didn’t bring your swimsuit.”

  Atlanta stood and reached for the hem of her shirt. “And here I was thinking, how fortunate.”

  Angelo’s phone woke him the next morning. This made twice he’d slept with Atlanta. Twice he’d awoken alone. He didn’t care for it, he thought as he untangled himself from the sheets to reach for the receiver. It was his brother.

  “Hey, Angelo. How’s everything going?”

  “It’s going,” he answered slowly, trying to get his bearings. According to the bedside clock it was nearly nine.

  “Have you spoken with Luca?”

  “Yesterday, actually. I ran into him in town.”

  “You ran into him? That doesn’t sound like you had much of a conversation.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Angelo—”

  “Don’t,” he warned.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” he scoffed.

  “It was a jolt for me, too, seeing Papa again.”

  “Don’t call him that,” Angelo ground out, stumbling back till he found the edge of the mattress.
>
  “He’s our father, Angelo. Like it or not, that much can’t be changed. And Luca wants to be part of our lives now, whatever part we’re willing to let him be.”

  “You know my answer.”

  “Then why are you there?”

  “You strong-armed me into it.”

  Alex was quiet a moment before saying, “It was strange for me, too, being in Italy. I didn’t think I had any real memories of the place or of Luca or that part of our childhood, for that matter, until I was in Monta Correnti. Then all of a sudden bits and pieces of the past started coming back.”

  Angelo swallowed as some of the memories to which his twin referred beckoned. “Do you remember going out into the countryside to pick herbs?”

  “Yeah.” Alex chuckled. “Luca was very particular about what he wanted. I remember that he turned it into a game of sorts. Who could find the most perfect basil leaves?”

  “You always won.”

  “Only because you were too impatient to look.”

  “We took turns sitting on his shoulders,” Angelo said. “I felt like a giant up there.”

  “Yeah.” They both fell silent. Then Alex changed the subject. “According to the media, I see you’re not hurting for female companionship on this trip. How in the hell did you manage to meet Atlanta Jackson?”

  Angelo opted to keep it light. “You know how it is, bro. No woman can resist my charm. You’d better marry Allie quick before she comes to her senses and realizes she’s engaged to the wrong twin.”

  “Not a chance. She and I are perfect for one another.” He said it with such conviction that Angelo couldn’t bring himself to come back with an off-handed remark. He walked to the window. Atlanta was outside. His heart hitched seeing her, since he’d thought she’d gone.

  “I’m happy for you, Alex. I’m happy for both of you.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to say, I’m a little worried about you. There’s a lot of unflattering coverage of Atlanta in the press these days. Now they’re saying some interesting things about you, too.”

  “You know the tabloids.”