Hidden Worthiness

by Susan Fanetti

  “It is. But it feels like there’s something else.”

  Okay, yes. There was more, and the smart, healthy thing was to talk about it. She turned on the bed so she was facing him, cross-legged. “Okay, yes. Two things. But first, an apology. I snooped. I’m sorry. I only meant to do it a little, just to see the rest of the house and get to know you through your space.”

  He frowned slightly, more in curious anticipation than any obviously negative reaction. “Okay ...”

  “I went up with Mrs. Alfonsi and helped her put your laundry away. In your closet. In your drawers.”

  Understanding dawned more brightly with every word she said. “Ah.”

  “Yeah. I’m not judging. But ... that’s ... I don’t think I’d like that.”

  He picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth. When he pressed his lips to her palm, she rubbed her fingertips over his right cheek. He turned into her touch. “It’s not for you. That was for ... before. It’s not a kink, really. I don’t know what to say about it. But it’s not for us.”

  He wanted her touch. He wanted her to see him. She smiled. “Okay. You don’t have to say anything else. I just ... I’m sorry I snooped.”

  “It’s okay. This will be your house, too. There’s nothing here you can’t know about.”

  That gave her a semblance of an opening for the other, possibly even more important, question. “There’s something else. I don’t want to get Mrs. Alfonsi in trouble. She’s wonderful, and she loves you, but she said something, and I have to ask.”

  Now his frown had a negative cast. “What, Arianna?”

  “I think it sort of slipped out. She was telling me how much she cared about you, and she said something about your boy letting you down.” And now he flinched, which was pretty much an answer, but she asked the question anyway. “Do you have a son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. I ... were you planning to tell me?”

  He took a deep breath, wincing when it stretched his belly. “I don’t know.”

  “Wow. But ...”

  His hand still held hers; he laced their fingers and gazed down at the weave they made. “His name is Thomas. I haven’t seen him since before he was four years old. He’s twenty-four now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was never married to his mom. Melissa. We weren’t ever a very good couple, and getting pregnant wasn’t a plan. We didn’t last long after he was born. Once she had a child, she didn’t like what I did, and I had to fight a lot with her to see him.”

  He went quiet, staring at their linked hands, turning her hand back and forth. Ari sat, watching him, and waited.

  “After I was burned, the first time he saw me after that, he screamed and screamed. He thought I was a monster. Lissie gathered him up and took him away, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Oh God. “Donnie ...”

  He was telling a story now, and he ignored her interruption. “I didn’t fight her after that. She took him away, and I let them go. He’s lived in Florida most of his life. He has a stepfather he knows as his dad. And that’s for the best. He’s had a good, normal life.” He brought sad eyes up to hers. “I supported him. I sent child support, I gave his mom extra money when she needed it, I paid for his college. I’ve got a trust set up for him. But I’m not his dad.”

  “But you are.”

  “No, Arianna. He knows who I am, and where I am. He knows he’s welcome to contact me. He hasn’t. I’m not his dad. Somebody else is.” He tugged lightly on their hands. “Do you want kids?”

  She didn’t. But if Donnie asked her to give him a chance to be the father he deserved to be, she’d start up the kid factory immediately. “I ... don’t know. Do you want more?”

  “If you want them, I’ll give them to you. I’ll love our kids and be the best father I can be. But for myself, no.”

  “I don’t want kids. I just want you. You and me, living the life we want.”

  Smiling again at last, Donnie pulled her toward him. Ari settled in the curl of his arm, resting lightly on his chest.

  “Mrs. Alfonsi told you about Thomas, huh?”

  “Please don’t be mad at her.”

  “I’m not. It’s her nature to meddle. She means well.”

  “She does. She loves you, Donnie. She said you’ve been sad.”

  He rested his cheek on her head and didn’t answer. Ari brushed her hand over his chest, feeling the strength in his contours, the softness of his hair, the beat of his heart.

  “I guess I was,” he finally said.

  ~oOo~

  A few days before Christmas, Ari drove into Providence, her omnipresent shadow shaped like a big SUV a few cars back, for the end-of-season meeting. She’d already spoken a few times to Baxter, who’d given her advance notice of three major announcements: Devonny was retiring, as expected. Arianna would take her place as the company’s prima ballerina, also as expected—but YAY! And the spring ballet would be Manon.

  That scared Arianna a little. She’d never danced any part of Manon before. It wasn’t one of the high-profile ballets, outside the dance world. Inside dance, however, it was considered one of the greats, and profoundly challenging for the ballerina who took on the title part—not only in physicality but in artistry and acting as well. She’d been hoping for something like Swan Lake—a super physical dual part that required some acting chops, too, but one that was familiar. Ari might have thought Baxter was setting her up to fail, staging a ballet like that for her first part as prima. But he’d been surprisingly cool and normal, talking the decision through with her, giving her the legitimate chance to say no. She was even beginning to feel like there might be more than merely fear of Donnie in his changed attitude toward her. So she’d dance Manon.

  Which meant she needed to get back into the studio and prepare. She felt odd inside her skin lately. For the first time in almost thirty years, she gone more than two weeks without dancing seriously. Donnie had a gym in his cellar, and she was able to at least stay limber, but it didn’t have a barre, or much room to let loose. He’d told her that he’d have a dance studio built down there, but she wasn’t sure she wanted a studio in her own home. She wanted to dance at the theatre.

  Living in Quiet Cove—which was what she was doing already—meant a much longer commute, but it was manageable, and she’d manage it. She wasn’t giving up the ballet, or this theatre, or her friends, and Donnie hadn’t asked her to. Once she talked to Julian, she hoped she wasn’t even giving up the apartment. She’d need a place to stay in town after performances and late rehearsals.

  She parked her Mini in the theatre lot and waved at Round Ollie and Keith as they got out of their shadow-truck to do their usual perimeter check. She’d gotten used to having burly men follow her everywhere she went. They were like her posse.

  After changing into practice gear, she went up to the studio where the meeting would be held. Most of the company was already there, and most would, like Ari, stay after to get a workout in or finish the one they’d started.

  Julian was there, working at the barre, and his reflection grinned happily at hers. He spun and came to her, wrapping her up in a warm embrace. “It’s good to see you! How’s your hero?”

  She laughed and kissed his cheek. “He’s good. Doing really well. Everything good with you?” In almost eight years, she’d hadn’t had to ask Julian a question like that, because she’d been right beside him, knowing his life as it happened. But her life was moving to the next chapter.

  “Yeah, it’s great.” He took her hand. “Can we talk a sec?”

  “Sure.” Ari let him pull her over to the stack of mats they laid down when corps dancers were working out new lifts. “What’s up?”

  His grin sloped sheepishly. “I think ... if you’re okay with it ... since you’re staying on the coast most of the time now ... I think ...”

  Ari laughed. “Do you need the Heimlich to get it out?”

  “I’m gonna ask Tess to move in.”

&nb
sp; “Wow! Julian!” Her friend hadn’t much more success in the real romance division than she had. He’d gotten a lot—a lot—more play than she, but something always happened to make things crumble in a few months. Ari really liked Tess. She had her head screwed on right. And she wasn’t a ballet groupie at all, or threatened by all the ballerinas he fondled for work. She had her own thing, understood her own worth.

  “Your room is still your room. I don’t want that to change. It’s there for you as long as you want it, to use when you need it, as long as I’m still in the apartment. Tess’ll bunk with me.”

  “Well, obviously. That’s great!” Everything was changing all at once, but it was all gain—new love, new challenges, new life. The things she’d had and valued were still with her. The future was open and bright, and she would dance into it on Donnie’s arm, with Julian right behind her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah!” She threw her arms around her best friend.

  He laughed and hugged her back.

  ~ 23 ~

  On Christmas morning, Donnie took a shower first thing and opened the bathroom door, drying off while he watched Arianna sleep. She always slept deeply, and when he wasn’t with her, she curled up like a cinnamon roll and tucked all the way under the covers. All he saw was a puff of white comforter and a ribbon of dark hair.

  Her habitual deep sleep was a blessing for more than this peaceful moment he enjoyed every morning. His snoring didn’t seem to bother her much. She had ear plugs—bright pink—but as far as he knew, she’d used them only a couple times, and not at all since his pain hadn’t required opiates to manage.

  Getting shot in the gut hadn’t been what he’d call fun, but his scale of things he knew he could endure had a very high limit. On that scale, a bullet through his middle barely entered the yellow zone. Three weeks later, the staples were out, his parts were sealed back up, and he felt pretty good. Still weak and easily tired, but stronger and more energetic every day. Some digestion problems, which the doctor warned him could be permanent, and some faint tingling in his legs, a result of the bullet making its stop in the nerves beside his spine, which would pass eventually. Considering he’d almost died and/or been paralyzed, he thought he’d come out ahead.

  Particularly in light of the miracle in his bed. A woman he loved, who loved him.

  And he and Nick were on solid ground again. Even Angie was back in Nick’s faith. They’d worked together to render justice on the Zelenko men who’d gone for Carina, and they’d gotten good intel before they’d ended them. They faced chaos in the new year—a war against two allied bratvas—but Nick had spent his December pulling the New England families together, and calling on New York for aid as well. They were strong and ready.

  It was a war that should never have been so significant. Nick’s instincts had been right to ignore Yuri Bondaruk’s attempts to enflame him. Angie and Donnie had been wrong to push him otherwise. The unforgivable mistake had been forgiven, but Donnie meant to continue to atone, even if it meant more of his blood.

  To be ready for the Ukrainians, Nick had called in favors he’d meant to use when it was time to make Trey. He would need to collect more before he could risk a civil war. First, though, he needed to make a show of Pagano Brothers’ strength in this fight with Bondaruk and his allies.

  Maybe this fight would make the next unnecessary. Maybe, when the dust settled, Nick would stand at the top of the peak, and have the power to silence tradition and do as he wished.

  At Nick and Bev’s for Christmas Eve dinner last night, Donnie and Angie had talked a bit about what they faced in the next year. They didn’t bring it up with Nick, because it was Christmas Eve, and all his family was there, and because Nick hated to talk business in his home, ever. Inside those walls, he was a husband and a father, not a don.

  That was what Donnie wanted in his home as well: to be simply Donnie here, with Arianna, and to keep her as safe as he could from the work he did in the night.

  Wrapping his towel around his waist, he left the bathroom, went into his closet, and opened the drawer that held a small safe in which he kept a few incidental treasures. He keyed the code and opened it. A light blue box wrapped in white satin ribbon sat inside, with a few stacks of cash, some important personal papers, and a Panerai watch that was too precious for daily wear. He wore it only with a tuxedo. He’d been wearing it the night he was shot.

  That watch had been Nick’s gift on his fortieth birthday and cost more than his Porsche. More than the numbers behind the dollar sign was the value of the gift itself, from his best friend and mentor. The back was engraved: Amico mio. N.

  What was nested in the small blue box, which Bev had slipped him last night, after conspiring with him during his convalescence to acquire it, wasn’t quite as expensive as the watch from his friend, but it was at least as precious.

  He picked it up and closed the safe.

  Arianna was still asleep. Donnie hung his towel up in the bathroom and went back to bed, sliding in under the comforter beside her. He set the box on her pillow and settled in to watch her sleep. It was early on Christmas morning, and they had nowhere to be until they returned to Nick and Bev’s for brunch and the happy chaos of family.

  ~oOo~

  She slept another half-hour, waking when she stirred and disturbed the box from its perch on her pillow. It tumbled down and bumped her hand. Donnie smiled at the sound of her waking sigh, still muffled by the cocoon of the covers, and then her confused murmur and gasp when she woke enough to see what she was holding.

  They were already engaged, but they hadn’t discussed a ring. All their attention had been on his recovery, and her move to the Cove, and the news that she’d be Manon for her prima ballerina debut.

  Manon was a love story, a tragedy about a woman who dies for her forbidden love. It was highly emotional. And, in the context of classical ballet, it was highly erotic. Donnie was thrilled for Arianna, and he’d support her unreservedly, but he was a little worried how he’d deal watching her make such emotional love to another man on stage. Sergei Petrov would be her partner. Ironically, he’d rather it had been Julian, whom Donnie knew now and was much more comfortable with.

  He’d be fine, that was how he’d deal. Because Arianna was thrilled and nervous, and this was her shot. She was his, she loved him, she was marrying him, so it didn’t matter one whit who danced with her. She came home to him and slept in a little cinnamon bun curl beside him, when she wasn’t in his arms.

  She peeked up from the comforter, her hair tousled around her head. God, so perfect. “What’s this?”

  “Exactly what you think it is. Buon Natale.”

  “Buon Natale!” She tugged on the satin ribbon and cast it aside. Lifting the lid off the blue box, she tipped out the black velvet case it held, and opened it. The bright light in her crystal eyes, that soft gasp from her perfect lips, told him all he needed to know.

  “Oh, Donnie! It’s perfect.”

  He’d let Bev guide his choice: a three-carat round solitaire on a plain platinum band. Perfectly classic, for his perfectly classic ballerina. The wedding ring was a band of small diamonds all the way around. But that was for the summer. For now, he slid the engagement ring on her elegant finger. “Marry me, Arianna Luciano. Be mine forever.”

  “Always!” She threw herself into his arms, and Donnie held back a grunt at the cramp through his still-tender middle. He closed his arms around her and tried to roll her to her back. Technically, he was supposed to wait another three weeks before sex or any other strenuous activity, but after three weeks of having this woman at his side every night, his patience for abstinence was at its limit.

  But she pushed him off. “Wait, wait, wait. I have your present, too.”

  “You are my present.” He tried to get hold of her again, but she was scampering off the bed and out of the room, her spectacular legs bare under his t-shirt. There was nothing under that t-shirt but exactly what he wanted.

  Thwarted, Donnie and
his engorged cock settled back in bed and waited for Arianna to return. In a few minutes, she did, holding a bigger, flatter box than the one he’d had for her. It was wrapped prettily in candy-cane striped paper and a silver bow that sparkled almost as much as the new ring on her finger.

  Bev had great taste. The ring really was perfect. And eye-catching.

  Arianna’s smile when she handed him the gift shook a bit. “I hope you like it.” She climbed back into bed as he tore off the paper and found a plain white box, like a shirt box. But heavy. Setting it on his lap, he removed the lid and opened the tissue.

  A silver frame, sleek and solid, about eleven by fourteen. Inside the frame, under a thick black matte, was a black-and-white photograph of him and Arianna. At the theatre, in one of the rehearsal studios. She wore one of her pale practice leotards, with a soft little sweater thing she called a ‘shrug’ over it. Her hair was coiled in a braided version of her ballerina bun. He was in a dress shirt, two buttons undone at the throat, no jacket or tie.

  Donnie absolutely loathed having his photograph taken and tried to make certain it only happened when he couldn’t avoid it, and he was in charge of how it was taken. He remembered this day, during the rehearsals for The Nutcracker. A photographer had been present, taking photos for the annual report. Donnie had kept to the edges, out of the photographer’s range, but he hadn’t been too worried. He wasn’t a dancer or involved in the business except as a donor. He hadn’t been the subject of the photo shoot.

  Or so he’d thought. But the photographer had caught Arianna and him in a quiet moment. He held her hands. She looked up into his eyes. He looked down into hers. The angle was profile, on Donnie’s undamaged left side, but a little oblique, canted from the left rather than straight on. The angle showed more of his front and Arianna’s back—not so much that her gaze and sweet smile didn’t show, but enough that Donnie’s scars almost did. Enough to know they existed.

  He didn’t know what to think. The photo seemed an intrusion, taken without his permission by a stranger, capturing an intimate moment that was only theirs. And his scars were visible.