Dare (San Francisco Brides Book 3)

by Juliano, Celia

  “Is this home?” Joey’s tone tinged with wariness.

  “More than anywhere else. I was happy here, until…” She unlocked the door to the room. They stepped in. She’d been relatively happy, for a teenager, until her family had died, and she’d “disappeared.” She’d wanted to erase herself, who she’d been those last months of high school.

  “Why leave, then?” His voice hardened, tangled the wary tone with hurt. A tone she recognized.

  “I’m not a suspect.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry.” He pushed out a breath. “It’s Christmas. Let’s enjoy.”

  “Agreed. So, what’s been happening in your family?” Walking around the room, she packed up the few things they’d taken out today. She placed a couple of backpacks on the bed.

  He gave her a leery sideways glance. He was right to be suspicious, since she knew some of what had been happening—mainly a lot of wedding announcements, like Joey’s cousin Gina D’Angelo to Vincente De Grazia; Lorenzo Calabra, another of his cousins, of a sort, to Lita Sabatini; and family friend Paolo Francis to Marco Garamendi, the chef at Joey’s Uncle Sal’s. That Lorenzo had married before Joey surprised her. Of course, just because Joey wasn’t married didn’t mean he wasn’t in a relationship. She pulled the backpacks to her chest.

  “No news?” she asked again, since he hadn’t answered.

  “None you couldn’t have found online, I guess. Lorenzo and Lita’s baby is due any minute now.”

  “Wow. I can’t picture Lorenzo married, a dad.”

  “We all were surprised. But he’s proven himself. He loves Lita.”

  “That’s great.” She shook her head to dislodge the negative loop about her own marriage. Lorenzo was not Luis. For sure, Joey wasn’t. She’d been so confused back then. Now she was past all that, except the regrets, the guilt. “Thought you would’ve been the first to marry. Even Janetta’s engaged, right?”

  “Yep. You kept informed.” He sounded like he wanted to add: “What’s up with that?” or some other sarcastic remark. But Joey hadn’t been the sarcastic type.

  “You all were my second family.”

  He clenched his jaw. She touched his arm. He tensed slightly, so she pulled away.

  “Is this it?” He motioned to the backpacks.

  “Two suitcases in the closet.” She hadn’t unpacked much. They’d arrived this morning, and Layla had wanted to explore. “I shipped a couple of boxes to Liz. That’s all we have.”

  “You have friends.” Joe got the suitcases from the closet.

  She managed a wan smile. She wanted to be more than his friend. But it was too soon, and she wanted to explain her choices to him. Hopefully, he’d understand. Hopefully, it would matter to him, as he did to her. She slung the backpacks on her shoulder and they walked out.

  “We were all concerned about you. It’s good you have Layla.” Joey’s voice had softened a notch.

  “She’s my girl. I’m really proud of her. She’s a lot like Maria.”

  “I noticed. Your sister was a sweet girl.”

  “She thought you’d threaded the stars, you know.” Maria had been fourteen, but wise beyond her years. She’d seen the good man Joey was. Maria had loved him like a brother.

  “I didn’t, but I hope she knew I cared.” He waited again as she entered the elevator.

  “She did.” And she used to tell Ariella what a dope she was for going with a jerk like Brent Scofield when Maria insisted Ariella could have dated Joey instead—and so had her parents. But Ariella had always responded “We’re just friends.” And they had been, of a kind, going on group dates, hanging out at D’Angelo family parties, working on school projects together—the usual high school stuff.

  “Good.”

  She nodded and walked into the lobby. “Excuse me. I’ve got to check out.”

  Joey stood with the bags while she went to the desk and checked out of the hotel. She hoped she was making the right choice. Layla seemed so excited to stay with Grandpop, in a real home.

  She met Joey and they walked out and down the street. The night air had chilled further, nipping at her cheeks. They walked faster, soon making it to the car. Joe opened the trunk and placed the bags in. She thanked him as he held the door for her.

  She glanced back. Layla was smiling while Grandpop told her a story about Befana, who delivered gifts to children in Italy on Epiphany. Joey hopped into the driver’s seat. They drove up the hill, the lights of North Beach twinkling, an impressive display, especially during the holiday season. It was as if a heavenly seamstress had embroidered stars and colored designs right down to the edges of the earth. Grandpop’s mansion shone, its white elegance made festive with large wreaths and white lights, huge blooming poinsettias, and red and white landscaping accentuating the holiday displays.

  Layla exclaimed and laughed with Grandpop as he spoke of his house, and what waited inside. Joey pulled the car into the garage.

  “Do you want to get Layla settled?” Grandpop asked.

  “Yes.” She got out of the car and helped Layla.

  “I want to see the tree.” Probably Layla saw this as an opportunity to stay up even later, an uncommon occurrence.

  “No, Layla, right to bed.” She tried to take Layla’s hand, but she avoided Ariella’s touch and ran to Grandpop. “Please, Grandpop?”

  Ariella rubbed her fingers. Layla trusted Grandpop, and so did she. But Layla hadn’t ever avoided her before. She swallowed down the sadness. Layla was happy.

  “You and Joe could put your things upstairs. We’ll have seen the tree by then, and leave cookies for Santa.” Grandpop smoothed Layla’s hair. She hopped slightly.

  Ariella smiled. Layla was so full of joy. Christmas was her favorite holiday. “Okay. But right to bed once I get downstairs, Layla.”

  “Yes, Mommy.” Layla ran to her and kissed her cheek.

  She touched Layla’s hair, smoothing a stray curl. “Be good for Grandpop.”

  Layla nodded and rushed back to Grandpop. He winked at Ariella.

  “Thanks, Grandpop,” she said.

  “My pleasure. It’s good to see a child in the house again.” Grandpop stopped by Joey. “Take care, eh, Joseph. See you soon.” It wasn’t a question so much as a command. He and Layla walked into the house.

  Joey grimaced again briefly. Then he shook his head. “He can hardly wait for grandbabies. Luckily, Gina and Vincente’s baby is due in February.”

  “Everyone must be excited.” She remembered her mom and the D’Angelo women, especially Joey’s mom, knitting for the babies at church, and those in need. No one had been there to knit for Layla. She’d started booties, but Luis had thrown away all her knitting. She rubbed her hands on her hips and strode to the trunk of the car, grabbing the backpacks. She shifted her feet then strode forward hurriedly.

  Joey took the suitcases, not seeming to notice her jumpy movements. “Oh, yeah. I thought the pressure’d be off, but it seems like these weddings just encouraged the family matchmakers.”

  “Your mom hasn’t found you ‘the one’ yet?” She hoped her tone sounded as light as she’d tried for, but she couldn’t tell with the rush in her ears. They walked through the kitchen. It was brightly lit and hadn’t changed much. Still warm, smelling of bread and herbs. This was Marcella’s domain. Her stride slowed and her limbs remembered her tiredness.

  He shrugged. “Not for lack of trying, but no. How about you? I guess you and Layla’s dad aren’t together anymore?”

  “He’s dead. Just me and Layla now.”

  “Sorry.” He opened the door to the hall and waited while she passed.

  Being so close to Joe and his woodsy scent made her limbs awaken, tingling a little, as if she’d already been asleep and had woken up abruptly. “He wasn’t worth any sadness.”

  “Who was he? What happened? Are you okay?” He paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced at her, his gaze searching her eyes.

  She looked away, up the grand, curving staircase. “Guess you’re r
eady for that talk?” She walked up the stairs.

  “I know I said ‘Let’s enjoy.’”

  “And I know you’re persistent. Let’s just say my taste in men didn’t improve after Brent.”

  He shrugged, an angry gesture, like someone would make before throwing a punch. Not that she’d ever seen Joey fight with anyone.

  “You sure you want to hear this?” she asked. Her legs ached.

  He passed her in the hall, leading her to the east wing. He stopped at one of the doors. “I’m not sure, but I want to know who you are now.” He opened the door and waited for her to enter. His eyes held something akin to tenderness, but only for a moment. Then his jaw set again, and he glanced into the room.

  She walked in and set the backpacks down. Joe placed the suitcases near a small sofa that stood in front of the empty fireplace. She sat on the sofa, facing away from the bed. “His name was Luis Morales. We met when I was just starting law school, right out of college. I see now he was a lot like Brent—from a wealthy family, friendly, smooth, stylish—but I didn’t connect it then. I was still so young and I got pregnant with Layla. We married. During the divorce, he died—one of his associates shot him.” She closed her eyes. She’d been so young and stupid. “That was three years ago.” After two years running from town to town, first in shelters, then in tiny apartments or a rented room. “Layla doesn’t really remember him. She was sixteen months old when I left him.” After he’d hit her once while she held Layla. It hadn’t been the first time, but it was the time that made her leave. He’d endangered her baby. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt her baby. She pulled her legs up into her chest and rubbed her calves.

  Joe leaned against the armrest of the chair near the sofa. “His family?”

  “His mother tried to get custody of Layla, but I won. They were powerful, but Luis had been abusive.” She held her ankles for a moment.

  Joey gripped the armrest, his knuckles whitening. He let out a long breath. “I’m sorry you went through that. You didn’t deserve that, any of it.”

  She closed her eyes again for a moment. Hadn’t she, just a little? She’d made so many bad choices. No, she hadn’t deserved abuse, but…

  “I wish…” He shook his head.

  “Me too.” She didn’t know what he wished, but his tone sounded regretful, like she felt. She wished things had been different. But there was no changing the past. “All that’s done. I got through. I’m home to start again.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  “It wasn’t. But now it can be.” She wanted it to be, simple, straightforward—that was Joey.

  “I like simple.”

  “I know.” She studied him for a moment, his strong jaw, his coarse, dark hair and blue-green eyes, his muscular build, all made her hug her arms around her legs, to keep in the tingling, the awakening.

  He glanced at her. “Your favorite movie still The Wizard of Oz?”

  “Yes, why?” He’d remembered. Not only was he sexy, he was sweet.

  “Just want to feel like I still know something.” His tone was slightly bitter, like hotel coffee.

  “There’s no place like home. Took me a lot longer than Dorothy to realize it.”

  “Dreams coming true, though?”

  “Not quite, but I hope so.” Her career was on track, and she had Layla, and they were home. “You?”

  He shrugged. “You look tired. How about I go get Layla and bring her up here?”

  Now who was avoiding? She nodded and rested her head on her knees. Joe’s footsteps swished across the deep pile of the carpet. She’d wanted to connect with Joe. But they were apart. She twisted her hair into a knot, but it fell loose again. If only the tangle between her and Joe were so easily unraveled.

  Chapter Three

  Joey jogged downstairs. He stretched when he reached the bottom, trying to relax some of the tension that had constricted his limbs when Ariella had described what she’d been through. He shifted his feet, as if he were in the boxing ring. He’d have to go work some of this out on Vincente’s punching bag later. And pretend it was Ariella’s ex’s face.

  He rolled his shoulders and walked to the living room. Grandpop was just leading Layla out.

  “Where’s Mommy,” she said in a thin, tired voice.

  “Upstairs in your room. I’ll take you to her.” Joey took her small hand in his.

  Grandpop kissed Layla on the top of her head. “Goodnight, sweet girl. See you in the morning.”

  “Okay, Grandpop.” She gave him a little wave.

  “Joe, meet me back here.”

  Joey nodded, but Grandpop had already turned back into the living room. He exhaled. Layla pressed into his leg, stopped.

  “You want me to carry you?” he asked.

  She nodded. He lifted her light body into his arms. She leaned into his shoulder, wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. Her scent was sweet, like the cookies she and Grandpop must have put out. How could any man betray his little girl by abusing her mother? Because he wasn’t a man. He tightened his hold on Layla as they started up the stairs.

  “Is Santa really coming?”

  “Yes, sweetie. He wouldn’t miss you.”

  “But he has. Mommy said he couldn’t find us. We moved a lot.”

  He swallowed hard. “He didn’t miss you. He left everything here for you, because he knew you’d be here one day.” You idiot, Joe, where are you going to get a bunch of toys after midnight on Christmas Eve? Shit, he’d break in somewhere and leave money for the toys he’d take if he had to.

  Layla sat up in his arms and looked at him. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You’ll see in the morning.”

  Her lips quirked upward, but then she frowned. “Santa can’t get me what I really want.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A daddy.”

  His back tensed and he stopped on the landing. If he really cared about Ariella, he’d leave her alone, let her find someone who’d marry her, be a father to Layla. They deserved that, and more. But he wasn’t that man. He and Janetta had both vowed never to get married. Love wasn’t enough, marriage and children damaged relationships.

  “Are you a daddy?”

  “No. And you’re right, Santa can’t bring you a daddy. Not this Christmas, anyway. Does your mom know you want a daddy?”

  “No. It’s a secret. No telling?”

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He held out his pinky. She hooked hers on his. He kissed her forehead. “And until you get a daddy, I’ll be around if you need anything.”

  “Mommy said you’re a policeman?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded and leaned on him again.

  “So I’ll protect you and your mommy. But you’re safe here.” He rubbed her back, her breathing steady and deep. Continuing up the stairs, Layla’s breath on his neck eased some of the tension in his back. Ariella and Layla were here. He could be a friend to them. When it had come down to the time she’d really needed him, he’d failed to be Ariella’s friend nine years ago. This time he wouldn’t fail.

  He walked to the room, the door open. Ariella had turned down the covers and had a couple of nightgowns out on the bed.

  “Is she asleep?” She walked over and looked at Layla.

  Warmth flowed into his veins at the three of them so close together, like a family. “Maybe.” He went toward the bed, to put Layla down.

  “Mommy?” Layla stirred, her voice sleepy.

  “I’m here.” Ariella leaned toward him, wrapping her arms around Layla.

  Ariella was so close her hair brushed his chin, her arms against his chest. Only for a moment. He swallowed and ran his hand over his hair. One moment was long enough to draw flames up through him, flickering, ready to blaze. She stepped away.

  “Thanks, Joe.”

  He glanced toward the door. His body wanted one thing, his mind another.

  Ariella picked up a nightgown and walked Layla toward the bathroom.

  “I
want a story, Mommy,” Layla whined.

  “Brushing teeth now, then right to sleep.”

  “Nooo. I want the special book! You promised.” She wriggled, trying to get out of Ariella’s arms, and looked at Joey. “I want Joey to read to me.”

  He nodded, though his head told him “No.” “If it’s okay with your mom.”

  Ariella kissed Layla’s forehead. “You’re right, I did promise. Joe, can you wait a bit?”

  He’d waited nine years to see her again. “Sure.”

  Layla nestled on Ariella’s shoulder again. Seeing Ariella like this reminded him of the Madonna and child. She was a loving mother. He had to make sure they had whatever they needed. He paced toward the cold fireplace and tugged his brows together.

  Taking care of Ariella and Layla wasn’t his place. He glanced at the closed bathroom door. Ariella’s voice drifted to him, singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Maybe it could be his place. Marriage was working fine for Vincente and Lorenzo. Even his parents were fairly happy now.

  He studied the empty hearth. But putting kids through the strife his parents had, and his uncles, Sal, Frank, and James had with their families—that wasn’t right. Love was about protecting, caring. Better to be like Uncle Max and Jim, his cousin, both confirmed bachelors, both cops like he was—someone who was there for all his friends and family, someone who protected and served others without the complications of marriage.

  He wouldn’t dare to dream about marriage. Dreaming about being with Ariella again was enough. Being her friend was enough.

  Ariella walked back in, Layla in her arms. She tucked Layla into bed and got a thin picture book out of a princess backpack. Joe met her by the bed. Now he met Ariella’s gaze, her eyes searching, questioning.

  “Sit here,” Layla said to him. “Please.” She yawned and hooked her doll under her arm.

  Ariella handed him the book and he sat on the bed facing Layla. He read the book, This Is the Stable, in a quiet voice. Layla’s lips quirked when he read about the mother and her husband. He rubbed his eyes quickly and finished the book, watching as Layla’s eyes closed and her arm dropped to the side, showing she was asleep.