by Remy Rose
He had written “love” in capital letters. And he had remembered my birthday.
Teal turns from stirring the waffle mix as I sit down at the kitchen table. “You're out of chocolate chips. You disappoint me.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You should be. Anything interesting in the mail?”
“A card from my dad.”
She looks up in surprise, licking a drop of the batter from her finger. “Really? How do you feel about that?”
“I guess I'm glad he remembered my birthday. He sent me a picture of the two of us.” I slide the photo out of the envelope and hold it up.
“Oh, how adorbs! Look at you. All ready to take on the world.”
“I was pretty fearless, back in the day.”
“What did he say in the card? If that's not too nosy of me to ask.”
“He said he hoped to see me soon. And he hoped I got what I wished for.”
“Do you think you'll get together with him?”
I hesitate, then sigh and nod. “I think so. He's been trying since I saw him in November. I guess that has to count for something.”
“Yes, I guess it does.” Teal is looking at me closely. “Someone else has been trying hard, too.”
Another sigh, bigger this time. “I know.”
“So your dad mentioned he hoped you got your birthday wish. You can give it to yourself, you know.”
“Really. And what might that be?”
“Hmm, let me think...a revelation, perhaps?”
“Teal...”
“Maybe realizing that it's time to let go—of anger, of fear, and then finding that you get something in return. Get what you want, and what you need.”
“But I don't want to need. I've gotten screwed in the past when I've needed. I want to be strong.”
Moving over to me, Teal puts her hands on my shoulders. “I've got a newsflash for you, girlfriend. Love makes you needy, and dependent, and weak. You kind of have to accept that. But you can be a strong person in other ways, and be all mushy when it comes to loving someone. Take me, for example. I plan to kick ass in the courtroom, but with Garrett—I'm a complete, starry-eyed, puddle-on-the-floor pushover. And I'm okay with that, because I love him. And I'm also okay with giving people second chances, if they've proved that they deserve it. I'm talking both Carlo, and your dad.”
I don’t say anything, letting Teal's words nestle in my mind.
“What have you seen, nugget, when you've looked into Carlo's eyes?
“Pain. And regret.”
“I saw that, too. He is sorry...sincerely sorry, from his ridiculously-perfect, tousled hair right down to his expensive shoes. I've never believed that crap about love means never having to say you're sorry. When you love someone, and you hurt that person, of course you have to say it. And you have to prove it. Carlo has done both. Hasn't he?”
“Yes.”
“What else have you seen in those gorgeous eyes of his?”
A long, shuddery breath. I can’t deny it. “I've seen love.”
Smiling, Teal folds her arms across her chest in satisfaction. “My work here is done. And now, back to breakfast.” She turns back toward the waffle maker, humming.
I get up from the table and go to put my arms around Teal's waist, squeezing tight. “I love you. You gave me a wonderful gift just now. Besides the stress release necklace.”
“I love you, too. Now give yourself a gift. And happy fucking birthday.”
chapter forty-five ~ Carlo
Gianna’s optimism about her wedding day paid off: sixty-four degrees, light breeze, and sunny with only a few high, puffy clouds. It feels good to see the crowd of eighty-plus milling around outside on the back lawn near the big reception tent. Gi had wanted an all-white wedding, and Estelle the wedding coordinator delivered: the newly-built wooden pergola is draped with yards of tulle, there are big bunches of white hydrangea on top of the pillars flanking the aisle, and inside the tent are round tables and chairs covered in heavy white fabric, each table with a large glass vase half-filled with white sand, seashells and starfish.
From the bay window, I can see Jordan in his white jacket and pants laughing and talking with the officiant, looking a little nervous. Undoubtedly, he’s counting down the minutes to the reception when he can ditch his formal wear and put on a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and flip flops as Gi reluctantly agreed to.
I straighten my tie and check my watch. Everything’s in place except for the bride. The ceremony is scheduled to start in ten minutes. Estelle comes up to me in a rose-colored dress and matching shoes, looking relaxed and happy. “I just checked on Gianna. She should be down any minute. And as you might expect, she looks absolutely gorgeous. How's the big brother of the bride doing?”
I lean down to kiss her cheek. “He's a little nervous. Feeling sad and happy at the same time. And hoping he doesn't spill anything on his white jacket during the reception.”
“I'm sure you'll be fine.”
“Everything looks beautiful, Estelle. Perfect. You were amazing coordinating all of this.”
“I was more than happy to do it. Gianna is like a daughter to me. Which would make you like a son.”
“I've always felt that. And I never felt it more than during your bout with pneumonia. A mother shouldn't worry her son like that. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't do that to me again.”
“I'll do my utmost to make sure I live a long, healthy life.” Estelle looks over my shoulder and nods toward the stairs, her features softening. “Here comes the bride.”
Gianna's maid of honor and two bridesmaids come down the winding staircase, wearing short white dresses and sandals and carrying small hydrangea bouquets, their hair up in buns. And then there is Gi, making her way carefully down the stairs in her white lace strapless gown. It’s fitted perfectly—and God, she looks so beautiful—sophisticated and elegant, making me wonder where my cute little sister went. Her dark hair is piled into a high bun, with tiny pearls tucked in. She’s wearing pendant diamond earrings (my gift to her) that sway and sparkle as she moves, and she’s holding a bouquet of hydrangea—white, with one pale pink bloom in the middle, for our mother.
She comes to me immediately, and I kiss her on both cheeks.
“Gi, you look like a princess. Absolutely breathtaking. I want to hug you, but I don't want to mess anything up.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and flings her arms around me. I hug her carefully and step back to look at her again, swallowing hard before I speak. “Mama and Scott may not be here, but I feel them just the same.”
“I do, too,” she murmurs, her eyes shining.
Estelle gives both Gi and me a hug. “I'm going to go find Martin. I'll see you after the ceremony.”
Taking my arm, Gianna looks up at me. “Ready to give me away?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
* * * *
After an excellent dinner—salad, lobster tails, broiled scallops, red potatoes and blueberry wedding cake—the reception is in full swing, with guests dancing to the country rock band Jordan hired. I spend some time visiting with relatives and then feel the need to take a break from the crowd. Gi is dancing shoeless with the rest of the bridal party, all of them laughing and enjoying the music...I know she won’t mind if I step out for a while. I take off my tuxedo jacket and hang it on the back of a chair. Estelle’s eyes are on me as I slip out of the tent.
The twilight is deepening as I walk down toward the ocean. I feel a sense of calm, partly because of how quiet it is. There’s no sound except for the gentle lapping of the waves against the rocks. The sea is calm today, too, the sun glittering on its surface in colors of pink and gold. As I come closer, I can see pockets of frothy water collecting in the small dips of the ledge, waiting to be brought back into the ocean when the tide comes in.
I loosen and remove my tie, folding it and sliding it into my pants pocket as I watch the smooth beauty of the sea, feeling filled with peace.
“Sorry I'm
late.”
A voice behind me, small and anxious. I turn.
She is standing in a pale green halter dress, light and flowing at her knees. Part of her hair is clipped back away from her face, the rest of it curling against her bare shoulders. The fading sunlight glinting off her necklace, bracelet and the small silver purse in her hands gives her the illusion of sparkling.
I open my mouth to speak, but for one of the few times in my life, find myself with absolutely no idea of what to say.
Cassandra takes a hesitant step forward in her high-heeled silver sandals, wobbling a little in the wet, gray sand.
“I had planned to get here in time for the ceremony, but my flight was delayed.” She comes closer. A sudden breeze sweeps her hair off her shoulders.
She looks achingly beautiful, and my heart clenches with the sight of her. Words continue to elude me. Cassandra...here, in Maine. How...and more importantly, why?
“You have an amazing secretary,” she says softly. “She called me a few days ago, telling me there was no pressure, but asking if I wanted to come to Gianna's wedding to surprise you. She said you'd be here for a few days afterwards, and we could talk. Estelle set up everything—my flight, the taxi from the Trenton airport...I wanted to pay for it, but she said you wouldn't allow it. I hope that's okay.” She gives me a small, sheepish smile.
Nodding, I find my voice. “Estelle is always right. And I’m going to be forever in her debt for getting you here.”
“I decided that we needed to talk. Really talk, so we can both move forward. So here I am.” She turns back toward the tent. There are the sounds of lively music, faint laughter...the sounds of people celebrating the beginning of a couple's new life together. “Should you get back to the reception, though, and we can talk afterwards?”
“I'd rather not wait a second longer, Cassandra. Having you here in front of me, and wondering—it's killing me. I want to hear what you have to say.”
“All right,” she says quietly. “We'll talk now.”
chapter forty-six ~ Cassandra
Carlo leads me to what he says is his favorite place on the property: a secluded spot with a grassy slope sheltered by a cluster of pine trees and a silver maple, which includes a gorgeous view of Cadillac Mountain across the water.
Setting my clutch on the ground, I pull my dress underneath me as I sit down carefully and unbuckle my sandals, sliding them off and stretching out my legs in the cool grass. Carlo’s sitting a distance away from me on a flat rock, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and revealing a V of tanned skin, his sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. He’s looking for all the world like an Italian model at a seaside photo shoot. He looks so serious—his lips are unsmiling below the faint stubble of his mustache, and he’s staring at me intently.
I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I'm remembering the first time I saw you, you were wearing a white shirt, but it didn’t stay that way.”
“No horses to snort on me here.”
“No.” The breeze ruffles the bottom of my dress, and I smooth it back down. “So I know this has taken time for me to think everything through, and I'm sorry for that. I know I've kept us both in limbo.”
“Absolutely no apologies necessary.”
“It wasn't just about what you did—the game, and the video.” I shudder—can’t help it—and I see his face tighten.
“I can't tell you how sorry I am, for all of that.”
“I know. I believe you. I believe you, not just because you've said it, but because you've also shown me, which is the most important thing. But it wasn't just that, although it obviously was a major factor.” I draw my knees to my chest and pull my dress over them. I’m shivering now, both from the chilly ocean air and the intensity of this moment. “I questioned being with you because you made me feel weak when I was with you—sometimes, even when I wasn't with you. And I worried that it was a flaw in me. But I was wrong.”
Carlo's gaze doesn’t waver. He remains absolutely still, looking like a marble statue on the ledge.
“When I found out about the accident—that you had another wife, another life, and that you were expecting a child—I had to think about that, too, and how much that's affected you, the pain it caused. But that's in the past. That part of your life is gone now, and I'm so very sorry, Carlo. But you are still here, and I am, too.”
My eyes fill. Blinking hard, I keep going. “So I learned that if I want you, I have to accept that weakness you create in me, and I learned that I have to forgive you, because that's what needs to happen when you...” My voice breaks. “...love someone.”
The tears are spilling out now, and I’m helpless to stop them. Just like I’ve been helpless, for so long, to end the feelings I have for this man.
“And I do love you, Carlo.No one else makes me feel like you do...happy, mad, calm, excited, turned on, pissed off, shaken up...I love you, and I don’t want to live without you.”
Before I can say another word, he leaps up from the ledge and sweeps me up against him. I put my arms around his neck, hugging tight, and I feel his lips on my hair, my cheeks, until he finds my mouth and kisses me deeply, hungrily, and God, how I have waited for this! I sink my fingers into his thick, glorious hair and pull his head in to me, eagerly returning his kiss. When he pulls away from me a few minutes later, his eyes are wet.
“Cassandra, I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you in the stable. I tried like hell to fight it, to control it, but I couldn't.” He pulls me in for another kiss, his warm tongue caressing mine.
Ohh, this man—the feel of his strong arms around me, the hardness of him pressing into me, the softness of his kisses...
I lean back, my hands pressing against his chest. He looks down at me in bewilderment, his mouth open slightly, breathing hard, and I have to fight the urge to smile.
“Wait,” I tell him. “Before we go any further,I have a question, and a condition.”
“Tell me.” He traces the outline of my chin with his fingers, strokes my cheek. “Tell me so I can make love to you.”
“Remember what you said to me that time in the hayloft, about how you’d overcome your fears, except for one?”
“I remember.” His eyes cloud with anguish as they search mine, and I’m filled with the desire to wrap my arms around him and hold him until his pain goes away. But first, I have to know if he can do what I need.
“I've never forgotten that. It's the fear of losing someone, isn't it?”
Carlo looks away, staring over my head toward the ocean. “Yes.” He’s silent for a few minutes, and when he looks down at me again, his eyes are calm and gentle. “But you've enabled me to let go of that fear and dare to love you.”
“I'm glad. And remember when you said I belonged to you?” He’s smiling at me, and the chill I had from the coastal spring air is replaced by a glowing, spreading warmth. “You were right. I do. My condition is...you need to belong to me as well.”
Waves of pleasure ripple through me as Carlo wraps his arm around my waist, his hand sliding up the back of my neck. “I can do that,” he says softly, as he bends down to put his mouth on mine.
His kisses quickly become more demanding. I feel myself molding my body to him, spreading my legs slightly in my dress so his erection is pressing where I want it. The ache for him is making me weak: a total puddle-on-the-floor feeling, like Teal had said.
But I have never been more sure of anything than this, right now.
Carlo's lips leave mine to brush the outside of my ear, his stubbled cheek against my smooth one. “I have a condition, too, Cassandra.”
“What is it?”
“That you let me take you right here, right now.”
I can do that. Sweet Jesus, I can do that.
Carlo gives me a long, lingering kiss and takes a step back. He unbuttons his shirt slowly and lays it on the ground as I watch, filling my eyes with his sculpted chest and abs.
I have to smile. “You have a thing for getting white shirt
s dirty, Mr. Leone.”
“I’m not at all concerned.” He lowers me gently onto the shirt, cradling the back of my head in his hand. I draw in my breath as he straddles me. He begins unbuttoning his pants, and I put my hands over his to stop him. The relentless throbbing between my legs is making me bold. “I want to take out your cock,” I whisper.
His eyes glazed with want, he leans back and kneels over me, his erection tenting the front of his pants. My fingers quickly go to his zipper, sliding it down. I reach inside his boxers to cup his balls, feeling their warmth and firmness, then slide my hand along his rigid length. He has his eyes closed and is softly groaning as I stroke him, and my God, how I love and want this insanely beautiful, complicated man.
I pull his pants and boxers down to his knees, marveling once again at the size of his fully-erect cock. I look up at him. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone, Carlo.” I keep watching his face as I grasp him, lean forward to slide the tip into my mouth, and close my lips around it.
The primal groan he makes soaks my panties. This new feeling of being sexually assertive is as empowering as it is a turn-on.
He put his hands on either side of my face. “You have to stop, sweetheart, or I'm not going to be able to hold back.”
I slide my mouth off him with agonizing slowness, enjoying the delicious torture I’m inflicting upon him. I figure, he’s tormented me like this...it’s only fair.
I need to get something out of my purse. Carlo’s watching me in puzzlement until he sees me take out the small packet. Shaking his head, he grins with delight, showing his dimple. “You were planning this?”
I smile, blushing as I begin to roll the condom over his erection. “I was hoping. And also planning.”
Now, I’ll let him take over, glad there can be a balance of power between us. He slides off his pants and boxers and lifts up the bottom of my dress. I moan as I feel him pull down my panties, slip his warm fingers inside me and gently pinch my clit.
Holy fucking God. A silent scream of ecstasy-agony unleashes itself inside my head. I fight against the orgasm that’s threatening to claim me because I want him to be inside me when I come.