Can't Stop Loving You

by Miranda Liasson

  “Oh,” he said, his gaze raking her up and down. “Think I’ll go home and eat some leftover mac and cheese. You like mac and cheese, don’t you?” he said, his eyes dancing with laughter. “Except I read somewhere that it was an aphrodisiac.”

  He was clearly amused by this . . . situation. Well, she didn’t think it was funny at all. Maybe making out was no big deal to him, but to her it was catastrophic. Something to be avoided again at all costs.

  “Well,” she said, “prepared mac and cheese is old food. We Italians tend to look for something more fresh and original, you know?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Nothing beats quickie mac and cheese. Delicious and satisfying.”

  She scowled at his big Cheshire grin and walked back to her office.

  “Good Lord, Bella,” Maggie whispered, following behind her. “There’s more sexual tension in the air than paint smell. Forget about the bad dates! Nail that guy. He’s gorgeous and he’s got the hots for you.”

  Bella eyed her oldest friend. “It’s sort of become a problem.”

  “That’s a problem I wish I had,” Maggie said. “Someone who can’t stop staring at me. Who checks out my ass when I bend down to pick up my pen.”

  “Listen, our past is very complicated.” She flipped randomly through one of many piles of papers on her desk.

  “Too complicated to give it another shot?”

  Bella shot her a look. “Okay, okay,” Maggie said. “Maybe you could just sleep with him.”

  Maggie knew she didn’t sleep around and that she wasn’t into flings. “Why would I want to do that?”

  She counted on her fingers. “Because he’s gorgeous. Because you’re single. Because you’re obsessed with him.”

  “Maggie, I have to tell you something. I heard back from the psychology practice I interviewed at in Chicago. They offered me the job.”

  “Oh, Bella,” Maggie said, giving her a weak smile and a hug. “I’m happy for you. I think. But I’m sad, too.”

  “Maybe you should come, too. We can both start somewhere new. What do you say?”

  “I just don’t have the heart to move halfway across the country now. Besides, I know everybody in Mirror Lake. I like it here.” She played with Bella’s silver Chinese fortune cookie paperweight, a cool favor she’d gotten at a wedding. “Bella, I’m going to ask you something. Don’t get offended, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “If you were just meeting Roman for the first time, would you go out with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you met him today, and he was handsome and charming and all, would you give him a chance?”

  “I can’t erase our history together. What’s your point?”

  “I just don’t want you to run away—from him. I mean, you’re a therapist. Think about what you’d tell a client in this situation. Wouldn’t it be better to face this head-on?”

  “I’ve talked about leaving long before he showed up. Be fair, Maggie.”

  “I know, but all I’m saying is, it’s convenient not to have to deal with him. And maybe you should give him a chance.”

  “There’s too much water under that bridge. I can’t revisit all that pain—losing him, losing the baby. I would just be setting myself up for heartache again. Not to mention that my dad would never accept Roman, even under the best of circumstances.”

  “He would if you loved him.”

  “Well, I doubt it, but thanks for your concern.”

  A half hour later, Roman was gone for the night or out of sight somewhere and Maggie and Bella were seated around the circle with the Desperate ladies. Maggie’s three-year-old son, Griffin, was spending the night at her parents’, so she’d decided to stay and co-lead the group tonight with Bella.

  “What’s for dessert tonight?” Effie asked.

  “I made banoffee pie,” Gloria said. “It’s British.”

  “And I made cannoli,” Francesca said, somewhat defensively.

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll enjoy both, ladies,” Bella said.

  “Oh dear,” Alethea said. “I would have brought something Greek, but Stavros had a program at school today and then a T-ball game. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Alethea,” Bella said. “I think it would be less work if we just brought one dessert a week. It’s healthier, too.”

  “And less competitive,” Maggie added.

  Bella was trying to steer the conversation away from the bake-off when the door suddenly swung open. A man dressed in an elegant black tux minus the tie stood in the office entrance, out of breath, eyes panicked. He was young, broad-shouldered, and darkly good looking, with an expensive haircut, shaved closer at the sides than on top, the lower half of his carved jaw darkened by a shadow of stubble. He looked like a male model who’d just walked out of a wedding photo shoot. The ladies’ mouths dropped open, and Maggie even stifled a gasp. He quickly closed the door behind him but continued to stand against it.

  “It’s a man,” Effie said. “A hot one.” Murmurs of interest rose up from around the room.

  Maggie stood and cleared her throat. “May I help you?”

  The man cast his eyes around a little wildly. They landed on a little folded cardboard sign in the center of a low table that welcomed anyone to the support group. “I’m—here for group tonight.”

  “Well, are you divorced or widowed?” Effie triaged.

  “I just ended an—um—long-term relationship.”

  “Oh,” Maggie said. “Well, technically you have to be divorced or widowed. Distress from acute breakups is usually covered in individual therapy sessions.”

  “You said Three Ds,” Alethea said. “Divorced, Desperate, or Dead. He looks a little desperate.”

  “And he’s male and we’re short on those.” Effie took her sweater off the seat next to her and patted it. “You can come sit right here next to me, sweetie.”

  Bella wasn’t exactly sure the man heard. Because he was staring at Maggie. Petite, blonde Maggie, who looked pretty and professional and . . . irritated. “You’re the—doctor?” he asked, sounding a little surprised.

  “I’m Dr. McShae, and that’s Dr. D’Angelo,” Maggie said. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” Bella was afraid Maggie would get confrontational. I mean, maybe this guy was sexist or a misogynist, but he also could be a loose cannon who just ran in off the street and humoring him would be prudent.

  “No, of course not. Just that you’re so—pretty. I mean young. What I mean is you’re pretty young, Dr. McShae.” The man was sweating and he kept glancing out the window. Something was just . . . off. Bella wondered if she should call the police.

  “Well, age doesn’t matter, Mr., ah—what was your name again?”

  “My name is Drew.”

  “Okay, Drew. Well, I’m happy to give you some information about our practice and some forms to fill out if you’d like to be seen by one of us privately. But I’m afraid you can’t just join—”

  “I am desperate,” he said, looking pleadingly at Effie, an obvious target for someone who needed a softie. “Like what she just said.” He pointed to Alethea. “And besides, I’m—anxious.” He took a breath. His eyes darted to the windows. “I have anxiety.”

  “How long has your anxiety been an issue?” Maggie asked, beginning to write things down. Vaguely, Bella wondered if Roman was coming back tonight. This man was a wild card, and he was making her nervous. She didn’t want to call for help for no reason, but still . . .

  “For about the last fifteen minutes—I mean years. Fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years? Well, that definitely would require an individual appointment.” Maggie scribbled more down. “How desperate are you? Do you have thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

  “Only the paparazzi,” he mumbled. Louder, he said, “I mean, no, of course not. I’m not suicidal and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Well, that’s a relief, Bella thought. Except why should s
he believe this nervous man who kept glancing out the windows like he was expecting someone to burst into their office right now? They had an obligation to protect their clients, and this was too strange, and a little scary.

  Effie got up and took their new visitor by the arm and led him to the empty seat next to hers. Alethea cut him a piece of dessert and tucked a cannoli onto his plate and Francesca got him a cup of coffee—decaf, Bella hoped.

  “Maggie,” Bella whispered. “I’m calling the cops.”

  Maggie nodded. “I agree.”

  Just then the door opened. To Bella’s relief, it was Roman, back with some supplies. The ladies were fussing over the new visitor and didn’t even notice. Bella ran over and tugged his arm, speaking in a low voice. “I’m glad you’re back. Some strange guy just ran in off the street and he’s acting very . . . strange.”

  While Bella dialed the police station, which was only a few doors down, Roman set down his paint can and a bag of brushes and approached the group of women.

  “Oh, hello, Roman,” Francesca said.

  Roman nodded and glanced around the small circle of women. “Hi, Francesca. Nice to see you. Ladies.” Then the newcomer caught his eye and froze. Roman went white. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Roman?” the newcomer said.

  “Andreas.”

  The man got up, set his food down on his chair, and approached Roman. “God, am I glad to see you.” The two men hugged and laughed and pounded each other on the back.

  “Andreas, that’s it!” Alethea said. “I know who this is! You’re Andreas Poulos.”

  “The billionaire?” asked Maggie. “Who’s marrying that Wall Street mogul’s daughter?”

  “According to my iPhone,” Alethea said, waving it above her head, “he’s on the lam from his own wedding. He was supposed to marry Anika Brewer at St. Patrick’s Cathedral at three p.m. today.”

  There was a knock on the door. Everyone stopped talking and froze.

  “That’s got to be the police,” Bella said.

  “Don’t let them in,” Andreas, or rather, Drew, said. “I’ve got paparazzi following me everywhere. I’m begging you.” He turned to Roman. “I just need a little time to get myself together. Please, Roman.”

  “It’s all right.” Roman smiled and slapped the man on the back. Was Roman out of his mind, helping this unstable man that he clearly was somehow acquainted with? She cast him a wary glance, ready to let the cops in anyway. But then he looked over at her, a huge smile lighting up his face. “Bella, would you tell them everything’s okay? This guy’s my brother.”

  Later that evening, Roman sat at his kitchen table, Lukas on one side of him and Drew on the other. Drew was eating an everything pizza like he’d skipped about a week of meals.

  “I got your e-mail a couple weeks ago,” Drew said between bites.

  “Which you didn’t answer,” Lukas said.

  Drew set down his pizza and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I wasn’t going to answer it, frankly. I was going to ignore it.”

  “I can’t believe our family bond meant that little to you,” Lukas said, tongue in cheek.

  “They always come running home when there’s a crisis,” Roman said, pointing to Drew’s plate. “Eat your pizza.”

  “I’ll be honest with you both,” Drew said.

  “That would be helpful,” Lukas said.

  “My marriage was a business merger. I thought I could go through with it, but at the last minute . . . I couldn’t.”

  “So you left some woman crying at the altar?” Lukas asked.

  “Not some woman, Lukas,” Roman said. “Anika Brewer. Her daddy owns half of New York. And Dubai, the Canary Islands, Cayman . . .”

  “We get it,” Lukas said. “Everyone knows who Richard Brewer is.”

  “Right,” Roman said. “Plus Anika used to be a Victoria’s Secret model.” He looked at his brother. “Are you crazy?”

  Drew shook his head. “It wasn’t a love match for her, either.” He paused. “And I don’t want to go into detail, but let’s just say she’s no angel.”

  Lukas put his hand on Drew’s shoulder. “Okay. So you ran to save yourself from a loveless marriage. Now what’s your plan?”

  A muscle in Drew’s jaw ticked, which Roman picked up on immediately. “I actually don’t have one,” Drew said. “But I was wondering—I was wondering if maybe you’d let me hang out here until I get one.”

  “I don’t know if you remember this,” Roman said, “but when we were kids, Lukas used to sit me down and try to help me with my math problems.”

  Lukas laughed. “Don’t remind me. Man, you completely lost it with subtraction. Borrowing nearly did you in.”

  “Thanks, Lukas, but I have an MBA now, okay? I think I finally got it. Anyway, I’d be sitting there all clueless and Lukas would be sweating and cussing a little, trying to explain, but you—you just waltzed right in there between us and took charge.”

  “So I was good at math.”

  “You were good at everything. Whip smart. So whatever you have to figure out, I reckon you’ll do it just fine. And you’re welcome to stay here until you do.”

  “Because we’re brothers,” Lukas said, lifting his beer bottle. “Right?”

  The other two lifted theirs.

  “Right,” Drew said, clinking bottles. “If I knew you guys were beer drinkers, I would’ve shown up earlier.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Bella was more than a little shocked that the Desperate ladies actually kept the return of Roman’s long-lost brother under wraps. She attributed it to the fact that they were so man deprived they’d do anything to keep a secret for the possibility of having two hot handsome guys visit their group again. Mrs. Panagakos, especially, became staunchly threatening if any of the other ladies even mentioned spilling the beans on “her boys.”

  So no news was good news, right? No one had seen Drew or Roman all week. Which was what Bella wanted, right? She tried not to think of Roman and what had happened between them, and carry on with her life, but the blind-dating thing now held even less appeal. On Friday, Bella sat by herself on a bench in the little park in the middle of town, waiting for her final date and wondering exactly how she got talked into it.

  “I’m not doing it,” she’d said earlier that day just after her last client had left the office and Maggie, Sam, and Jess had gathered around her desk.

  “This could be a good one,” Maggie said. Jess had brought a bottle of wine and was passing around paper cups for everyone to drink with the cheese and crackers she’d brought in to celebrate that it was Friday.

  “Third time’s a charm,” Jess said, moving a stack of papers to half sit on the edge of her desk.

  “It’s the last one,” Sam chimed in. “C’mon. One last time. You can do it.”

  It reminded her of the voice her mom used to use as she tried to coax medicine through Bella’s clamped-together lips when she was a little kid.

  Well, she wasn’t sick. And frankly, no matter how sweet her friends were, she simply couldn’t take any more. “Thanks so much for all your efforts, but I’m done.”

  Jess was tapping vigorously on her phone. “Wait ’til you see him. He’s not from Mirror Lake, he teaches high school, he doesn’t fly-fish, he has a dog, and he doesn’t live with his mother.” She shoved the phone in front of her face where, sure enough, there was a photo of a very good-looking, smiling guy. Who was blond and blue-eyed. He could’ve climbed off a surfboard on a Malibu beach. Or been in an ad for toothpaste. Or tanning lotion. The guy was a hottie with a body, she’d give her friends that. An anti-Roman, if you will. But she just couldn’t muster the heart.

  “Jess, I love you,” Bella said, “but I’m really having a hard time trusting you after that cowboy.”

  “My intel was faulty on that one. I promise this one will be worth your time.”

  “Let’s forget all this nonsense and go out together for my birthday tomorrow. Give me his number so I can cancel, okay?
”

  “Hold on a second,” Sam said. “You promised three dates. This is the last one. Finish the contract.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No. You need tough love,” Sam said. “No whining.”

  She glared at her friend, who’d adopted Lukas’s nephew, Stevie, in the past year, and judging by her mom voice, it was showing.

  “Sam’s right,” Maggie said. “Unless . . . unless something’s going on with your stud muffin next-door neighbor?”

  “Nope, nothing’s going on there,” Bella said. Except for those go-up-in-flames kisses, that is. Lord, that man could kiss. He’d learned a few things over the years, although he hadn’t exactly been an awful kisser when he was eighteen, either. Bella picked up an academic journal from her desk and fanned herself.

  But their little passionate interlude—or anything like it—would never happen again. She hadn’t even seen Roman this week. He apparently had his hands full with his on-the-lam brother. Oh, the tabloids were having a field day—they couldn’t find Andreas Poulos, who’d left his beautiful socialite bride weeping at the altar and earned himself the label of rich playboy scoundrel. The Three Ds group had taken to him, however, and their lips were sealed. None of them was telling that, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, he was tucked away on a quiet little apple farm in southern Connecticut.

  “Why are you blushing?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m not blushing,” Bella said, tossing down the magazine. It was just a warm October day. Really, really warm.

  “Uh-huh, right,” Sam said, crossing her arms.

  Jess pretended to yawn widely. “What’s that called in psychology talk . . . denial?”

  “More like stupidity,” Maggie mumbled. She stood up and shook Bella by the shoulders. “I have to say something as one of your closest friends, and I want you to listen.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’m listening. What?”

  “I want you to remember one thing tonight: Who cares what people think? You’re almost thirty years old. Do what you want to do.”