Bella Luna

by Sharon Struth

  “What? Eat junk food?”

  “Even better.” He grinned. “Give me a sec to change and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Upstairs he tossed on clean jeans and a dry cotton oxford. Once back in the kitchen, he heard Emma moving around inside her apartment. He pulled some hot dogs from the refrigerator and searched a drawer filled with assorted kitchen gadgets until he found two long, metal skewers. From an emergency kit stored in the pantry that his mother had set up years ago, he removed some votive and tapered candles and a battery powered transistor radio.

  The storm was a true blessing in disguise. A chance to make her more comfortable around him. Then maybe she’d open up.

  He lit the candles in various spots in the den and parted the curtains to let in the little bit of outside light. Going out onto the back porch, he gathered a few logs and kindling and dumped them on the den floor near the brick hearth. Temperatures were expected to drop tonight. You could never trust the New England weather in the spring.

  He returned to the kitchen and found her standing in the middle of the room holding her flashlight.

  “You’re in for a treat.” He quickly opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of wine. “Grab some tumbler glasses from the cabinet and a corkscrew. Meet me in the den.”

  He went to a large chest near the fireplace and removed his favorite childhood game as she entered the room. Ridiculous, right? Stuck in the house with a beautiful woman and here he was, dragging out a board game brought to him by Santa. He didn’t care. She seemed to belong in this house, and he wanted to her to enjoy it in the ways he always had.

  She leaned on the trim near the den door. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Some good old-fashioned entertainment. No batteries needed.” He lowered the board game Trouble onto the coffee table. “I don’t want you to worry, but I’m pretty skilled at this.”

  She made her way over. The glow from the flickering candles made her eyes sparkle. “Or maybe you should be worried. Some say I have the best poker face this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Good. I love a challenge.”

  Leo uncorked and poured the wine while she opened the game box and poked through the pieces. “What color do you want?”

  “Blue. I’ve never lost a game when I stick with blue. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  “Okay. I won’t. You know, I took an undergrad class in college where we talked about the psychology of color.”

  “Oh?” Of course you did, Dr. Rose.

  “Blue, the color of trust, honesty, and loyalty.”

  He poured the wine but didn’t feel very loyal or honest. If he were, he’d tell her what he’d figured out from the news.

  “There you go.” She put his pieces near the box.

  He handed her a full glass, leaving his on the table to get the fire started. On his way across the room, he saw she picked out red pegs for herself. “So is red your favorite color?”

  “Of course. Red is the choice used by kick-ass Trouble players.”

  She offered a rebellious raise of her brow, making warm sensation glow inside his Leo’s chest.

  For the next hour, with the game board between them and the rain pounding a blitzkrieg of water on the roof, they played. Each hooted in victory when they’d send the other person’s pieces back. Rolling a six and being granted another turn involved some major grandstanding on both their parts. When Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” played on the radio, she surprised him by singing, so he joined her.

  Over the rim of his glass, he took a long sip and watched her move her piece. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in a very long time.

  She looked up and smiled warmly. “This is fun.”

  Tenderness rushed his chest as he swallowed the wine, causing a secondary stir inside the vacant folds of his heart.

  * * * *

  “Victory.” Leo slipped his last piece in the slot, securing his third win to her two. “So sugary sweet it’s making my teeth hurt.”

  Rose groaned but was secretly amused by how seriously he took the decades-old children’s game. “You did have the home field advantage.”

  “A sore loser. Like my sister. Best out of seven?”

  The wine relaxed her. Each passing game gave their relationship a cozier, more natural feel. She no longer wanted to play games with Leo. Not this game anyway.

  “I’m no match for you. You’ve proven the power of the blue peg.”

  He chuckled, throaty and sexy, then lifted the wine bottle and tipped it in offering. She extended her glass and he filled it, doing the same to his.

  “Want another hot dog?”

  “One was enough. I can’t believe you got me to eat one.”

  “I didn’t hear you complain afterward. In fact, I’m pretty sure you gave your endorsement.”

  “It was tasty, but let’s not get carried away. I never thought about cooking in a fireplace.”

  “We’d do it when the power went out or on a rainy day, when Mom had run out of ways to keep us occupied. We’d pretend we were camping, only we slept in here on sleeping bags, made hot dogs and popcorn in the fireplace, sang songs.” He leaned back and plunked his legs on the coffee table. Resting his arm on the sofa top, he rubbed her shoulder and stared into the fireplace. “Good times.”

  The warm glow of the fire and Leo’s soft touch made her want to get lost in this scene. So perfect and not pretend. His nearness kicked off a desperate need to learn more about him, even if it meant giving up a piece of herself. Rose had figured out a way both could be accomplished; she’d been toying with the idea for the past fifteen minutes.

  Finally she said, “I have a game. It’s an experiment, actually.”

  He moaned. “Science was my worst subject.”

  “Not that kind of experiment. We ask each other questions, to get to know each other better.”

  He raised his dark brows. “I’d like that. Any questions?”

  “No. I have them in my room.”

  He reached for the flashlight, tucked near his leg on the sofa and handed it to her as he stood. “Go get them. I’ll toss on another log.”

  Bella lifted her eyelid at the activity but didn’t budge from her prime space near the warm fire.

  Emma walked around the dark corner into the hallway. The rain had slowed. Every so often heavy winds made the house rattle. She quickly found her briefcase and took what she needed.

  When she returned, Leo sat on the sofa, gazing at the flames. She studied his Nordic nose, strong jaw, soft wisps of hairs around his ears. He lifted his drink, slowly brought the rim to his lips. Memories of the tender way he’d kissed her teased her fuzzy state of mind.

  He turned and his eyes softened. “All set?”

  “I am.” She sat in the sofa corner and stretched out her legs until they bumped his thighs.

  For this to work, she needed to be completely honest. Truth. A foreign substance in her old world. Not on the day-to-day matters, but her past. Tonight, she’d try to step into a new world of honest relationships, with Leo as her guide. Nobody could be more perfect. He understood why someone would run, because he’d run here. He understood living in a blended world of real life versus fiction, the way she had always lived. She wanted to know about his past and was afraid, but willing, to share hers.

  “We’ll start with simple questions and work our way up to more difficult ones. Would you like to ask me first?”

  He held out his hand. “Sure.”

  She turned over the list, the symbolism in her gesture so much more than he’d ever realize. Tonight was a chance to end a lifetime of making it hard for others to know her, really get inside her head. A lifetime of secrets. The sacrifice? An inability to sincerely share what she had to offer with another person.

  He studied the list. The fireplace flames made his eyes sparkle. He rubbed his chin then lifted his gaze and their eyes met, making her inhale sharply at the intensity. />
  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”

  The truth dancing perilously on her lips and she pushed it right off the cliff. “I would like to have been raised in a normal household.”

  He lowered the paper. “Define normal.”

  “Anonymous. Where nobody knows your family name, you live in a quiet neighborhood, go to public school.”

  “So then you didn’t have those things?”

  “My parents were actors and got a lot of attention as celebrities. We were always on display. I hated it.” She exhaled a breath she’d been subconsciously holding, but confessing it wasn’t as hard as she’d anticipated.

  He raised a brow. “Stage, television, or movie?”

  “Television, some movies.”

  He slowly nodded and watched her intently. “You had no interest in the field?”

  “Never. The lifestyle sounds glamorous on the surface. Pressure for perfection is intense when you’re in the public eye. My parents were fake versions of their true selves. One way for the camera. Another behind the scenes. They argued. Drank too much.” A knot in her belly tightened from the confession but she also found the release empowering. “Drama was everywhere, except when the press or others were around.” Moments from her childhood flashed before her, then, more quietly, she added, “I longed for routine, to go out and have nobody recognize me.”

  A solemn expression took over Leo’s face. “Celebrity can get away from people. Who were your parents?”

  Silence no longer kept her life safe; it kept her from living. “Warren and Wendy Holloway. I was their daughter.”

  He frowned. “I remember they…they both died, didn’t they?”

  She nodded.

  “So you were their only child?”

  “Yes.” She drew in a deep breath. “I found them. My mom shot my dad then took her life. I was fourteen.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”

  “Please, don’t be. It was long ago.” Rose’s gut trembled with the admission, an aftershock of exposing her living nightmare.

  Leo sat on quietly, thinking God only knew what. She didn’t dare ask how much Leo remembered from the news back in the day. She didn’t want to know.

  She held out her hand. “My turn.”

  He passed over the paper, watching her with a serious and thoughtful gaze.

  She read the questions until settling on one. “For what in your life do you feel most grateful?”

  “Easy. Being adopted by the Drakes. Left in the foster care system, I may have reached my full potential, but who really knows? I was developmentally behind. Coming here was tough because I was different than the other kids.” Gratitude shined in his eyes. “I owe the Drakes everything. Who watched you after your parents died?”

  “My aunt.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I get to ask you the next one, and I already know the question so you can keep the list. What would you consider a perfect day? Besides playing Trouble during a power outage with me, of course.”

  She laughed. “This afternoon has been pretty damn near perfect.” She rubbed his thigh with her foot.

  His hand landed on her ankle, keeping it there and slowly caressing her skin.

  His touch served to remind her why the truth was necessary. “A perfect day would be one where I’ve stopped running.”

  She averted her gaze to the jumping flames of the fireplace. The story of her life painted a weak picture of her. Twice she’d chosen flight, rather than facing reality. But if she answered his question, it could be a new reality.

  “Emma?”

  She glanced up, awakened by the sound of her fake name passing his lips. Reaching out and taking his hand, she said, “I’m not Emma. My name is Rose. Let me start at the beginning.”

  Rose shared everything, while Leo listened. She held his one hand tight the entire time while he massaged her shoulder with the other. From leaving California at the age of eighteen until the moment she arrived in his house and why she fled across state lines. No detail was spared. The sympathy in Leo’s eyes helped her move forward. She finally inhaled a deep breath and said, “Now it’s gotten worse.”

  “I know,” Leo said quietly.

  Rose deflated inside. “For how long?”

  “Since yesterday, I recognized you on a news clip.” He searched her face, his gaze sad and searching, as if trying to understand everything. “Your name hasn’t come up there. Maybe the FBI hasn’t found the trail John planted to make you look guilty.”

  “It’s a matter of time. They know the money started in my account.”

  “How could he frame you? It can’t be easy.”

  “The investigator I hired said John engineered a trail of illegal straw donations, but the paper trail all leads to me. To my inheritance.”

  “Wouldn’t he be afraid of getting caught, too? It’s his campaign.”

  She shrugged. “John’s always been the type to take a gamble. He stood a chance nobody would have caught the donations at all. Then he’d have all my money.” Rage surged through her veins. Anger at John. Anger at herself, for being so naive. “The problem is that I can’t go to the authorities about this without being implicated myself. There’s no hard evidence against him. Worse, I’m afraid he might hurt me. Don’t forget, I heard him talking on the phone to someone with a plan to have me mugged or somehow hurt with a gun.” Her gut trembled because she had no idea if John put those wheels in motion yet. “While I’ve been in Northbridge, I felt out of harm’s way. But if I tell the police what I know, who knows what he’s capable of doing?”

  “Why would he want you arrested or hurt?”

  “I don’t know. I’m beginning to wonder if he married as a prop to his campaign or to get his hands on my inheritance. Maybe he never loved me.”

  She swallowed down a lump in her throat. Leo took her other hand, easing the ache in her chest.

  Quietly, she added, “My only hope is the PI finds something to connect him to the transactions. It’s a long shot, but I’m not giving up without a fight. I don’t want to go to jail and end up convicted for something I didn’t do. Any jail time as I wait to prove my innocence could tarnish my reputation. I have my own career to think about.”

  “Ask Dr. Rose?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure the magazine will fire me and my readers won’t want to hear my advice ever again.”

  “Has the PI proven your case yet?”

  “Almost. He needs a little more time. You know, I never planned to drag anybody else into this mess. Especially you.” She squeezed his hand.

  “You’re not dragging me any place I don’t want to go.”

  “You don’t care that I’m a fugitive from the law?” She cringed, the words becoming closer and closer to the truth.

  He shook his head. “You’re not yet. Besides, with every passing day, I’m certain you ended up at my doorstop for a reason. But I must ask”—Leo shifted and his thigh gently rubbed against hers—“you are divorced, then?”

  “Yes. Just not announced yet.”

  “So us being together, it’s okay?”

  She inched closer and kissed him tenderly. “Better than okay.”

  He watched her with such intensity her heart felt his affection. He cupped her cheek while gazing into her eyes for only a second before he drew her close, pushed his fingers through one side of her hair, and brushed his lips against her cheek.

  “Rose,” he whispered, leaving an imprint from his warm breath. “Such a beautiful name.” He kissed her neck. Her chin. The corner of her mouth.

  Never before in her life had she wanted to hand over so much of herself. Her body. Her heart. Her soul.

  Leo tugged her close and brushed his lips tenderly to hers. “I promise, you’re safe here.”

  Rose got lost in his kiss. The fabricated reality found by running to Connect
icut suddenly felt more real than any other moment of her life.

  * * * *

  An hour had passed since she’d spilled everything. She’d never felt more free and honest. Spooned comfortably against Leo, Rose nestled into the sofa cushions not caring about the passing time and lulled by the warm fire’s sizzle. The conversation and questions had continued, openness unlike any she’d shared with a man.

  She sighed, the moment of bliss making her question everything she ever knew as happiness. They’d shared so much tonight. About family and friends. The past and present. Loves and losses.

  “I noticed you didn’t mention the last part of your experiment when you tossed those questions aside,” he said quietly, his warm breath near her ear.

  “You mean the part where we stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “For good reason.”

  “Chicken?”

  She rolled around and faced him. “Hell, yeah.”

  “It’s only four minutes.”

  “That’s a long time. I could make a boiled egg or sing an entire song or—”

  “Or stare into my eyes.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “It might help me with a character thing.”

  “Tell me you just didn’t play the guilt card.”

  “Writing is a dirty business.” Leo grinned then turned his face toward the burning fire for several seconds. “I know this is scary, but it’s about trust.”

  She laughed. “Jeesh, hit me where it hurts. Four minutes, huh?”

  “Barely a millisecond of a lifetime, if you think about it.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Let’s sit up.” He grinned, a satisfied expression, and as they got upright he reached for his cell phone on the end table. “I’ll time us. Let’s face each other.”

  They shifted from their spots on the sofa until meeting at the center, their feet firmly planted on the floor and knees touching.

  He looked up. “Ready?”

  “No. But don’t let that stop you.”

  “Shhh. Let’s start.” He tapped the phone, put it down, and stared at her.

  They stared. And stared. This is silly. Right away, Rose smiled, although it didn’t shadow her discomfort.