Rock Solid

by Lisa A. Olech

  He tensed beneath her. Part of her froze. Had she said it wrong? Was it too soon?

  “What did you say?” He tipped her chin.

  “Ti amo.” The room held its breath. In the dim light of the room, she couldn’t read his expression. “Did I mess up the pronunciation?”

  “No, you said it right. You love me?” He ran a thumb over her lower lip.

  “Si. Ti amo.” Her heart was pounding. “I do, more than I ever imagined I could. I know it’s soon, but I can’t keep it a secret any more. I wanted you to know how I feel. I love you.”

  In one move, he pinned her beneath him and began to kiss and stroke every inch of her. Before he was finished, he’d taught her an entirely new song.

  Emily woke to an empty bed. After making love to her half the night—how did the man survive on so little sleep? Just another fact about Maximo Vega that amazed her. She blinked at the clock. It would be light soon. The apartment was quiet, but someone was talking downstairs. It was a too early for Dante, plus it was Sunday. She hoped nothing was wrong.

  Rising, she couldn’t find Max’s robe, so she wrapped up in the top sheet from the bed. Tiptoeing to the top of the stairs, she stopped and listened. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was curious as well as concerned.

  “She loves you. You lying bastard, she loves you!”

  Who was that? The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Were they talking about her?

  She opened the door fully and peeked down into Max’s work space. She could just see Max’s shoulder. He was working with clay before a wired form, but she couldn’t see anyone else. The brightness of the studio lights made her squint as she started down the steps. If someone was arguing with him over her, calling him a bastard, she’d set them straight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Max berated himself. “You weren’t thinking. You see her and the only thought in your head is taking her to bed.” He threw a wad of clay at the aperture. “She loves you. You heard her, you lying bastard, she loves you! Go up those stairs, wake her up, and tell her the truth. You were going to tell her yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Do it now. The sun’s coming up. It’s another day, and you still haven’t told her. Tell her you’re a fake. Tell her—”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “—you love her.” Max spun around.

  Emily stood at the bottom of the stairs. He’d been ranting at himself like a lunatic. How much had she heard?

  Pure white panic raced through him. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Emily pulled the sheet from his bed tighter around her. “I thought I heard… There’s no one here?” She shook her head, blinking, and frowned. “Was that you talking?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. His brain raced to come up with the words to explain. He’d practiced how he’d tell her, the exact words to say, but she’d caught him off guard. All those carefully chosen sentences shattered around him like glass. “I thought you were asleep.”

  She pointed at his mouth, put a hand over her eyes, and shook her head. “I think I’m still asleep. I’m dreaming. I swear your accent is gone. Say that again.”

  “You’re awake. It’s not a dream.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him sideways. Confusion and disbelief twisted her features. “What are you doing? Why are you talking like that? Stop it!”

  He stepped toward her. “Emily…”

  She stared at him as if he was crazy. She shook her head and paled. “No! That’s not how you say my name! Say it right!”

  “I’m trying to tell you. That’s why I came for you at the wedding last night. I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve been trying to tell you for days. But I can explain everything.”

  “Explain what? You’re faking your accent? You’re pretending to be Maximo Vega?”

  “No, I am Maximo Vega. I’m just not the Maximo Vega you think I am. I’m Max.”

  “What are you saying?” She backed against the stairs and held her forehead “You’re not who I think you are? You’re not Italian?”

  “My family is Italian. I’m just not from Italy.”

  She seemed to be trying to make sense of everything. She rubbed her forehead. “Your family is from Italy, though, right?” She tossed out her hand. “Michelangelo?”

  “That’s a lie. I’m not related to Michelangelo. My great-great-great-grandmother came from the same little town. It started as a joke.”

  “Wait, what? A joke? What the hell are you telling me?” Confused panic etched her face. “If—if you’re not from Italy, where are you from?”

  There was no point in trying to back out of this now. He wished he could find some way to soften the blow, but the pin had been pulled. “Cleveland.”

  “Cleveland? As in Ohio?”

  “Yes, Ohio. My parents started a dry cleaning business there. Two shops. My brothers run things now.” He was talking as fast as he could. The incredulous look on her face was scaring the hell out of him. He had to make her understand.

  “That’s the family business you were talking about? Dry cleaning in Cleveland?” She started gulping air. She put a hand to her throat. “I think I’m going to be ill.”

  Max didn’t know what to do. He held up his hands to calm her. “I know you’re upset, but you have to listen. Please. I can explain everything.” He reached out to touch her and she jerked back as if he’d burned her.

  “No! Don’t touch me. I-I don’t know what sick, perverted game you’re playing—”

  “I’m not playing, Em—”

  “Don’t say my name!” She shoved past him and raced up the stairs.

  He followed her, dodging the door she slammed in his face. He caught up with her in the bedroom. She was pulling her rumpled gown back on. He had to make her listen. “You need to understand. I got caught up in something. It got out of my control. Way out of control and it was easier—”

  “Easier?” The word stopped her short. “Easier to what? Get women into your bed?”

  “No!”

  The color drained from her face. “All this time…Now I understand.” Her voice got quiet. “All that business in the beginning of pushing me away. You were just laying the trap. Playing hard to get so I’d keep coming back.”

  “No, that’s not true. If you’d just listen.”

  “Listen to what? To what a complete and utter fool I’ve been? To why everything—EVERYTHING—that has ever come out of your mouth has been a lie?”

  “I never lied about how I feel about you.” He pointed to the bed. “I never pretended when we were together. I never spoke Italian to you there. I was always Max.” He opened his arms wide. “I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry. Please, if you believe nothing else, believe me when I tell you I love—”

  “STOP! No! You don’t get to say those words. You haven’t got the first clue about loving someone.” She scrambled to gather her purse, shoes, and stockings and bolted for the door. She took the private stairs out.

  “You can’t leave. Wait!” If she walked out that door she’d never come back. He’d lose her forever.

  She spun on him. Her body shook and her eyes filled with tears. His heart crumbled in his chest as a tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. She shook with the effort of holding it together. He’d destroyed her. He’d destroyed any feelings she had for him.

  Emily held up a trembling hand. “D-don’t follow me. I never want to see you again.” Her voice cracked. “It’s over.”

  “How will you get home?” If he could just keep her there a little longer. If he could calm her down, maybe she’d listen. “Your Jeep is still at the country club. Let me take you.”

  “No. Leave me alone.”

  Max’s heart broke as she pulled a cell phone from her purse and walked away from him. For good.

  For the next hour, he paced like a caged beast around the empty studio. He had to fix this somehow. If s
he would only see him. He could explain how in a moment of frustration he spoke to a reporter and feigned an Italian accent and sealed his fate. How a stupid columnist’s ridiculous assumption had morphed into this lie and formed a tidal wave so huge it swept him along, despite all his efforts to rectify it.

  He should have fought harder to set things right, but all of a sudden the lie had given him the perfect screen to hide behind. It was easier to pretend not to speak English well. If they couldn’t speak to him, they left him alone to do his work. The work was the only thing he cared about. Until now.

  He was lousy with all the rest—the promotion, the schmoozing, the selling little bits of his soul for a commission. Max hated doing it. Maximo couldn’t. His art was a better voice than the few halting words that ever came out of his mouth. It added to his appeal. It created this aloof persona and disguised his dismal lack of social skills.

  He had to find Emily and get her to listen. Pushing into Dante’s office, Max rummaged through the file cabinet. Copies of her internship papers would give him her home address. They had to be here. He saw them just yesterday. Found them! He prayed she’d see him.

  Grabbing his keys, he was heading out when Beverly Lavender burst through, flinging the studio door to the wall with a crash.

  “You fucking son of a bitch!” She hurled a newspaper at him.

  As it hit the floor, Max caught a glimpse of a large photo of him and Emily kissing at the wedding. “I don’t have time for this. Get out of my way!”

  She shoved him backward. Her hair was pulled back in a scary tight twist at the back of her head. It was the first time he’d seen her when she wasn’t decked out in some putrid shade of purple. She was a lot shorter without her heels. “I don’t think so. Not this time. If you think I’m going to have my reputation ruined by you, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “For what, ditching some museum opening? I’ve got bigger problems than your precious ego. Don’t shove me again.” He pushed past her.

  “This has nothing to do with you being an ass last night and bailing on me to go suck face with your little protégée. That only lit the fuse. No, I’m going to expose you for being a fraud and a liar! I know the whole truth about you, Max Vega from Ohio. I spoke to your ex-wife. She told me the whole sordid story. I’m going to destroy you!”

  “What? You talked to Judith? Why? What right do you have talking to my ex-wife?”

  “Right? Right! I have every right! When you didn’t show last night, I came by. I was livid. You made me look like an inexperienced hack. There were promises made to important contacts. All you had to do is show up for ten minutes to satisfy the appointment, but no. You had to go play Fred Astaire with that little bitch, Baskins.” She kicked at the newspaper. “I told her to stay away from you. I warned her.”

  “You what?” Max’s hands curled into fists. “What did you say to her?”

  “Like it matters. I don’t give a rat’s ass about her. I figure when she hears what I’m about to let loose on you, there isn’t a chance in hell she’ll stick around. Internship gone. Scholarship gone. Career gone. She’ll regret the day she ever heard your name.”

  Max’s back teeth were in danger of crumbling to dust.

  “So after you made a complete fool out of me, I started to do a little bit of investigation work. Took a bit of digging, but when I’m properly motivated, I can be someone’s worst nightmare. I found a little mention in a tiny little newspaper about your itty bitty life before you started lying to the entire world.” She held up a copy of his and Judith’s engagement announcement. “Smart girl took back her maiden name. The internet search to find her took me less than ten minutes and we had a long, heartfelt conversation over the phone this morning. I’m worried about you, blah, blah, blah. I think you’ve fallen into some destructive behavior, blah, blah, blah. Is there anything she can tell me to help you? Some way to contact your family?” She snapped her fingers. “It was easy after that. She was so concerned about you, she told me everything I needed to know. Everything.”

  “Get out of my studio.”

  “With pleasure.” She looked at her watch and gave him a snide smile. “I have a press conference in less than an hour. I figure your career and the careers of everyone associated with you, will be over in less than two.”

  “Go ahead, ruin me. I deserve it. I don’t care at this point, but the people who work here are innocent in this. Leave them alone.”

  “Even Dante Rizzoli? I highly doubt that. He’s your watchdog.”

  “Especially Dante.” If Max was going down, fine. But he wouldn’t let this bitch take down his staff. They had families to support. Bills to pay. Dante knew. Of course he knew, but that was one secret Lavender would never dig up. “Dante knows none of this.”

  “How did you manage to keep it a secret from your own studio manager all these years?”

  What was one more lie? “He’s stupid…almost as stupid as you. He believed everything I told him. People don’t ask questions they don’t want the answers to. You fell for it, too. Never batted an eye. You were ready to whore yourself out for me, just like the rest. You jumped at the chance to build your purple-painted empire on the back of my talent. My years of hard work. I even tried to warn you off. I offered you the perfect chance to distance yourself from me, but you wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t see past your own damn greed. Not too smart, Bev.”

  She took an aggressive stance and stabbed a finger into his chest. Her eyes blazed. “We’ll just see how smart I am. I’m about to bury you on live television because I’ll be damned if any of your shit sticks to me!”

  Max glared at her. He forced his hands to stay at his sides. “You hurt my people, and I’ll make sure you’re covered in shit. I’ll see to it this whole mess drags you straight to hell right along with me.”

  “Fine! What do I care about them anyway? It’s you I’m after.”

  Max spread his arms wide. “Then take your best shot, lady, but get the hell out of my studio before I decide I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emily climbed into her Jeep with a moan. She’d managed to reach someone at Polly’s Taxi and get a ride back to the country club. Still in her bridesmaid’s dress, she was the poster child for the walk of shame. The cab driver at least had the decency to leave her alone after his initial comment, “Rough night?” was met with a bout of out-of-control hiccupping sobs from the backseat of his cab. Lovely.

  Aside from the ache in her chest, she was numb. Someone wake me up. This must be a bad dream. How could he have lied to her? After everything they’d done, the cold shaft of truth speared her. How could he have been so calculating? He was Maximo; he wasn’t Maximo. He never spoke Italian to her in bed? Did he think that made it okay? They’d spent hours alone together, wrapped in each other’s arms, and he couldn’t find two minutes to say, “Oh btw, April Fools! You’ve been falling in love with a figment of my imagination.”

  She was in shock, but she recognized this feeling. She’d felt this same desperate sense of loss and despair the first few days after her dad died. Struggling through that initial shock and disbelief was followed by the realization she’d never be the same as she was yesterday. As if a part of her would never recover, no matter how much time passed, she would always bear the ragged scar of this on her heart. Always.

  Emily took a shuddered breath, pulled down the visor, and groaned at her reflection. So much for stunning. She rubbed at the smeared mess under her eyes. Her light plum eye shadow now made her look like she’d been in a bar brawl. She ripped the pink glitter heart clip from where it stuck out sideways from her head and threw it onto the floor mat of her car.

  Home. She just wanted to go home. Fumbling through her useless satin purse, she pulled out her keys and recalled a rainy night and the first time Max had broken her heart. Idiot. She’d gone back for more. Was it any surprise he’d crushed her heart again? Swallowing against the ache in her chest, she stabbed the key
into the ignition.

  All the way home, she tried to come up with what she was going to say to Trixie. What could she say to explain this? Her mother would be devastated. Hell, the woman was learning Italian for him. How was she going to tell her Maximo Vega was a fraud? That he’d deceived the world? She’d sooner believe Elvis was lip-synching. Should she tell her before or after the fact her only daughter had been lying to her for weeks while she secretly had a heated affair with the man? That she’d fallen hopelessly and madly in love and never told her? How did you find the words for that?

  Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the other vehicle in the driveway until she got out of her Jeep. Her muddled brain registered the huge black truck with the off-road suspension and dark privacy windows. Who? Wait, I know this truck! It was covered with the early morning dew. It had been there all night. Joe Turner? Creepy Joe Turner!

  Bursting through the front door, she called, “Mom!” The house was quiet. Em started down the hall to her mother’s bedroom and stopped. The door was shut. There was no way she was going into that room. Bile rose in her throat. “Mom?”

  There was movement.

  She marched back into the kitchen. Let this be a mistake. His truck broke down in our driveway because Trixie’s car broke down at the shop and he offered her a ride home but left and walked the eight miles back to his place and he’ll show up later to get it….Aahhh!

  “Emily?” Her mother rushed into the kitchen, fumbling with the ties of her robe. “What are you doing here? I thought…oh my God, are you okay?”

  “What’s Joe Turner’s truck doing in our driveway?”

  Trixie reached out to Emily. “You look like you’ve been in a car accident. What the hell happened to you?”

  Emily backed away. “Answer the question, Ma! Is Joe Turner here?”

  “Yes.” Trixie threw her hands up. “Now before you get all crazy—”

  All the air left Emily’s lungs like she’d been punched. Behind Trixie, Joe Turner came into the kitchen, buttoning the neck of his aqua polo shirt. Emily slapped a hand over her mouth while her body made the frantic choice between screaming and throwing up.