“Nobody expected you to make lemonade out of any of that. I wasn’t making lemonade myself.” Sadie’s lips compress into a thin line. “Do you really think I wasn’t devastated about Mom and Dad? Or that I hadn’t spent years watching my relationship with Ryan become more of a farce every day? I knew it was doomed, knew every minute I was with him that I was never The One.”
Vehemence in her words brings color to her cheeks, despite the soft tone of her voice. “I’ve screwed up, too, Kate, in every area of my life. With friends, with love, with family. I’ve finally gotten a couple things right. But the thing I regret most is the time I lost with you.”
The air between us crackles with the electricity of unleashed emotion. We stare at each other, sisters once closer than anyone could’ve imagined possible, and now on opposite sides of a gulf widened by petty jealousy and misunderstandings. But this time, with this confrontation, something has started to build a bridge across that gulf.
Compassion.
Empathy.
Forgiveness.
Spent, I sigh and drop into a chair. “I could’ve said the same thing, up until about ten days ago.”
“Now you most regret the guy you’re a weepy mess over.”
Sadie’s succinct phrasing draws a smile from me. Closing my eyes, I start at the beginning and tell her everything about Domenic. The instant attraction when I first saw him in New York, coupled with my irritation over his arrogance. The subtle ways he pulled me to the forefront of the photo shoot and let my abilities shine. The moments on the streets of Rome and Taormina, when we danced toward becoming lovers. The searing kisses and burning touches, the almost-there moments that kept getting interrupted and keeping us from taking that final step.
The devastated look in his eyes that last evening in Manhattan when I told him to let me go, let him see how badly my heart was broken.
As I finish, Sadie cradles the baby in her arms and stands, crossing the room to me. “It’s okay to hurt and to grieve.”
“It sucks ass, though,” I mutter, swiping my tears away with my sleeves.
She smiles and reaches out to touch my shoulder for a moment. “Yeah, it does. But it’s also okay to love, Kate. And if you really love Domenic, you can let him into your life.”
I shake my head. “Maybe I’d be strong enough to take that chance if I knew for sure he felt the same. But if you’d seen him that night at the exhibition—”
“I know,” she interrupts. “You thought it was a moment you could share with him, that his pride in your professional triumph would be proof of his feelings. But instead you felt like he used your intimate moments to further his own fame.”
“It wasn’t even that. If he’d been forthcoming about his plan to use those shots in his display, I could’ve understood that. The Domenic I met when I started the photo shoot would’ve done that.” Pain swells in my chest again, and I tuck my arms around myself to prevent it from escaping. “But the Domenic I saw in those private moments in Italy wouldn’t have been sneaky about it. I guess he wasn’t. He was trying to send me a message.”
“Then why’d you run?” Sadie asks.
I meet her gaze. “Seeing him with his ex-girlfriend draped all over him, acting like she had a claim on him . . . Sure, he said it was just for show, to keep the details out of the press. Maybe I should’ve believed him. After all, he did chase after me when I left. But I just . . .”
Sadie squeezes my shoulder as I trail off. “It’s okay, Kate. I get it, I do.”
Unable to speak, I just nod.
“Dad should have the travel crib set up by now,” she continues. “I ought to lay Nicky down so he can get a decent nap. But we’ll talk later, okay?”
Another nod is my only answer.
She starts out, but pauses in the doorway. “How long are you staying?”
Clearing my throat, I manage, “I was planning to head out tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.” Disappointment draws her glance toward the floor. “I was kind of thinking you could stick around for a few days. If you have time, I mean. Like, if you don’t have any sessions booked.”
“Why?” A frown plucks at my forehead.
Sadie shrugs, then looks up at me again. Motherhood and marriage fall away, leaving the impression of the little girl she once was, when we actually got along. “I thought we could spend some time catching up. And maybe you could take some pictures of Nicky. For his baby book and stuff. I didn’t really like the portraits the photographer in St. Croix took of him after he was born.”
The blank days on my work calendar flash through my mind. “I hadn’t figured on being back in Atlanta until next week.”
“So you’ll stick around for a bit?” Hope flutters at the edges of her question.
I smile. “Sure.”
Chapter 18
As the Romans Do
“That,” states my new assistant, “is a freaking awesome portrait.”
We stand before the poster-sized print I’ve just hung on my studio wall, positioned so it’s the centerpiece of the portrait collection clients see when they walk in the door. The subject is a young, new mother, cradling her infant son. I used a variety of softening effects to enhance the innate glow of love in the woman’s face.
Nobody but me knows the picture is of Sadie and Nicky.
Sighing, I turn and walk to the windows. “Is everything all set for next week?”
My assistant joins me with a stack of new contracts. “We’ll hold down the fort while you’re in Los Angeles. Think you’ll end up signing with this one?”
“Won’t know until I talk with them face to face.” One of the job offers Beth got for me will have me shooting some vacation spots out West for a prominent tourism company. It’s not the most lucrative of the gigs I’ve looked into, but the subject interests me far more than advertising and fashion. The pay is also a bit higher, and that would make my bank account happier.
After signing the contracts, I send my assistant home for the night. She locks the door behind her, and I let the sudden quiet settle over me as I stare out the window.
Once, I thought the Atlanta skyline was the most impressive thing I could ever shoot.
Now I know better.
Domenic hasn’t called in a few days. I still haven’t responded to any of his attempts to contact me over the past four weeks, but now his silence grates on me.
My heart aches. I may have finally lost him.
“It’s what you wanted,” I whisper to the darkening sky outside. “There’s no risk in this. No unhappy ending.”
There’s no ending at all.
Determined to dismiss Domenic from my mind for good, I stride across the studio and log into my computer. The portrait of Sadie and Nicky was just one of several dozen I took at Dad’s house, and I want to finish editing the rest of the proofs she chose so I can send the final images to her and Nelson before the weekend.
A knock on the door keeps me from doing more than opening the folder containing the image files.
My assistant must have left something behind. “What did you forget?” I ask as I unlock and swing open the door.
A pair of way too familiar emerald green eyes stare back at me from the other side. “An apology, for starters.”
“Domenic.” His name rushes out of me on an exhalation of relief. For just a moment, all the hurt, every sharp word, falls away.
He’s here.
He’s standing in the doorway of my studio, grinning at me like a kid at Christmas.
And he’s holding a paper bag marked with the logo of a gelatería located a few blocks away.
“I brought a peace offering, in case the apology wasn’t a good enough opening,” he adds, lifting the bag when he notices me eying it.
“That’s a bribe, not
a peace offering.” Still, I let him in.
He follows me to the kitchenette and waits while I grab a spoon. “I don’t get to share?”
“That’s not how bribes or peace offerings work.”
Domenic smirks and hands over the bag. I stare him down while I extract the hand-packed pint of hazelnut gelato, pull off the lid, and dig in.
It’s good.
But not as good as it would be if we were sitting on the Spanish Steps.
He must recognize the instant that realization flashes through my mind, because he takes the spoon and gelato away from me, setting them on the counter.
“It’ll melt if you don’t put it in the freezer,” I tell him. “And it’s not cheap.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll buy you a fresh pint every day, for as long as it takes to get you back.”
I question whether I have the strength to stand this right now. Obviously, I can’t just run out of my own studio, the way I ran from the art gallery in New York. But I also don’t want to throw him out. He probably wouldn’t leave without a fight anyway. Instead, I skirt around him and head into the studio proper. “What are you doing here?”
“You wouldn’t return my calls,” he says, following me. “Or my texts. I know the attempt to Skype was on the desperate side, but that’s what you’ve reduced me to.”
Facing him, I fold my arms. “There was a reason I didn’t return your various attempts at communication.”
Domenic nods and hooks his thumbs into his pockets. “I know. You’re pissed. I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I did. You were completely right to call me a self-serving jackass.”
“I believe my words were arrogant, presumptuous, self-serving jackass.”
“Same difference.” He steps toward me. “Anyway, since you wouldn’t talk to me long distance, I figured I should try face to face. So I got your addresses from Beth.”
My stomach flips. The butterflies, which have lain dormant since I got back to Georgia, start to stir. “Addresses, plural?”
“She suggested I start with your dad’s place, but he said—”
“You went to my dad’s house?” I choke out.
He stares at me. “He did look me over like he was considering whether or not to threaten me with the proverbial shotgun. But the moment passed. So I tried your apartment, and since you weren’t home, I came here.”
“You flew all the way from New York, then drove around half of Northern Georgia looking for me?”
“Yeah.”
I drop my arms, stunned. “Why?”
“I’d think it was obvious by now. I still want you to be my business partner, to join me in traveling to the most beautiful places in the world, and take beautiful pictures of beautiful people.” He moves a little closer, and now the emotion is plain on his face. “Then there’s this little fact that I love you.”
And cue the butterflies.
But I can’t let my own feelings run rampant. Not yet. “I told you I’m not comfortable with commitment. I don’t trust happy endings and marriages that will last a lifetime.”
“Commitment doesn’t have to mean marriage, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envision us taking that road someday. We can play by any rules you like, call this by whatever label you like. Just . . . come back to me.”
I pull in a deep breath. “I have other offers. Photography gigs for fashion. Tourism. Advertising. Half a dozen to pick from. I don’t need to become your partner to satisfy my professional ambitions.”
“Becoming my partner won’t stop you from pursuing any opportunity that comes your way. But it would be a damn nice perk for both of us to come home from far-flung shoots and be able to curl up together for the night.”
The mental image has me flushing from hairline to neckline. His sincerity is unmistakable.
And he loves me.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love you, too,” I murmur.
In one huge stride, Domenic comes to me and wraps me in his arms. “Say you’ll come back to me. I know it’ll be a huge change, but come back to New York with me and set up shop. Do what you do best, and do it alongside me.”
My body shakes, and he tightens his hold to steady me. He waits, watching me think through the decision.
It took me all of thirty seconds to make the final decision to join Domenic’s Rome photo shoot. I’ve had a month to regret walking away from him. This is not a difficult choice to make.
Not when my entire soul sings just from being near him again.
“It’s a big risk,” I say. “Not just professionally. In fact, that’s not even a risk anymore. It’s everything else.”
He grins. “You can call me a presumptuous, self-serving jackass anytime you want, if it helps.”
“Arrogant, presumptuous, self-serving jackass.”
“Whatever. Just say yes.”
I don’t say it, but my smile, the clasp of my hands around the back of his neck, give him my answer. Heat flares when our lips meet, but after a moment I pull back. “You said you went to my apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to go back there?”
That has Domenic backing up as well, one eyebrow cocked. “Right now?”
I shrug. “When else? As they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
“We’re not in Rome anymore. And the saying doesn’t really apply right now anyway.”
“Domenic, you aren’t usually this obtuse,” I tease, pressing my fingers over his mouth.
His lips stretch under my fingertips. He doesn’t reply, just pulls me close again for the most picture perfect kiss I have ever received in my life.
Looking for more “Sweet Somethings”?
Better Than Chocolate
(Sweet Somethings Book 1)
Three friends. A broken engagement. A surprise elopement. A big secret. A lot of chocolate.
Carmella Sannarelli is a people pleaser. She can’t say no to anyone, even when it means putting off her own personal goals in the process. So, when her best friend, Sadie Miller, calls with the announcement that she’s broken up with one fiancé and eloping with another in St. Croix, Carmella can’t stop herself from dropping everything and accepting the invitation to stand as maid of honor.
Jilted fiancé Ryan Wutkowski has been the third member of the Carmella-Sadie trio for nine years. He fully supports Sadie’s new engagement and upcoming nuptials, knowing it’s the right decision and best for both of them. But when he boards a plane to San Juan for a business conference, Carmella is the last person he expects to find occupying the seat next to his.
Two days in San Juan, then a week in St. Croix—Carmella knows her two best friends are hiding something. But can she figure out what went wrong between them as she battles her own tingly, off-kilter feelings toward Ryan, while dodging advances from a womanizing best man, and confirming for herself that Sadie did make the right decision? When Ryan unexpectedly shows up at the rehearsal dinner and gets himself invited to the wedding, will Carmella finally uncover the secret he’s held since the day they first met?
Available now on Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/h3ymsgm
About the Author
J. Lynn Rowan started writing stories as a small child, usually starring her favorite cartoon characters. Most of her work through middle and high school was filled with typical teenage angst and melodrama, and usually mirrored the books she loved to read. But eventually she found her own author’s voice and decided to seriously pursue a writing career.
Historical fiction remains J. Lynn’s “first love”, but she has enjoyed the journey to becoming an author of romance and chick lit. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Central New York Romance Writers, and the Historical Novel Society. She is also a teacher who tries to instill a lov
e of learning, reading, and writing in her students.
When she’s not writing, J. Lynn enjoys travelling, gardening poorly but enthusiastically, studying various topics in American history for her own expertise, and channeling Julia Child every time she steps into the kitchen.
A native of Oswego, NY, she now lives in Charlotte, NC, with her own Romantic Hero of a husband and the most adorable baby on the planet.
Find J. Lynn Online
Website: http://jlynnrowanliterature.wordpress.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JLynnRowan
Twitter: @JLynnRowanLit
When in Rome (Sweet Somethings Book 2) Page 17