Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book)

by Juliano, Celia

  “Good morning,” Kitty said. She placed a cup of coffee in front of Chiara, who thanked her. “The boys have all walked down to the beach.” She smiled briefly at Chiara. That wasn’t good. She must have something unpleasant on her mind. “I hope you don’t mind I made reservations for you and Phil at Le Fountainebleau next Friday. I know you two don’t get out enough together and it’s such a romantic dining experience.”

  Chiara’s stomach rolled and not from hunger. “Thank you,” she said trying to unclench her teeth.

  “We want you and Phil to be happy.”

  So she knew they weren’t. Chiara plastered a smile on.

  “We’d do anything for our Philip,” Kitty said as she arranged sliced melon, strawberries, and kiwi on a white oval platter. “Just like he’d do anything for his sons. He’s such a devoted father.”

  Chiara met her eyes briefly. Phil had obviously been talking to his parents, too much. Kitty’s eyes were at once watery with pity and glimmering with determination. What she was determined to do Chiara wasn’t sure. She was sure she wouldn’t want to get on Kitty’s bad side. For all her seeming politeness, polished exterior, and fluttery dependence on her husband, Chiara knew Kitty concealed a shrewd, organized, and ruthless woman underneath. And both Phil’s sister, Kim, and her husband were lawyers, lawyers with a vast network of connections all over California. Chiara smoothed her hand on the granite counter and shivered. But she kept smiling.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rocco shifted on the couch. He muted the Giants game on TV when the phone rang. For a second, a tiny bubble of hope popped up, thinking it might be Chiara, but she didn’t have his home number. And she was with her husband. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back. Body odor and beer burned in his nostrils.

  “Dad, are you there?” Sabrina’s voice called into the answering machine. “I’m wondering about tomorrow, you know, we always spend the Fourth with you. But you haven’t said anything. Shawn and I thought we could go to a ball game or maybe Uncle Ray’s, but if we don’t hear from you, Mom would like us to go to John’s for a barbeque. Let me know, okay? Love you, bye.” A click then silence. He blew out a breath.

  Pain seared in his shoulder when he sat up. He shouldn’t have body slammed into that fence walking home last night. He stood and scuffed down the hall. The second bathroom, veiled in dust, looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Oh, right, he had. For his shoulder’s sake, he shouldn’t have done that either. Plus, he’d damaged usable parts, like the vanity, now cracked, and some of the tile, smashed into jagged pieces. It could be repaired, unlike him.

  Doing an about face, he went into the kitchen and took another beer from the fridge. He’d gone out this morning to Safeway, instead of Franco’s Market where he usually shopped, and bought a twelve pack and some frozen dinners. He wasn’t planning on leaving the house until Monday.

  Steam rose from the bathtub as he filled it with water. He set the beer on the tile floor of his bathroom and stripped off his shorts and tee shirt, wincing in pain when he lifted his right shoulder. Soon he submerged himself in the too hot water. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes again. Water enveloped his shoulders, dulling the sharp pain into a manageable ache. If only he could do the same for his heart.

  Chiara should be in this bath with him. Her hair, wet and softly scented, would be matted against his chest. His hands would encircle her waist, soon moving up or down to find all her secret spots. Pressed against him, her nakedness would arouse him until she whispered in his ear. And she would slide herself back and…dammit. He reached for his beer and took a long swig. He had never needed or wanted a woman this bad. No reason to start now. He knew what he had to do.

  The weekend was a blur of beer, TV, bad food, and pain. At least he slept, on and off, but never well. Always waking alone.

  The alarm buzzed at him on Monday morning. He dragged himself from bed and took a long, hot shower. Presentable, yes, at least in appearance, and no beer during the workweek--it was gone anyway. He could get more on Friday.

  Somehow he’d managed to put off seeing his family for another week. They wouldn’t understand.

  He drank himself to sleep on Friday night. Drinking wasn’t enough. He sobered up a bit for Saturday night so he could get laid.

  He groaned out of bed on Sunday morning, the bright mid-morning light poking through the drawn curtains. He tried to work his mouth around on the way to the kitchen but only a glass of water began to chase the bitter fuzziness away. Measuring some coffee and turning on the pot, he searched his mind for details of last night. He’d made out with some woman, not Chiara. A familiar sickening in his gut began, worse even than the one he used to get when he cheated on his wife.

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. The whole “it will only work with Chiara” thing had to be bullshit. So he couldn’t go through with it last night. A little more time and effort and Chiara’d be just a foggy memory, like all the others.

  Apparently almost forty and hung over was a lot different than thirty or even thirty-five and recovering from a night of partying. It took four days walking around, working, making himself meals, and grocery shopping in a daze before he felt normal again. Not that he knew what normal was and he sure as hell wasn’t there when it came to Chiara.

  He went to the Safeway again, worried someone his parents knew would see him at Franco’s, where his parents had shopped for as long as he could remember. Standing in front of the liquor, the pull of it made him reach out his hand. If he had some vodka or a nice scotch, it would ease the hangover and numb the tight pain of missing Chiara. But he was leaving for San Diego in a couple days and he knew once he went with the hard stuff it would be even more difficult to stop. He could control the beer. And if he could do that, he could conquer his urge, the pull for her too. He could do this. He went home with only a frozen pizza and some fruit in his bag.

  “Are you sure this is it?” Rocco asked Sabrina and Maddy as he slung their five bags into the bed of his truck on Thursday morning. He had one--they were only going for three days. They laughed and nodded. “You really okay to drive?” he said to Sabrina.

  “Yes, Dad. You look too tired to drive, anyway. Haven’t you been sleeping?” she asked as she hopped into the driver’s seat. Maddy climbed into the passenger side while Rocco swung himself into the back, which he’d cleared out for the trip.

  “Getting used to the new house,” he said. That and pacing around it thinking of and imagining Chiara. A couple times he even walked down to her dark, empty house, peering at it as if it held the secret to why she wouldn’t leave her husband. He’d done the same that night almost two weeks ago when she’d called him as he’d walked to meet her. But then the house wasn’t empty and dark. A light shone from the far end of the house, near the kitchen. Maybe the laundry room, he’d thought. Maybe she had been in that room when she’d called and broken him.

  Once someone had taken a bat to him and that was how he felt after her call, freshly beaten. Now the bruises settled, multicolored and tender. He shut his eyes. The girls chatted and turned on the radio as the tires tread down the new pavement of his ex’s street. A song started and he clenched his hands, his throat tightened. It was the song Chiara sang that evening at his house.

  “What song is this?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice even, but it sounded like a croak.

  “It’s Alicia Keys’ ‘Unthinkable.’ I love her,” Sabrina said. “Why, have I finally changed your taste?”

  “No, but she has a nice voice. I’m going to try to get some shut eye, okay? Let me know when you want me to drive,” he said as Sabrina sped onto 580 East.

  “Sure Dad, rest up.”

  He closed his eyes again and let the song and Chiara’s image, the memory of her blazing touch, transport him. Half asleep, he could dream his own truth, the beauty of her, of them together.

  That night, he lay on the bed in his hotel room, unable to sleep. The window let in the bay breeze and the soun
d of lapping water which would usually have put him right to sleep. But all he could hear were couples laughing together or the distant shouts of young people out late at the various party spots around Mission Bay. He should be out there with Chiara, or better yet in here, holding her, soft and warm, in his arms.

  He stood and gazed out the window. Why did she feel so close? He’d felt a lot of things for women, but never this particular combination of closeness, concern, and craving. He better get some sleep, though, since Sabrina and Maddy were full of enthusiasm and wanted him to go to breakfast and the beach with them before they took off on their own in the afternoon and evening. He stretched and fell back into the bed.

  Fortunately, Sabrina and Maddy weren’t early risers. He usually was, but after nights of drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, he liked being able to get up later. The sun shone warm through the window and reflected off the bay, a vast glittering expanse beyond the light sandy beach. Palms rustled and he rubbed his arms, colder than the slight breeze should make him. He tested his shoulder, mostly better now. A hot shower would help.

  Half an hour later, he walked to the girls’ room next door. They were ready for the day, swimsuits under skirts and tees, beachy flip-flops on. Walking across the street, they stopped at Roberto’s for breakfast burritos before they checked out the ocean beach and the old wooden roller coaster nearby. A few surfers dotted the cresting waves and already the beach began to fill with lounging people on colorful towels. They strolled the pathways and hung out on the beach for awhile. Rocco sat on the grainy warming sand watching the girls giggle while they played chicken with the waves. It was kind of nice, different noises than home. Waves splashed against the shore, shouts and laughter, the clack of the coaster, the swish of sand, the crunch of it underfoot on concrete. Attune to the various Fairvale noises, it seemed quiet there, too silent lately. Here his thoughts were virtually pushed away by the distractions.

  “Dad,” Sabrina said as she and Maddy ran up. “I’ve been calling you, what’s up?”

  “Sorry,” he said. He stood and brushed off his trunks.

  “Let’s go over to the other beach, okay?”

  “Sure,” he said. He followed the girls, each with a tote bag slung on their shoulder, back across the street.

  As his feet sunk slightly in the sand, he scoped the area. Not as crowded, more families over here, away from the more dangerous ocean waters. He was a little surprised the girls wanted to come over to this beach, but then he recalled Maddy was afraid of the ocean, so that would explain it. A pop of bright blue caught his eye.

  “Here, okay?” Sabrina said. He nodded and stood, peeling off his tee shirt, while they laid out towels.

  He glanced at the woman who had caught his eye with her turquoise swimsuit. She lay on her stomach, head cradled sideways on her arms. A glowing tan shone on her olive skin, her dark hair glinted in the light. A little ruffle on the bottom of her suit rippled, drawing his eye to her rear.

  He eased onto his towel while Sabrina and Maddy settled themselves. The woman shifted slightly. Her ass was as fine as Chiara’s, maybe nicer, though he’d never seen hers in a figure hugging swimsuit. And the open back of it, he could see right down to the very tip, that curved spot before the cheeks.

  He stared now. Prickles needled his neck and arms. Christ, that was Chiara. Swear to God, it was her, lying there like an Italian starlet a few feet away. She flipped over and leant up on her elbows, watching the water. Her breasts peeked out either side of the Marilyn Monroe neckline, like the front of the dress she’d worn to his mom’s party. The dress he’d moved his hands under, feeling her, making her…uh-oh. He quickly turned onto his stomach and looked away. And he’d done so well, not checking out women in front of Maddy and Sabrina and here he was getting a hard-on in front of them, for a married woman, no less.

  The beach had silenced. A breeze whispered in his ear, the bay water shushed. A few children laughed in the distance.

  “Claire, Claire,” a sharp, irritated voice demanded. Rocco looked over. The husband. His stomach knotted. Sabrina sat up. The husband continued. “Claire!” Chiara looked up as her husband loomed over her, or as much as a man of his height could. Rocco smirked. “You see how she is, Mom? I worry about her neglecting the boys. She’s always off in her own silly world,” he said to an older, petite, blonde woman who stood near him.

  Chiara rose, looking even finer than in a prone position. Rocco studied the scene as he supported himself on his elbows. Tension blasted from all sides. “I was watching the boys with your father just now and I told you, my name isn’t Claire.” She crossed her arms over her chest. This only caused her breasts to wink at him. He sat up.

  “I married Claire,” the husband said. “The mother of my boys is Claire. This Chiara is a stranger. A stranger who yells and wears inappropriate clothes. Look at your suit,” he hissed. Rocco looked and smiled. “I won’t let--”

  “Now Phil,” the woman Rocco assumed was Phil’s mother said. She put a tiny white hand on the man’s arm. “You and Claire can talk over dinner. I’m going to go swim. Come along.”

  Rocco choked back a laugh at how she spoke to him, like he was a little lap dog. He kind of looked like one, an oversized pug, with his big belly and frowning face. Rocco grinned.

  “Chiara,” Sabrina called as she stood with a hop. The older woman walked down the beach but Chiara’s husband stopped following and glanced back. Only a few feet away, he’d be able to hear every word. Maybe Rocco would have some fun with this situation. The guy deserved it. And Rocco needed a good time.

  Sabrina hugged Chiara and they asked after each other. Rocco walked up behind his daughter. “I love your swimsuit,” Sabrina said. “Isn’t it pretty, Dad?” He loved his daughter.

  “She looks beautiful, as always,” he said in a loud voice. Chiara’s cheeks glowed pink. If only he could see her eyes, but they both wore sunglasses.

  “You two are a welcome sight,” Chiara said. He didn’t need to see her expression after all. Her relieved yet low tone told him what he needed to know.

  “Those are your in-laws?” Sabrina asked motioning to the couple in the water with Chiara’s boys. He and Sabrina ignored her husband who still stood, glaring at them. Rocco grinned.

  “Yes, they live over there.” Chiara pointed toward the houses lining the beach. “They’re taking the boys to Disneyland in a bit.”

  “Oh, are you free? It would be great if you could go out with us. Dad was going to stay here, but if you joined us, we’d love it. I have a lot I want to do but we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know, I mean…”

  Her husband rushed up. Chiara made introductions. “Claire, don’t forget Mom made us dinner reservations.”

  “I remember but that’s at six. Didn’t you want to visit with Kim?”

  “She’d like to see you too.”

  “We just had dinner with them last night.”

  “You’re right. You know, I do have some private matters I need to discuss with her. You go ahead with your friends, then,” Phil said.

  Rocco wanted to belt him the way he said friends like it was something germy and wrong. Maybe Chiara had told him something. Maybe she had been going to ask Rocco to wait until they got back. He and his ex had gone on a last vacation as a family even though they knew it was over. They just hadn’t told the kids. But then why hadn’t Chiara called and told him that? A worried frown passed over Chiara’s features before she smiled, a little too brightly.

  “I will,” Chiara said. Phil walked toward the water, without even a “nice to meet you.”

  “Great,” Sabrina said. “Let us take you to lunch first?”

  “You don’t need to…”

  “It’ll be our pleasure,” Rocco said. The warmth of the sun and the heat radiating from Chiara melted away the last bit of his pain.

  She circled a hot pink manicured toe in the sand. “What time?” she asked, almost shyly. He stood taller. She knew how to get him spi
nning.

  “About an hour?” Sabrina asked, looking back and forth at them. Rocco nodded. “We’re right down the beach at the Bahia in room 108, Dad’s in 109. He’ll probably be ready faster.” Sabrina smiled and waved before she joined Maddy again. “See you,” she called. She and Maddy spoke quietly, no doubt Sabrina filling her in, including what an asshole Chiara’s husband was.

  He gave Chiara a quick up and down appraisal. “Hot colors suit you,” he said.

  “Thanks, you too,” she said. She pulled the tie of his red swim trunks with a snap. Uh, she was a tease. She knew he wouldn’t try anything in front of his daughter.