She used all three kits. The results were lined up in a neat row on the vanity in the powder room. Missy and Ella stared at the indicators. One had two pink lines for positive, one showed the word “yes” and the third simply said “pregnant” in the tiny message window. Ella pointed to the last strip and said, “That’s my favorite. I think we should frame that one.”
Missy leaned against the older woman, who she had come to love like a big sister. “You think this is good news?”
Ella just hugged her hard then gathered up the strips in one hand and the boxes in the other. “I’m throwing the boxes in the kitchen trash bag and tossing it in the garbage cans. Levi would have heart failure if he came home and saw them. Here, you hold on to these.” She pushed the indicators into Missy’s hands. “Then, we’ll have some tea and discuss options. But you should know, whatever you decide, whatever you want or need, Levi and I will back you one hundred percent.”
Two cups of tea and a stack of slightly charred toast later and they were done talking and ready to start doing. Missy had called her gynecologist in Naples and had miraculously snagged a late afternoon appointment. She accepted Ella’s offer to go with her, though her initial reaction was to do it alone. They decided to go out for dinner afterward at their favorite Thai restaurant in Naples. It was perfect timing since Levi and probably Don would be playing poker that night at the Twisted Pelican.
Missy got up from the kitchen island and started to gather the dishes. “I’m just going to do my regular stuff today until it’s time to leave for Naples. And you should, too, Ella. I know you’ve got writing to do today. I’ll get the office supplies I bought yesterday out of the Volvo, then I’m going to bake.” When Ella started to protest, Missy stopped her. “I have to keep busy today. Or I’m just going to curl up into a ball.”
Later, much later, Missy climbed into bed, nudging Lady Marmalade out of its center, then pulling the cat into her arms. It had been a long, exhausting day. There had been sweet and funny texts from Don, who had spent the day immersed in framing and preliminary sketches for Levi’s mural. His last message had come just moments ago. “Poker game done. I’m $50 richer! Do you feel like company or is it too late? I want you. Ti amo. XO”
She had texted back. “The rich get richer. I’m curled up with Lady, almost asleep. I want you, too, but am too tired to do anything about it. Rain check? I love you too. XO”
The visit to the gynecologist had confirmed what she already knew. She was pregnant—about nine weeks. Dinner and one small glass of wine—her last—with Ella confirmed what she had been feeling all day. She wanted the baby, she would keep the baby. Ella had happily agreed with her decision but had disagreed about when to tell Don. Ella argued for right away but Missy had not yet made up her mind about when and how she would break the news to him.
“Honey, I’m not arguing with you. But you already have a little tummy action going on and now that I know, I can see your boobs are definitely larger. Don’s an artist, he’s going to notice and it’s going to be pretty soon.”
“He paints landscapes and tractors, Ella. It’s not like he specializes in nudes. But, yes, I agree. Don’s going to notice and I don’t want him to find out like that. I just need a few days to get used to the idea myself.”
Missy drifted off to sleep with the images of pregnancy tests dancing through her dreams. It was not a restful night.
Chapter Eleven
How does a middle-aged man go from being satisfied and more than a little grateful that he has a sexy, funny, independent woman in his life with whom he can have uncomplicated sex a couple of times a week to a raging horn dog, mooning around like a high school boy with a crush on a pretty teacher? It was a million-dollar question for which Don had no answers. He was the man who had shaken his head with condescending amusement as he watched one after another of his friends and acquaintances on Mimosa Key—like Law Monroe and Mark Solomon—fall headlong into love. Many of the men were way older and much wiser than he. Look at Levi and Fitz!
The demands of matting and framing all the remaining paintings needed for Casa Blanca Resort and Spa and the prep work for the addition to Levi’s mural commissioned by Ella had occupied most of his days. And making sweet love to Missy had consumed two of the nights. But Don found himself wanting her all the time. He’d even begun doodling little sketches of her, mostly pictures of her in the bathtub the night they had made their whispered proclamations of love.
Now, here it was Saturday night and instead of taking his lady love out on a date or, better yet, hunkering down with her in his big comfortable bed, he was standing in a freezing operating room, with cans of paint and a pile of tarp. Ella had dropped off the key Levi had made for him when he started this project over three years ago. Two walls were almost covered with Levi’s toys, the last one of an orange ATV painted that summer. Don was going to fill in the remainder of the far wall with the painting of Ella and Hersch in the red Mustang. It would fit nicely and continue along on the white seashell drive that meandered through most of the mural on that wall.
The hours flew by as Don sketched in the drawing and started filling in background colors. The work was fun and lighthearted, done in acrylics in an almost comic book style. Not his usual medium these days, or the one that had brought him fame long ago in Italy, but he had fun with it. When he painted in Levi’s surgery, he did not listen to opera as he did in his studio; instead, he played Levi’s soundtrack of Jimmy Buffett.
Don stepped back from the painting to get a different perspective and let out a shout of surprise as he bumped into something. Not the cool hard surface of Levi’s operating table, but the warm softness of his lover. He turned to find Missy doubled over in laughter, her long dark hair hiding her pretty face. After catching his breath from the shock of seeing another person in what he thought was a totally empty building, he walked over to the far wall, and switched off the sound system.
“You just took five years off my life! What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Missy stood up and shook the keys in her hand. “Ella gave me her key when I told her I was worried that you hadn’t eaten this evening. I brought you some mushroom barley soup I made today. Levi loves it for Hanukkah. Along with piles of potato latkes. But I’m not making those until Tuesday. I did bring some nice rolls, though, and some chocolate chip cookies. Are you hungry? Can you stop to eat?”
He was wiping his hands on a paint-stained cloth he tucked back into his jeans. “I’m starving.” He pulled her into his arms. “For you.” And then his lips crashed down on hers. Eventually, she pushed him away. “Stop. We can’t do this here. You need to eat and then paint. Ella will kill me for interrupting you if it means this painting is not ready for her big reveal on Tuesday.”
She stepped around him to inspect his progress while he dived into the bag of goodies.
“It looks amazing. You’ve done a great job with the background. You even have Levi’s crazy crooked palm tree. And the red you are painting the Mustang is exactly right. I can’t wait to see it when it is completed. Can I come again tomorrow to get a look at the final painting?”
“Yes, but I’m starting early tomorrow. I want to be finished by mid-day. No one is using this room until Wednesday when Levi has surgeries scheduled but it needs time to dry and then the room has to be cleaned and sterilized top to bottom. You could come by around noon if you like. But only if you bring more of these.” Don had finished a cup of soup and half a roll and was already unwrapping the stack of still-warm chocolate chip cookies.
Missy laughingly agreed—she never baked less than four dozen cookies at a time. She continued to stare at the mural. “You know, I never noticed, but you haven’t signed this mural. Are you waiting until you’ve painted the entire operating room?” When he didn’t answer, she turned back to him.
Don was standing still, a partially eaten cookie halfway to his mouth. He hated signing his work with a fake name. Don Smith. It had fit his new persona but he was
never really comfortable with the name. His signature on his paintings done in Florida was a messy scrawl with a prominent D and S and nothing else that was legible. He put the cookie down and walked over to Missy. It was time to peel away one more layer of secrecy for her. He loved her and he wanted her to love who he really was. He took her hands in his, he didn’t want her to pull away from him when he finally spoke the truth.
“I hate signing paintings with the name Don Smith. That’s not my real name. I’m Donatello Stampone.” It was such a pleasure to say his name aloud. He searched her face for shock or anger. Instead, he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes before her lips curved up into a broad grin. She was laughing at him.
“Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Donatello. I love your name, it fits you. Don was much too ordinary a name for you. But it fit with Missy. An ordinary name for a quiet and ordinary woman.”
He started to protest, shocked that she would describe herself as ordinary.
She cut him off with a giggle. “But, surprise, surprise. That’s not my real name, either. I Anglicized it when I ran away from DC. I’m not Missy Edmond, my name is Melisande Emond.” She made a little curtsey to him, her eyes searching his face.
He pulled her up and into his arms. “Melisande. It suits you. Beautiful just like you.” He kissed her. This vibrant woman who had brought him back to life. “I’m finished for tonight. Come home with me, Melisande and let me make love to you like it is our first time. Like we have no secrets.” His voice stumbled on those last words. He still kept one last secret from her—one he could not bring himself to tell her. Not yet.
Missy looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, almost sadly. “Like we have no secrets.”
The next morning found Don easing himself from his bed, being careful not to wake Missy. Melisande. He would always think of her by that name now. He had murmured it to her over and over again last night as they made sweet, slow, passionate love. Even with a few hours of sleep, he felt energized and eager to complete the mural. He hoped when he was done that he could take Missy away for a few days, someplace quiet and private, where he would tell her about Gina and Raphael.
Back in Levi’s surgery, music blasting, Don went quickly to work on the remainder of the painting. Ella had given him several photographs from which he had drawn a composite. Sketched on the wall was Ella, only the back of her head visible, her hand waving goodbye to Levi. He mixed some paint to achieve the proper flesh tone for her arm and hand. His fingers shook as he blended the colors; it had been years since he had used these particular hues. Since he’d last painted Gina and Raphael. His boy would be fifteen now. What would he be like? Blonde, like Gina, but with his brown eyes. He’d seemed to have his height, but at three who could tell how tall he would have been as a young man?
Don shook his head to erase the memories. It was still too painful to remember the past. But, as he approached the mural, he realized he was trembling. He took a breath to steady himself, then began stroking color on the wall. It was all wrong. He wiped the paint away and began again. No. He stood staring without seeing what he had drawn, what he had begun. Instead he envisioned Ella’s laughing face, full of love and full of hope. That’s the gift he wanted to give his friends. Something cold and hard broke inside him as he began layering on the paint, creating a portrait of Ella, looking back over her shoulder, smiling at Levi as she waved good-bye.
Tears blurred his sight but he pushed on. Sunlight glinted off Ella’s pale blond hair, not golden like Gina’s, but almost silver. He finished with Hersch, his red tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, amused at the crazy antics of his humans. Don stood before the painting, silent sobs shaking him, his arms hanging at his sides, the paintbrush still in his hand.
He felt gentle fingers take the brush from him, then soft but strong arms wrapped around him from behind. Missy’s head pressed against his back as she held him, murmuring unintelligible but comforting words. Words that loosened the hold of the past, the painful memories of his loss.
“I never paint portraits anymore. I haven’t painted a portrait in years.” His voice was soft, tear-laden. “Not since my family died. Not since I lost my wife and my son.”
Missy fell silent. He needed to see her. Don turned in the arms that still held him. And looked at the woman he loved. Her face was pale. Tears turned her blue eyes into a bottomless sea of hurt and confusion. He framed her face with his hands.
“I was married. My wife’s name was Gina. We met in art school and that was it for me. She was wonderful, a talented artist in her own right, but her real passion was our family. We had a son, a golden child, who we named Raphael. They died twelve years ago, when he was three. A stupid car accident, on a twisty mountain road she’d driven a thousand times. No one’s fault. It just happened. My life ended. I buried them and walked away. From our home, from Italy, from my career. I wandered for several years until I found this island and I made it my new home. But I still hung on to the past. I wouldn’t paint portraits. I wouldn’t be happy. I would never love again.”
The tears spilled from her eyes. His rough thumbs brushed them away before he continued. “Then, I met you. And I was happy, but still I would not let go of the past. But, as I stood here, refusing to paint the face of the woman my best friend loves, refusing to allow her to give him a present from her heart, I knew I had to let the past go. I want to paint your beautiful face, the face that I love more than I ever thought I could love again.”
Missy reached up to brush the tears from his cheeks. He bent his head to hers, but paused, waiting for permission, waiting for her to accept him, with all his secrets laid bare. She kissed him. His arms went around her and pulled her close, like a man clinging to a life preserver in a stormy sea. She melted into him and he poured all his love into the kiss.
She pulled away from him. Her eyes were clear, no more tears. Don brushed a finger over her lips that were swollen and reddened from their endless kiss. “Ti amo, cara. I love you. No more secrets. Can you love me, still? Now that you know everything about me?”
“I love you, Donatello. I love you—your past, the present, and our future. Can you love me, with all my secrets?” Her eyes searched his face.
“Melisande, I love you, yes. Secrets and all. But, really, what haven’t you told me? A guilty pleasure? A secret crush from high school? An embarrassing middle name? I don’t care. I love you.” He bent to kiss her again, but she took a step back. She seemed nervous but excited, too.
“I have one more secret to share with you. I haven’t kept it from you for long—I’ve only known a few days myself. It’s more of a surprise, really. I had thought to make it my Christmas gift to you, then I thought maybe a Hanukkah present from me to you, since that is only two days away. But, it’s as much your gift to me as it is my gift to you.” She laughed, her throaty, sexy laugh. “Oh, I’m really making a total mess out of this, aren’t I? I’m just going to tell you.”
She took a deep breath. Her eyes were shining, full of love and hope. “We’re going to have a baby.”
At first, he thought he had not heard her correctly. Then for an instant he thought she had found the seascape he’d painted for her and had it matted and framed for him. But that made no sense. His mind was trying to work out the details of that but screeched to a halt when he heard her say “baby.”
“Baby?” He almost squeaked the word.
“Yes, a baby. I’m about ten weeks pregnant. With your—our—baby.” She was starting to crumble, her eyes still searching his face.
Joy like he had never believed he would feel again flooded through him. He dropped to his knees, reaching out for her, pulling her to him. Don buried his face against her rounded tummy, planting kisses as he thanked God for all the blessings of his life, in broken Italian and English. Missy must have gotten the message, because her arms encircled his shoulders and she rested her cheek on his bowed head.
“No more secrets, Donatello, just a life
time of love and family and beauty.”
“And maybe a few surprises, cara, just a few.”
Chapter Twelve
Missy emerged from her bathroom, braiding her still damp hair. “I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me—whatever made me wear four-inch heels?” She glanced over at the blue Jimmy Choos Don had given her for Hanukkah. “I won’t be wearing them for a while. But I’m glad I was dressed up for tonight—wasn’t that such a fun time?”
Don looked up from where Lady Marmalade lay across his lap, purring as she demanded more petting, looking regal in her new rhinestone collar. He smiled an amused smile, his dark eyes reflecting the glow of the candles on her dresser.
He looked good in her bed, her cat sprawled on his legs, his long talented fingers moving teasingly through the orange and white fluff, the cat’s fur and Don’s silver hair a pleasing contrast to the indigo comforter. “I’m still revved up from the dancing. Where did Lacey and Clay find that band? They were amazing! Or maybe it’s the caffeine from the espresso and that chocolate Yule Roll? That was delicious!”
Missy stuck her tongue out at her lover. They had spent their first Christmas Eve together with all their friends at a party at Clay and Lacey’s house at Casa Blanca Resort and Spa. And it was also the first time they had appeared anywhere in Mimosa Key as a couple, a couple in love, holding hands and sneaking kisses. “I wouldn’t know about the espresso or the Yule Roll since I had lemon ginger tea and fruitcake. No caffeine for me and the baby. I’m almost getting used to that, but I would still kill for a large coffee first thing in the morning!” Missy climbed into bed with her cat and her man. She reached a hand up to touch the driftwood frame of the dramatic seascape that hung above her white wicker headboard. “Clay cornered me and offered me almost anything I could name if I would let him have this painting. He almost cried when I told him ‘no’.”
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