Believe (San Francisco Brides Series Book 2)

by Juliano, Celia

  “Weren’t the kids at church sweet? I loved watching them on their egg hunt,” she said.

  He shifted, his arms tensing. Her body tightened. She rubbed her fingers on his hand and bit her lip. She was still late. But she couldn’t be pregnant. A week or so late didn’t mean she was pregnant. Things were going so well with Lorenzo. She didn’t want to upset him with something that was probably nothing.

  “You’ll be a great mom.”

  She turned in his arms. “You’ll be a great dad.”

  His expression blanked out. He kissed her. The doorbell rang. He released her and walked away to answer the door. She followed him. They needed to talk. Or she needed to help him feel he’d changed, like he’d helped her feel more confident. But she didn’t know how.

  Uncle Enzo and Celeste joined them in greeting the stream of family: Sophia, Carlo, Joey, Janetta, Grandpop, Michael and his parents, Sal, Pete, Lee, and Becca.

  “Frankie sent this. He’s managing the restaurant today,” Sal said, handing Lorenzo a bottle of wine.

  Frank scowled. At least Lorenzo wasn’t the only one with disapproving relatives. And the families were still together, even with the discord. She rubbed her stomach. Still, she didn’t like the tension.

  She made the rounds of hugs and hellos. Lorenzo was helping people get drinks. He winked at her across the room. She smiled.

  “Hey, Becca. We didn’t see you at church.” Everyone was mingling, but Becca sat by herself on the little padded bench in the living room. Lita sat next to her.

  “I went to the early service. Sometimes I like the quiet.”

  “How’s your vacation so far?”

  “Okay. But I look forward to Grandma and Grandpa coming home.”

  “You know, you’re welcome here anytime.” Lita didn’t ask why Becca hadn’t joined her grandparents in visiting her sister in Southern California. From what Becca had said, she was hurt by some things her sister had said on her last visit.

  “I know, thanks. My dad says hi too. He still can’t believe he officiated Lorenzo Calabra’s wedding. He said it softened his skepticism.”

  “Wish everyone here felt that way.”

  “It’ll happen. Keep trying. I’d given up with my mom. But if you do that, you might never know.”

  She touched Becca’s arm. Becca’s mom had died a couple of years before. “You’re right. I have to have faith.”

  “Need any help in the kitchen?”

  “Sure.” She and Becca strolled to the kitchen, where Celeste and Sophia directed Carlo and Joey in where to put the food in the dining room.

  “Oh, Becca, will you take these biscuits in with Joey?” Sophia said. Becca had told Lita she wished Sophia would stop trying to set her up with Joey; they just didn’t feel that way about each other.

  “Actually, I wanted Becca to help me plate the ham.”

  Becca smiled at her and they set to getting the last of the food out. Soon, everyone was settled at the table. Several different conversations were going on at once, and savory scents wafted around as quickly as the food travelled around the long table. Lita loved every moment. All the gathering needed was a kids table. Someday. And not just for her and Lorenzo, but Gina and Vincente, and maybe Pete, or Becca, or Joey.

  She noticed Lee watching her. She smiled at him, but he just looked away. How to get Lee to understand, to realize that Lorenzo was committed to her, was something else she didn’t know how to handle.

  After dinner, Carlo recruited Joey, Pete, Sal, and Michael for kitchen duty. Grandpop and Uncle Enzo followed them, to supervise from the old oak table. Frank and Eva sat on the sofa. Celeste sat in the chair next to them with her knitting. Lee paced near the fireplace. Janetta had gone home after dinner. Sophia and Becca were tidying the dining room behind the now-closed pocket doors.

  “I better go. Busy week,” Lee said. “Thanks for the invite.”

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, standing with Lorenzo.

  Lee waved and walked out.

  “Will you excuse me? I want to see if Sophia and Becca need anything.” The others nodded and began talking to each other. Lorenzo followed her.

  “Lita,” he said.

  “Sophia,” she said. “Everything okay?”

  “All done.” Sophia patted her arm as she and Becca approached.

  Carlo walked up. “We’re almost done in the kitchen too.”

  “Thanks,” Lorenzo said.

  “Thanks for having us. I’m glad to see you taking good care of Lita. We care about her a lot,” Carlo said with a clap on Lorenzo’s shoulder.

  Sophia kissed her cheek. “My dad will come around,” she whispered.

  Lita blinked and nodded. La grazia dell’amore was at work. She had faith.

  ***

  “I think everyone had fun,” she said as she and Lorenzo sat in bed later.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t glance up from his Kindle. “You did great. You’re a natural hostess.”

  “Thanks, you’re quite the charmer yourself.”

  He huffed a breath. She slid from bed. Sometimes the family gatherings seemed to tire him. She studied herself in the bathroom mirror. If he was tense or irritated, she knew a good way to relieve both for him. She exhaled and peeled off her nightgown. “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. She’d always waited for him to initiate sex.

  She walked out, head held high. Lorenzo looked at her, his Kindle put away. He grinned.

  “If this is what happens when I ignore you for a minute, I might have to do it more often.”

  “Never can tell what I’ll do.”

  His smile widened. “One of the reasons I love you.”

  He pulled back the covers. The bulge in his pajama bottoms made her mouth water. She licked her lips and climbed into bed, on top of him. Pulling down his pants, she kissed him. He leaned back, letting her rove her hands over him. She followed her caresses with kisses, straddling him. Easing him inside her, she moaned. Being on top was different, he went deeper in a new way than before. With the same slow movements he’d used before, she rode him. He clasped her hands and took her nipple in his mouth. With his tongue, he circled and played. He nipped her with his teeth.

  “Ohhh,” she moaned, already on the edge.

  He moved to the other nipple. Then he kissed her. She rocked on him, holding his hands. They gazed at each other. She surged with yearning, warmth.

  “I want…I want your baby,” she gasped out, rocking to take him deeper inside her.

  He met her movements. “Yes.” His voice was low, hoarse, his eyes closed. He thrust and came.

  She leaned onto his chest, listening to their breathing. He held her, fingering her hair. She breathed him in, him, them, that special scent they created together.

  “Did you mean it, yes?”

  “I don’t want to talk now, Lita.”

  She shifted off him. He pulled her into his side.

  “Stay by me,” he said.

  She leaned her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, his heart. Maybe talking wouldn’t get them where they wanted to go. Maybe only their love, and patience, could.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lorenzo walked. Walked until the darkness, the night fog, hid him. Walked until the chill air dulled his body, if not the burning in his gut. The last week, since Carmel, had been mostly great, but today…Today he and Lita had been walking, and they’d seen a family with a dog, just like the one his father had killed. Lita had seen he was upset, but he had shut down again. He’d revealed enough to her about his father. He had to deal with this himself.

  He had his keys. He let himself into the back door at Sal’s and scuffed upstairs. His old apartment on the top floor—unused, dark, and empty—beckoned him. The black leather couch was barely visible in the shadowy room at the end of the hall. He sat.

  “’You’ll hurt them no matter what you do.’” The memory of his father’s voice splintered the quiet.

  His father may have been
a cold, heartless bastard, but he’d been right. He’d hurt Lita with his distance, his silence, fooled himself into thinking he could escape his father’s awful legacy. He should have known better than to hope, to let faith and love creep into his life.

  Because who had taught him he should believe in those things? His mother, his mother who’d let his father beat them. Who’d prayed in church every Sunday for peace, but wouldn’t give Lorenzo respite from his father’s tirades. Who’d watched as Lorenzo cradled the lolling head of his dog in his lap, crying his last tears…until Lita.

  He’d thought she could fill him with her light, her hope, her love. But he was a cracked cup. It appeared to hold liquid, but slowly, each time, it drained away through an invisible break. He might still have his father’s old gun…No, he didn’t want to die. But he’d rather kill himself than keep hurting Lita. Small nicks now, but they might add to bigger gashes. He was a coward, not man enough to either be the man Lita needed, the man he should be, or leave her once and for all. He put his head in his hands. No, he was changed. He had to be that man. He just didn’t know how sometimes.

  The door squeaked open. “Lorenzo, son?” Sal said. Maybe there was a God. “Lita called me. She’s worried about you.”

  Lorenzo gripped his hair and pressed his forehead.

  “Come downstairs with me and we’ll call her. I promised her I’d let her know.”

  Lorenzo glanced up. Light from the outer hall shone around Sal.

  “Follow me, son,” he said, his hand outstretched.

  Lorenzo did, blinking in the hundred-watt brightness of the hall.

  In his equally well-lit apartment, Sal called Lita. Lorenzo didn’t hear. He’d gotten himself a glass of water as Sal spoke—the gurgling patter drowned out his voice.

  “I’ll drive you home,” Sal said, slipping on his tan loafers.

  Lorenzo nodded.

  When they reached home, Sal turned to him. “Lorenzo, you need help. Here’s the number of a good therapist.” He tried to hand Lorenzo a card. Lorenzo waved his hands. “Take it. You can’t keep torturing yourself. Get help. I know you were raised, like I was, to not accept help outside the family, but that’s not healthy. Do it for me, or Lita, at first, if that’s what gets you in the door.”

  Lorenzo took the card and shoved it in his pocket. Sal waved from the driver’s seat when Lorenzo turned in salute after opening the front door. Distant voices from Uncle Enzo’s sitting room drifted under the closed door. Lorenzo hung up his keys and called the therapist. Since Sal had referred him, and the doctor had a cancellation, he could see Lorenzo tomorrow. He jogged upstairs.

  Lita still sat in bed, as she had when he’d left, angelic. The pristine ivory sheet covered her and the light from the window behind the bed highlighted her hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sounds came out.

  “Please don’t leave again,” she said.

  “I won’t. Did you want to talk?”

  “Not now. Maybe tomorrow?”

  He controlled his breathing, hoping to calm himself. She scooched down, her head resting on her pillow.

  He undressed, all his movements reversed from when he’d left earlier. He got into bed. Lita slid next to him. He folded her into his arms and didn’t let go until morning.

  What a wasted, uncomfortable morning. A silent morning, as Lita had said they didn’t need to talk if he didn’t want to. Part of him wanted to, but another part wanted to keep everything locked up, so it couldn’t hurt her. She styled her hair twice and smudged her mascara, necessitating a makeover. He frowned. She must be nervous. She glanced at him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You didn’t do anything.” Christ, she sounded like his mom when she’d try to appease his father’s moods. He rubbed his neck. “I’ll be back later. Just need to take care of some things.”

  She nodded. He kissed her goodbye and went to his appointment with the therapist. He almost didn’t. He walked up to the door and away several times before entering the waiting room. The tiny room’s three chairs sat vacant. Lorenzo paced a few moments. His hand rested on the outside doorknob when the doctor came out, greeting him. Lorenzo went in.

  After almost an hour, the doctor, Dr. Martin, rose and caught Lorenzo’s wandering gaze as he too stood. “I’m glad you felt comfortable sharing about your wife. You seem reluctant to speak of your past. Maybe we could begin to address that next time?”

  “I want to change…I’ll do what I can.”

  “If you’re willing to work with the process, you can help yourself. I see you might not buy that, but it sounds like you’re aware your behaviors—your thoughts—need to change. Awareness is the first step. If you’re comfortable, you could begin by telling your wife your feelings, what you hope to accomplish, or more about your past. I’ll see you next week, then?”

  Lorenzo nodded and walked to his car.

  He sat, the heater blasting dry and hot. Feelings, too many feelings slithered through him, scaring the shit out of him like the snake pit in Raiders of the Lost Ark flipped out Indiana Jones. He didn’t want to get down there with those snakes. It was easier not to feel.

  Lorenzo drove around town aimlessly. His stomach growled. He happened to be near Lita’s old neighborhood. Mel’s Diner on Geary was just over a hill. He sat on a stool and ate a burger and fries. He hadn’t had one in years. He and Lee had come in sometimes when they were in high school, sinking their teeth into the juicy burgers and fries, crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, sometimes slurping shakes, vanilla for Lorenzo while Lee never had the same flavor if he could help it.

  Talking about girls, usually, or their crappy math teacher or how they would beat the shit out of the track team from Sacred Heart Cathedral Prep, or why their school finally decided to go co-ed only in time for their senior year. Lee was normal, or as close to normal as Lorenzo wanted to be friends with. Not that he’d had much choice when he’d started. His reputation had followed him from Cathedral Prep, where he’d been expelled at the end of freshman year. Lee was the only guy bold—or stupid—enough to sit with Lorenzo at lunch his first week there. Lee wouldn’t sit with him anymore, not even at meetings.

  He wiped his mouth with the scratchy paper napkin and pushed a twenty under his plate. Lita would wonder where he was.

  When he walked in the front door of home, quiet buzzed.

  “Lita?”

  “In here,” she called. Probably the living room. She sat on the sofa, the TV cabinet in the corner open. Black and white images filled the screen. Cary Grant. She usually turned to Cary Grant when she was upset. She glanced at him. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “You have lunch?”

  “Yes, you?”

  She nodded. He sat next to her. She took his hand. She turned her attention back to the movie. He turned his to Lita.

  After two hours, the movie ended. Lita rubbed her eyes.

  “I’m tired.” She rose and stretched.

  “Lita, what’s going on?” He grasped her hand.

  “I’m going to bed.” She pulled her hand free. “I haven’t been feeling well. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “Is that all?” He leaned forward, tensing his biceps. His neck ached. That couldn’t be all. Lita was hiding something.

  Lita faced away from him, her back hunched. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of me?” His voice was low.

  “No.” She faced him. “Of what you’re doing with other women. Of the things you don’t want to talk to me about. Of how to talk to you.”

  He clenched his jaw. The snakes bit now, releasing their poison into his blood. He rubbed his neck.

  “I’ve been faithful to you, all along, since we first kissed. I have business meetings, that’s all. You know that. We talk.” She doubted him. He’d thought they’d broken through all that, the doubts.

  She rubbed her stomach. “I…Okay, thanks for talking. I think I need to rest.” She walked out.

>   Lorenzo stood. It was only early evening. Lita couldn’t be that tired. They hadn’t even had dinner. He paced the room. He had to make Lita see that he’d changed. No, he had to show her. He ordered a pizza and waited.

  Once he paid for the pizza, he grabbed some napkins, a bottle of wine, and took it all upstairs, a couple of glasses and plates balanced on the box. That’s what marriage was, a balancing act. He kicked open their bedroom door with his foot. Lita looked up from where she sat in bed reading, a revealing nightgown barely covering her ample curves. She wouldn’t wear that unless she wanted him. If she wanted talk, then it was time for her to start admitting her feelings, and trusting him to guide her—she wanted to, but she didn’t seem to fully understand yet that part of herself, the sex angel she could be. She had acted it out on Easter, but he wanted her to be able to ask, to tell him what she wanted. He gazed at her, her beautiful face, her curvy body, the way she wriggled slightly…

  “Why are you staring at me?” She frowned.

  He shook his head at her disbelief in herself, in her beauty. “You’re beautiful. All of you.” Being with her had gotten him to start being the man he was supposed to be. He wanted to do more for her, free her from her insecurity as her love freed him. “You went to bed with no dinner. I can’t let my kitten go hungry.” He placed everything on the bed.

  Lita’s face flushed pink. The color bloomed onto her chest. His cock twitched. Lita fiddled with her heart necklace and then grabbed a slice of pizza, taking a bite before setting it on a plate. They ate in silence for a few mintues.

  “Thanks,” she said. He offered her a glass of wine. She shook her head. “I can’t.” Her cheeks reddened. “I mean, it’ll upset my stomach.”

  He didn’t recall her ever saying wine upset her stomach, but he shrugged and drank some of his. When they’d eaten, he cleared away the mess and placed it outside the bedroom door. He’d get it later—first he had to clean up the misunderstanding with Lita.