by Holly Rayner
“The thing is…” she says. “I know how different our lives are. We haven’t talked about it much, and that’s okay with me… But Luca, you’re royalty. You’re in a different financial bracket than I am—to say the least.”
“That has nothing to do with us,” I say.
“Yes, it does,” Phoebe insists. “Whether we want it to or not. I know that when we met, we didn’t know much about each other. I didn’t know that you were Luca von Kartmeier, and—”
“I’m happy that you didn’t know that about me,” I interject. “Phoebe, you have no idea how hard it is being in my position sometimes. I know that must sound ridiculous to you, but it’s the truth. When I meet people, I never know if they really want to know me—the real me—or me, the prince. I’m not sure if that makes sense.”
“It does,” Phoebe says carefully. “And that’s why I think we have to do this. I don’t want you to ever doubt my motives, Luca. I don’t want you to think that I’m after your wealth… and that all of this is just a trap to get you to support me.”
“I would never think that,” I insist. I hear the emotion in my own voice. It turns my words into a deep, heartfelt growl. I surprise myself by how deeply I feel about this.
I reach for Phoebe’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I hate that you’re worried about this,” I say.
“Then help me ease my mind,” she replies. “Take the test. We’ll get the results in writing, and then I won’t have to worry myself about it anymore. This is for me too, Luca. So much is uncertain in my life right now, and here is something we can control. I guess that’s what I’m after.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll do it.”
I get out of the car, circle it, and then open Phoebe’s door for her.
Hand in hand, we walk into the clinic.
An hour later, with the test done, I feel relieved and more than a little bit hungry.
“I think I’m ready for that cheesesteak,” I say, my mouth watering at the thought of it.
Phoebe laughs. “You and me both,” she says. “We can walk to it from here. It’s just a few blocks away.”
“Perfect,” I say.
At a busy street crossing, I take her hand to guide her through a throng of people that pass by us in the opposite direction. Once we’re safely across the street, I don’t let go of her hand.
I cradle her palm in mind for the next few blocks, enjoying the feel of her skin against mine.
I’ve rarely been out in public like this with a woman. Back in my youth, when I was getting into trouble, I didn’t care what kind of photographs the press had of me. I didn’t care about anything, really, back then. My world was so chaotic as I tried to process the grief of losing my parents so suddenly.
But after my arrest and the media mayhem that followed, I’ve tried to keep a very low profile.
In part, I did this for my brothers’ sakes. Both of them were so publicly humiliated by my bad behavior when I was in my teens. After I cleaned up my act, it felt like my duty to stay out of the limelight. That meant that all of my dating activity took place behind closed doors.
I’m surprised by how wonderful it feels to walk out in broad daylight on a busy street, hand in hand with a beautiful woman. I love the way people look at us, assuming we’re a couple. I love the way other men respectfully pass Phoebe without assessing her looks. They know that she’s with me.
We reach a corner store that’s squeezed between a dry cleaner and a store that advertises one-day printing and color photocopies. I assume that Phoebe just wants to show me the little old-fashioned corner store because it’s historical. The sign which reads “Joe’s Corner Market” is so faded that I can barely read it. We step inside, and the wooden floorboards creak under our weight. The ceiling is low, the aisles so crammed together that I can barely squeeze through them as I follow Phoebe to the back of the store.
“Wait a minute,” I say, as we near a glass-covered display case, chock-full of shelves filled with meat. “Is this where we’re getting our sandwiches?”
Phoebe turns to look at me over her shoulder. She smiles. “What, you don’t have delis like this in your city?”
“Maybe we do, but I’ve never been to one,” I admit. “I thought we were going to a restaurant for lunch.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, no. You won’t find a cheesesteak like Joe’s in a fancy restaurant. This place has the real deal.”
A rotund man with a black mustache and bald head appears behind the display case.
“Phoebe!” he says. “Haven’t seen you in ages! How is your sister doing?”
“Nikki’s doing fine,” Phoebe says.
The guy nods. “Good. And Andy? He’s holding up okay?”
Phoebe’s smile brightens. “Andy is doing really well,” she says. “He likes his new school. It’s far away, but there are lots of kids in wheelchairs like him, so he feels right at home.”
The guy nods. “That’s good,” he says. Then he looks at me.
Phoebe speaks up. “This is my friend Luca,” she says. “I brought him here so he could try an authentic Philly cheesesteak.” She looks at me. “Luca, this is Joe. This market’s been in his family for three generations.”
“And so has my arsenal of recipes,” Joe tells me with a wink. He reaches for a rag and then begins cleaning off a countertop next to the case. “You won’t find food like this anywhere else in the city. You two take a seat out front. I’ll have Diane bring them out to you.”
“Thanks, Joe,” Phoebe says.
Behind us, a small line is forming. I see a few guys in construction worker vests joking with each other as they wait. Behind the workers, two women in blazers, pencil skirts and pumps have lined up in the queue. As Phoebe and I squeeze past the small crowd, a few people dressed in medical scrubs join in on the line.
“I guess this place is popular,” I say as I eye the line.
“Oh yeah,” Phoebe says. “I think we just barely beat the lunch rush. Sometimes I get here and there’s a line out the door. Here, let me grab you a drink. What do you want?”
She navigates through a particularly narrow gap between two shelves of chips and opens the door to an antique-looking cooler.
“You seem to be the expert here,” I say. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide on the perfect pairing.”
She laughs. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a ‘pairing,’ but I always get a sparkling water.”
“Sparkling water it is,” I say.
She grabs two, and we walk to the counter. I pull my wallet from my back pocket and hand cash to the woman at the register—Diane, I’m guessing—before Phoebe can stop me.
“You have to stop doing that!” Phoebe says as we step out of the dimly lit store and into the bright spring sunshine.
“Doing what?” I ask, playing dumb.
There are two tables in front of the little store, but they’re both taken. Phoebe points to a vacant bench next to a broken-down payphone. “How about there?” she says.
I nod. “That looks perfect. I think that’s the VIP seating area.”
She laughs. “I think so, too,” she says. “Right in the sunlight and everything.”
We sit side by side, and Phoebe turns to face me.
“Seriously, though. You have to stop paying for everything,” she says.
“But you promised,” I say, twisting open one of the drinks and handing it to her.
She accepts the drink and tilts her head to the side. “I promised?”
“Yes,” I say. “You promised to let me take care of you.”
I watch her process my words. She sips her drink, then meets my gaze once again.
“Honestly, I’m just not used to this,” she says.
“I know.”
I move in closer to her and place my arm around her shoulder. I feel the warmth of her body though our clothing. The sensation of energy and tension, buzzing between us, becomes stronger as we sit in silence, looking out at the street scene before us
.
April sunshine beams down, warming my face and arms. I’ve been to plenty of world-class restaurants, and yet I’ve never felt so happy about the atmosphere as I do right now.
“You know,” I say, “the ambiance of this place isn’t bad. Five stars, I’d say.”
“And you haven’t even tried the food yet,” Phoebe says with a grin.
She rests her hand down on my thigh, and I feel a thrill from her touch.
A police car goes by, followed by an ambulance. Both have their sirens blaring. Next, a car with the windows rolled down cruises past us, blaring rap music out onto the street.
Phoebe laughs. “Admittedly, the soundtrack could use some work.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I kind of like it. It’s real-life city sounds.”
“At top volume,” Phoebe says.
We’re laughing when Diane arrives with two paper containers in each hand. She holds them out to us, and Phoebe and I eagerly accept her offering. The paper containers are brimming with six-inch-long, crusty hoagie rolls that are brimming with sliced steak. The whole thing is slathered with bright orange-yellow sauce.
“Okay,” Phoebe says, as she lifts her sandwich out of the tray. “Get your napkins ready,” she instructs me. “You’re pretty much guaranteed to get sauce all over your face the instant you bite in.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I say as I reach for one of the napkins that Phoebe so wisely grabbed from inside. “I have to admit, it’s been a long time since I’ve ventured out of my comfort zone with food. I’m excited to try this exotic cuisine.” I hold the sandwich up and eye it.
A big dollop of cheese falls off of it, onto the paper tray.
Phoebe laughs. “Exotic cuisine!” she repeats. “Really, Luca. You’re too much.”
She watches as I take my first bite.
I play it up, pretending to judge the taste as I chew. Once I swallow, I use my napkin to clean my lips and chin and then say pensively, “Well…”
She waits attentively.
I grin. “I love it!” I say. “Five-star atmosphere, and five-star food. This place should be featured in some foodie magazine!”
“Oh, no,” Phoebe says, shaking her head. “Then the line would always be out the door. I’m perfectly happy with it being a hidden gem.”
We settle into eating the rest of our sandwiches, and then I go back into the little shop and get a big chocolate chip cookie that I spotted earlier near the register. Phoebe and I split it.
As we munch on the sugary goodness, we watch city life pass by. I feel as happy and content as a kid at an amusement park.
After the satisfying lunch, we take a long stroll through the downtown area. Phoebe takes me through two of her favorite parks. As the afternoon gives way to evening, we take a seat on a bench at Penn’s Landing. The harbor stretches out before us, complete with tall sailboats and glistening luxury yachts.
We’ve been holding hands all afternoon, and it feels right to settle into the bench close to her, my arm around her shoulders.
Some of the novelty of being in contact with Phoebe has worn off, but the intensity of my attraction to her hasn’t dimmed in the least. I enjoy the way it feels familiar and comfortable to feel our skin touch. I love the warmth of her palm on my leg. I love the weight of her shoulder, as she lets it rest on my shoulder. She reaches for my hand that’s over her shoulder and intertwines her fingers with mine.
“I don’t want this day to end,” she murmurs.
I use my thumb to stroke the back of her hand. “Why not?” I return.
She sighs. “Today has felt like a dream. I know that soon I’m going to have to face reality. I can’t keep pushing it away.”
“You mean your trial,” I say.
I feel her nod.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say.
“You don’t know Derek,” she says.
“Is that your old boss?”
“Yeah. He’s the one that I took the money from in the first place. I know this is his way of getting back at me. I’ve seen how vindictive he can be.”
“Marla seems to be a very competent lawyer,” I say. “When I learned she’d be representing you, I did some research. She’s handled some very touchy cases and has an impressive record.”
“Oh, she’s the best,” Phoebe says. “I’m lucky to have her. But is she going to be a match for Derek? I just can’t help but worry, that’s all.”
We slip into silence for a moment, and then Phoebe speaks again. “Sometimes I wonder… would I have been better off just keeping the money that I took, and staying hidden? All of this could have been avoided.”
I wrap my arm tighter around her. “You did the right thing,” I assure her. “You returned the money, Phoebe, and that’s what matters. The truth will come out, and it will set you free.”
I kiss the top of her head gently. As I press my lips into her hair, I feel her fingers begin stroking mine. Then she lifts her head from my shoulder and turns slightly so that she’s looking up at me.
“Thank you for being in my life,” she says, as our eyes meet. “I’m not sure that I could do this without you, Luca.”
She tilts her face up to mine, and we each inch closer. Soon our lips meet, and a rush of energy courses through my body. It’s the first time we’ve kissed like this since I arrived in the States. Her lips are warm and soft as they move against mine. I shift in my seat so that I can reach a hand up to her face. I cup the side of her jaw and caress her cheek with my thumb.
I feel her chest, pressed into mine. I can almost feel her heart beating. I want to breathe her in; I want to inhale her. Her lips part, and we each become hungrier. Memories of our night together surface in my mind, and I long to be with her again.
The environment around me fades, and I am no longer aware of the late afternoon sun glistening on the surface of the water, or the boats rocking near the wooden docks. All I’m aware of is her. This kiss. This moment.
When we part I lean my forehead against hers. My eyes are closed. I breathe in and enjoy the scent of her. The sensations of our kiss linger in my body.
“It may seem as if I’m helping you,” I say. “But really, Phoebe, I should be thanking you. I didn’t know I could feel like this—like I do now. And for that, I’m very grateful.”
Chapter 17
Phoebe
Two Days Later
The doorbell to the penthouse suite rings. Luca and I are sitting on the couch, views of the city spread out before us. It’s Saturday, two days after I first showed him around the city.
I hop up. “I’ll get it,” I say.
I stretch my arms into the sky, yawn, and then make my way to the door.
When I open it, I see a concierge from the desk. She’s holding an envelope in her hand.
“Good morning Miss Miller,” she says. “I hope you’re enjoying your weekend so far.”
I nod and eye the envelope in her hand. I have a feeling I know what it is. At the health clinic, Luca and I listed the penthouse as our address. I think that the concierge is holding the results of the paternity test.
She holds the envelope out to me. “This arrived for you,” she says.
I accept it and glance at the return address. Yes, it’s from the clinic.
I thank the concierge and close the door before padding back across the room to the couch. Luca stands.
“What is it?” he asks.
I’m still looking down at the envelope in my hands. “The paternity test results,” I say. I look up at Luca as I hold out the envelope. “I think you should open it.”
Luca is wearing faded jeans that are frayed around the pockets and knees. His gray-blue T-shirt matches the color of his eyes, as well as the morning sky that stretches beyond the windows, just past him.
He accepts the envelope, digs his finger into one corner, and then rips the top open.
He pulls out a sheet of paper and reads it silently.
Of course, I know the results of the t
est. Luca is the father—there is no other possibility.
I also know how it must feel for him, to see this in writing. It’s a powerful thing, knowing beyond doubt that, in a matter of months, you are going to be a parent.
I watch his eyes scan the words. Then, he slips down to his knees, just in front of me.
He places his hands around my waist and kisses my abdomen through the soft fabric of my sundress.
“It’s magical, isn’t it?” he says, looking up at me. “We made a life together. Can you believe it, Phoebe?”
I feel my throat constrict. Seeing him on his knees like this makes me feel close to tears. Emotion wells up in me, and for a moment I’m overcome by the sight of Luca—the father of my unborn child.
“It’s a miracle,” I agree softly.
“I wonder,” Luca says. “Did we make a little prince or a princess?” His thumbs caress the sides of my waist. He places his lips on my tummy once again. I see that he’s falling for the little life we’re going to bring into this world. He will love our child as much as I already do.
I start to imagine what it will be like, to bring this little angel into the world. As I think of our uncertain future, fear begins to creep into my awareness.
What will my life be like when this little one is ready to come into the world? Will my trial date be before or after my due date? Will I be in prison when the baby comes?
Now the joy that brought tears to my eyes suddenly turns to sadness. The sadness is just as intense as the joy was.
Luca looks up at me again, and this time I know that he sees the grief and fear in my eyes.
He gets to his feet. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks as he wraps his strong arms around me.
I cling to him and take a few shaky breaths. “Oh, Luca,” I whisper. “I want to be happy. There’s so much to be thankful for… you… our child… but how can I be happy, when I don’t even know where I’ll be when the baby comes? How can I let myself feel joy, while I’m feeling so much fear?”