A Family Affair: The Secret (15 page)

This was Natalie Servetti?
Angie zeroed in on the woman’s hand clutching Roman’s arm, the hip pressed against his. Close. Too close. Friends did not stand that close…unless they were more than friends.

Roman glared at Cash, his lips flattening. “Talk like that again, and we’ll take this outside.”

“What’s going on here?” Nate Desantro stood in the entrance, his expression fierce, irritated. “Are you two really going to have a pissing match when God knows what’s happening in there?” He pointed to the closed doors. “If you can’t act civilized at a time like this, then you both ought to leave.” Nate settled his gaze on Natalie, said in a tone that held no emotion, “Word has it you’re reformed. If that’s so, then show us a good faith effort and do not cause any drama. Can you do that?” When she nodded, he said, “Good,” as though he didn’t want to waste any more oxygen on the woman, and made his way toward Tess and Angie. “Ladies.” He found a seat, sank down, and dragged both hands over his face.

The man looked tired. And worried. Was he thinking about his own wife, worrying this could happen to them? Of course he was; only a fool wouldn’t consider it, and this man was no fool. The more Angie was around him, the more she wondered if the gruff exterior was a facade for the caring, intelligent, devoted man underneath. Maybe that’s what Christine saw when she looked at him; maybe that’s why she’d married him. People often showed a side of themselves they wanted others to see and hid the vulnerable part. It was human nature, wasn’t it? Protect the part that can get hurt, expose the part that’s been roughened by life and disappointments. But at some point, if you were ever going to really care about another person, you had to let them see the vulnerable part; you had to trust them enough to believe they wouldn’t crush it, and crush you with it.

Angie didn’t know if she could do that. She’d come close with Johnny, but she hadn’t really opened up, not one hundred percent, like she bet Nate and Christine Desantro had, or Cash and Tess Casherdon, or Ben and Gina Reed. They were “all in,” scars, fears, and weaknesses. She glanced at Roman who sat across the room with Natalie Servetti, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor. What was he thinking? Should she go to him, talk? It was pretty obvious Natalie Servetti was an outcast in Magdalena, but did Roman think he was, too? Is that why he was with Natalie? Or was there another reason?

Were they together?
Her stomach jumped, twisted, and shot bits of saliva to her throat. Roman and Natalie Servetti? More jumping and twisting, more saliva squirting to her throat. She swallowed, swallowed again, pushed away pictures of those two beautiful bodies naked and entwined.

“Sorry you had to witness my husband’s temper,” Tess whispered. “Testosterone in all of its glory.”

“Right.” Angie knew all about tempers and letting them get out of control. She was working on it, trying to identify those pesky triggers that set her off. “So, that’s the woman you told me about the other day?” She tried to ignore Roman and Natalie, but they were in straight eyeshot, several yards away and damn, but she couldn’t help if her eyes insisted on landing there every fifteen seconds. Like right now. Natalie was snuggled against Roman, as close as a separate chair would permit, her dark head on his shoulder, eyes closed, hand clutching his arm. He didn’t seem to notice as he sat statue-still, eyes on the floor, as though he wished himself anywhere but here.

“That’s the woman,” Tess said, her voice low, gaze darting to her husband who’d slouched in a chair next to Nate Desantro. “She’s probably slept with most of the town, and now we’re supposed to feel sorry for her? I just hope she isn’t sleeping with Roman.” She gasped, her expression shifting to horror. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. She’s not,” she stumbled from one sentence to the next. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Tess, stop. You don’t need to apologize to me. Why would you…” Of course. Tess thought Angie and Roman had a “thing” for each other. “You don’t need to apologize,” she repeated, a bit sharper than necessary, but she wanted to make her point. She and Roman Ventori were
not
together.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Tess dropped her voice ten decibels. “But if there’s nothing going on between you two, why’s he staring at you when you aren’t looking, and why did you look like you were going to faint when he walked in with Natalie?” Angie darted a glance at Roman who wasn’t staring at the floor but straight at her with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought.”

***

As time dragged by and news of Gina’s hospitalization swept through town, the residents of Magdalena began filtering in. Of course, they were not empty-handed; trays of sandwiches and croissants, peanut butter cookies, cream-filled donuts, apples and grapes, coffee, tea, lemonade. When Pop Benito arrived, he carried six dozen pizzelles for “sustenance and security.”

Odd, that in a time of distress food brought people together. Angie remembered this from the illness and deaths of her grandparents. There’d been vigils and hours of waiting in hospitals, and everyone said they had no appetite, couldn’t
think
about eating, but when the food sat in front of them, they ate. Plates of lasagna, baked ziti, meatball subs. Wedding soup and minestrone, on and on the food caravan went until their bellies were full and their hearts grew hopeful. The eating in times of illness or death was a ritual of sorts, a joining that tied people together in sickness, grief, desperation, and hope. Ben had made his way to the waiting room once, looking weary and tense. He said something about the possibility of a cesarean section, but his expression said there was a lot he didn’t know, and most of it was out of his hands. He’d stuffed a donut in his mouth, chugged a bottle of water, and headed back to his wife. That was devotion, that was true love, and that scared the hell out of Angie.

She managed to eat a ham and Swiss croissant and nibble on a pizzelle but her thoughts were on Ben and Gina and their baby. And Tess and Cash. They were the only couple in the group who weren’t pregnant and from the little Tess had shared and the desperateness in her voice when she spoke of babies and pregnancy, they wanted one but nature wasn’t cooperating. Angie sighed, glanced at Roman who had his eyes closed, long legs kicked out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles, and his own personal cling-patch, Natalie Servetti, glued to his arm.

“I’m going to get some air,” Angie said, handing Tess her second pizzelle. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Sure. I’ll come get you if we hear anything.”

Angie stood and made her way out the exit doors to the balmy air and the night sounds of crickets, an owl, and a summer breeze. The hospital building was low and squat, and twenty steps and a left turn took her out of the stark lights of the entrance. She leaned against the brick of the building, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the night air. Exhaustion rolled over her, spilled through her in gulps of worry and concern. She said a silent prayer for the Reeds, for their friends and family, for the town. It was not in her nature to get involved or inquire about strangers, but these people had worked their way past her defenses and made her care. Her breathing leveled, turned slow and steady as the quiet of night calmed her, gave her peace.

“Hey.”

Angie’s eyes shot open. Roman Ventori stood an arm’s length away, hands shoved in his pockets, staring down at her. No smile, no smart-ass look, just a stare. Deep, dark, intense.

“Where’s your sidekick?”

“Inside.” The look turned darker, more intense. “Look, we’re not…together.”

A laugh spilled out before she could stop it. “I know that.” But apparently her traitorous body did not know because it turned all warm and tingly.

“Okay, I just wanted you to know.”

More staring.
Why?
she wanted to ask.
Why do you want me to know?
Of course, she wouldn’t ask that question, would she? But apparently her traitorous brain would. “Why do you want me to know?” Was that breathy voice really hers?

“Because…” he stumbled, tried again. “Because…ah, hell. You ask too many questions.”

Now he sounded ticked as if he wished he’d never opened his mouth. But she wanted to hear more,
needed
to hear more, and the only way to do that was to make him
want
to tell her.
How the hell did she do that?
This was so not her style, but if she wanted the answer, she had to ask and ask nicely. Angie forced a sweetness into her voice, attached a smile to it, and said, “I’m sorry I ask so many questions. Please, will you tell me?” One more smile and that should do it.

“I guess because there’s something about you, Angie Sorrento, that gets under my skin, and not in a bad way.” Those lips inched into a slow smile, stole her breath, made her heart beat triple time. “Not in a bad way at all,” he said as he cupped her chin between his fingers, closed the distance between them, and kissed her. The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, sweet, patient, but then it turned, burst like wildfire when she opened her mouth, welcomed his tongue, sucked. He groaned and pinned her against the brick wall, his hands sifting through her hair, moving along her body, tracing her breasts, her hips, her butt. She was no innocent either as she moaned into his mouth, dragged her hands along his back to his thighs. When he lifted her in his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, it was Angie who squirmed against the bulge in his jeans, Angie who yanked his shirt up to feel flesh, Angie who let out a moan when he cupped her breast through her T-shirt. She wanted more, oh yes, she wanted all of it.
She wanted him
.

She broke the kiss, tried to get away but it was impossible with her legs wrapped around his waist and his left hand holding her against him. “Let me go. Let me go, damn it.” She tried to jerk out of his grasp, but he held tight.

“Stop it,” he muttered, his gaze dark, unreadable. “Just stop before you hurt yourself.” When she stilled, he released her, eased her along his body, making sure she rubbed against his sex. As if she could ignore it. “What the hell, Angie?”

Those eyes never left her as he waited for her to say something. Well, he could wait forever because not one word was coming out of this mouth. She tucked in her T-shirt, ran her hands through her hair, and straightened her jeans. She might be able to avoid Roman Ventori, but what answer was she going to give herself? Temporary insanity? Too long without a man? Fear of death? The crisis with the Reeds? Who was she kidding? She could call it whatever she wanted, but the truth had leaked into her brain the second he touched her. She wanted him.
Him
. Not anybody else. Angie smothered that truth with a shrug and a casual, “These situations make people do crazy things, don’t they?” When he simply stared at her, she shrugged again and said, “Guess you were my moment of craziness. Sorry about that.” Then she turned and made her way back to the waiting room where everything looked the same: the people, the trays of food, Pop’s pizzelles. But nothing was the same, not anymore.

Roman waited fifteen minutes before he walked back into the emergency room waiting area. He spotted the back of Angie’s curly head, turned away from the chair he’d vacated earlier, a deliberate attempt to avoid him. Sure, why not pretend they hadn’t been all over each other a little while ago, tongue to tongue, hip to hip, crotch to… He pushed that last image away. Yeah, they’d just pretend it never happened. Pretend she hadn’t ripped his shirt out of his jeans, rubbed herself against him,
moaned
in his mouth. Never happened. None of it. Roman ran a hand through his hair, let out a big sigh. No big deal, right? People groped in the dark all the time; hell, they did much worse than that and nobody made a big deal over it. Consenting adults could do whatever they wanted. He and Angie were consenting adults. No. Big. Deal.

Except it was. Damn it, it was a big deal. His gaze narrowed on the back of her head, willed her to turn around, though he knew she wouldn’t. Chicken. She couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him what had happened or why she’d told him to stop. Hell, what
had
happened and why
had
she told him to stop? He wished he knew. He’d gone outside to make sure she was all right because he’d been watching her in the waiting room, taking note of her pale face, the way she pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth, the clasping and unclasping of hands. Those all said everything was not okay, and he’d only meant to check on her when he followed her outside. But when he found her leaning against the brick, eyes closed, lips parted, that wild mass of crazy hair he wanted to touch blowing about her face, he forgot why she annoyed him, forgot why some days he didn’t particularly like her or her upper-handedness, forgot everything but the need to kiss her. He’d left her a way out as he fumbled with his words, more teenager than grown man, but she hadn’t taken it. Instead, she’d stared at him with those brown eyes, that smile slow and welcoming, and when she spoke, he recognized the teasing in her words. He hadn’t pictured Angie Sorrento as a seductress, but he’d been a fool not to see it before. The woman was fire and passion in a pint-sized package and while she might deny the sparks, she’d felt them, he knew it, knew too, he’d make her feel them again. He settled into his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes to work on a plan.

Natalie returned from wherever she’d been and snuggled against him, her coconut body lotion tickling his nose, and not in a good way. Why had he let her talk him into bringing her here? He’d missed his meeting with Charlotte but that wasn’t actually a bad thing. In fact, he didn’t really like the idea of heading down memory lane with her in a place where a lot of those memories were made—minus clothing. What did she really want? If Natalie had minded her own business and stayed away from the hospital, he’d already know. And he and Angie might have gone on annoying one another, tossing barbs and waging intellectual battle on each other instead of doing something stupid like that kiss. And the touch. Plural: touches. Damn. He pretended he was asleep so he didn’t have to talk to Natalie. A man could only take so much “reform” and “I’m so sorry” in one day. She was edgy because there’d been another panty delivery, this pair black, and the recipient was the new minister in town. Yeah, that would go over well. His brain darted between thoughts of tonight with Angie Sorrento and Natalie Servetti’s panty gifter, trying to figure out a game plan to uncover the truth behind both. Round and round, he played scenarios, aggravating and exhausting his poor gray matter to the point that when Ben Reed burst through the emergency room door, raised his hands, and said, “It’s a boy!” Roman was so damn relieved he almost hugged the guy.

The residents of Magdalena bounded out of their chairs, swarmed the new father, congratulated, hugged, slapped on the back, and thanked the good Lord for keeping mother and child safe. Alexander Benjamin Reed entered the world at 3:52 a.m., seven pounds, eight ounces, twenty and a quarter inches long. Mother and baby were resting. Father doing well with a small gash on his forehead suffered when he fainted. Yes, fainted. Ben swore he “passed out” from low blood sugar and the fact that he’d only eaten a donut in the last several hours. Gina didn’t dispute her husband’s story, though she gently reminded him that he should avoid warm rooms with doctors, examination tables, and IVs. His buddies would save the teasing for later, days after the worry of this night had subsided.

Roman waited his turn, shook Ben’s hand and congratulated him. Natalie decided to hang back near the door. The man might be tired and worn out, but the grin on his face said he’d think about that later because this moment was for celebrating. A pang of sadness shot through Roman, settled in his chest, trickled to his gut. If he and Jess had become parents—a thought he now realized would have been a very bad idea—would anyone have visited them? Would they have baked a ham or made a pot of chicken soup and delivered it to the house? Oh, there would be the silver toothbrush, the deluxe stroller, the gift certificates to high-end department stores, but what about the personal touch that said, “We care”?

Small towns were about friendship, caring, and community. He’d known that once, had lived it and loved it before the town turned on him. Could he give them another chance? Give a relationship another chance? Would he want to? He glanced across the room, caught Angie’s eye seconds before she looked away. The truth hit him smack in the chest, sucked the air from his lungs, and settled in his brain.
Maybe
, it said. And again, louder,
Maybe
.

***

Sasha Rishkov was a bundle of energy, excitement, and passion in a flowing skirt and bangles who said she wanted to dive into life as if it were the Ashokan Reservoir in March.
One needs to appreciate the smallest joy as well as the greatest sorrow
, she said.
That is how one learns to hope, strives to understand, gives himself up to love
. The woman had a crowd of followers who gathered at Lina’s Café or the Heart Sent to listen to her speak about the universe as a family, selfless love, and a path of reflection.

When Sasha switched to philosophical guru mode, Angie didn’t understand half of what she said, not that she couldn’t have if she’d really listened, but she’d never much cared for big words or strings of phrases that made the speaker sound more intelligent than the listener. She and Sasha were in the spare room of the Magdalena Towne Hall, thanks to Mimi Pendergrass’s generous nature. Mimi said her deceased relatives would be proud to have artists creating in this building and any time Angie wanted to move her workshop from Nate’s, she was welcome to do so.

She’d thought of doing just that but wanted to wait until she made the final cuts on the houses. Painting and assembly were time-consuming, intricate work that didn’t require the tools in Nate Desantro’s workshop, though he did have an awful sweet painting and finishing area. But Sasha said she could really use Angie’s company and Mimi had given them permission to work any hour of the day or night, so different from Nate’s 6:00 p.m. clock-out. She got that he didn’t know her, and a man like that had to trust a person before he opened up his place of business and let her roam around without him. Speaking of roaming around a person’s place of business, it had been two days since Gina’s baby arrived, two days since she kissed Roman Ventori, touched him…

She hadn’t tried to see him and he hadn’t tried to see her.

Great. Just great. She could pretend she didn’t care, pretend she hadn’t thought of the kisses, the touches, the hardness of his body pressed against hers, but that would be such a lie. She
did
care and that terrified her. There was no place in her life for caring about a man because that opened her up to getting hurt, maybe even destroyed, and she was
not
going through that again. If she avoided Roman Ventori and concentrated very hard on her work, she could drive him out of her brain, couldn’t she?
Well, couldn’t she?
The man was dangerous, with that slow smile and those dark good looks. Any man who made it between the covers of an entertainment magazine should be considered suspicious and smacked with the label
Caution!
May Be Hazardous To Your Health
. And then there was the questionable association with his ex-girlfriend who just so happened to appear with tears and a sob story about missing him, yada yada. Angie bet the woman did miss him. Who wouldn’t, with a guy like that, especially if the woman found herself tied to a less-than-exciting husband and an existence that said,
This is your life and this is as good as it gets
? What if the ex-girlfriend realized she’d made a mistake and wanted Roman back? Yeah, what about
that
hornet’s nest? Angie’s stomach churned at the thought. He wouldn’t be so idiotic as to fall for tears and a sad story, words wrapped up in regrets and uttered from full pink lips.

Would he? If the woman loved Roman so damn much, why’d she bail on him when he needed her? So what if she was just a teenager? So was he. If there were only a handful of people who believed in his innocence, shouldn’t his girlfriend have been one of them? And if she wasn’t, what did that say about her? How convenient to claim undying love when her loyalty didn’t matter anymore, when the only benefit to such a claim was the upside of a potential life with a wealthy, handsome, successful former boyfriend.

And what about Natalie Servetti? That was another story altogether, one that depended on the person you talked to and how much truth they were willing to reveal. The big question around town had to be whether Roman and Natalie were lovers, and if they weren’t now, had they been? When? Where? Angie hadn’t missed the pitiful look Tess gave her when she made the comment about Natalie being responsible for ruining more than one relationship. The look and the comment implied Angie and Natalie might both be vying for Roman’s attention and Natalie would not play fair.

Fine. Angie didn’t care if Natalie stripped naked and showed up at Roman Ventori’s doorstep, though his father might have a thing or two to say about that.

Sasha Rishkov pulled her away from thoughts of Natalie Servetti and her capabilities with a tsk-tsk. “You look pensive, and in my many years that usually has to do with a man.” She eyed Angie, her silver gaze narrowed, red lips pursed. “True?”

Angie shrugged. “Why are men such idiots?”

Sasha threw back her head and laughed. “They aren’t idiots, dear. They just need a bit of training, that’s all.” When Angie scrunched up her nose at the comment, the older woman smiled, gave her a knowing look. “They want to play nice, want to please us, but they don’t know the rules.” Sasha tapped a red nail against her chin. “It’s up to us to teach them. Now, why don’t you tell me all about this man and I’ll see what I can do to help?”

***

Babies made all things possible, and right now, Pop was thinking about a bushel of possibilities, starting with Alexander Benjamin Reed. The boy was long and lean like his daddy, with dark hair and a howl that matched the Casherdons’ rescue, Henry. Who would have thought when Ben Reed strutted into town a few years ago, with too much attitude and not enough kind words to say about small towns, that he’d settle down here, find a wife, have a baby? Pop saw it, from the first time the boy danced with Gina Servetti at Cash and Tess’s wedding. The dang chemistry between the two almost exploded, like a pressure cooker on the fritz.

And then there were Nate and Christine, two people who were about as likely a couple as Romano cheese on a rye sandwich. But when Christine drove her car off the road trying to bring Nate chicken soup, and the boy had to go find her despite a fever, chills, and a killer cold, well, that made them more human, made them see each other that way, too. The shiner Christine got from the crash didn’t hurt either. That was the beginning of the end of Nate Desantro’s fight with himself over Christine Blacksworth. He wasn’t the only one fighting a losing battle. Christine had a chance to see the softer side of Nate, the one he reserved for Lily, his mother, and the stray animals he picked up every now and again. God gave them Anna Nicolina and soon, another Desantro would join them. Didn’t get much better than that, unless they continued with the expansion program…

One way or the other, the Casherdons were getting a baby if Pop had to oversee the project himself. There was more than one way to get a baby, and maybe it was time those two started thinking about the other ways before heartache and an empty crib dried up their hope. He’d seen what losing hope did to good, loving couples, watched the relationships crumble like a stale cracker, and he did not want that for Tess and Cash. Of course, his granddaughter worked it all backwards, getting the baby first, minus the husband. Pop sighed. It could have been easier, but when had easy ever played a part in relationships? Not often and not for long, at least in Pop’s estimation. He and his Lucy had their share of rough patches, torn and ripped like a pair of old jeans at the playground. But they’d shored up the holes with commitment, love, and a lot of tears. He sniffed, cleared his throat. Those were the happiest days of his life.

And now he had the pleasure of a ringside seat as Roman Ventori and Angie Sorrento battled for a future. It was pure pleasure to watch such a headstrong couple try to deny feelings for each other. He chuckled, poured two glasses of homemade wine, and handed one to Sal. “Things are moving right along.” Another chuckle. “I hear they’ve avoided each other since the night at the hospital.”

Sal lifted his wine glass, saluted Pop, and took a drink. “Interesting, huh? What do you think happened?”