Always (7 page)

“Yeah, Aunt Sophia gave me one when we all had dinner there last week.”

“So say you went there to be alone. They’re out of town for the weekend.”

“Thanks.” She called home. Luckily, her mom answered.

“Gina! Where are you? We’ve been so worried. Your dad’s been frantic.”

“I’m okay. I needed to be alone so I went to Uncle Carlo’s.”

“Oh. I wish you would’ve just told us.”

Dad was exclaiming in the background. Rustling—he must’ve grabbed the phone.

“Gina, what’s wrong with you? You have no respect. Your mother was up half the night.”

“I’m twenty-five, I don’t answer to you.”

“You do when you live at my house.”

She bit her tongue. There was no point talking to him when he got like that. She could get her own place, when she found a job. Course, Michael lived rent-free in the third-floor flat over the market, yet she was expected to help at the store and rescue the business and live under her parents rules…for what?

“Gina!”

“Okay, I hear you. I’ll be home for lunch.”

“Good. We have a lot to discuss.”

The store was closed Mondays. Great, she’d have all day and night to argue with her parents.

“Sorry for worrying you. See you later. Love to Grandma and Michael.”

He snorted. She hung up.

“He sounded pleased,” Vincente said sarcastically.

She threw her phone at Vincente. He caught it and set it next to his. She hunched up, ready for retaliation, but a knock sounded. She flopped back and pulled the blanket over her head.

“Thanks, Marcella,” Vincente said. “You’re a wonder. Have you heard from Grandpop?”

“He’ll be home today for lunch. He say to tell you be here to talk.”

The door closed. Gina popped her head out from under the covers. The savory smell of eggs and vegetables greeted her. Her stomach rumbled.

Vincente set the tray in front of her. He’d removed the other one. He took a plate. “
Buon appetito
.”

“Thank you,” Gina said. She eased the other plate off the tray and ate as daintily as she could with the plate propped on her knees. The eggs, mixed with spinach, peppers, onions, and some herbs, was tastier with each bite. She’d soon finished. She placed the plate back and sipped the glass of orange juice. Fresh-squeezed.

“Feel better?” Vincente said as he moved the tray outside the door.

“It’s better than a hotel here,” Gina said in a teasing tone.

“A lot quieter.” His voice was low, edged with a hard, lonely sharpness.

She slid from the bed and met Vincente. She wrapped her arms around him. He rubbed his hands down her back, stopping above her ass. Squirming, she smiled up at him. Her smile faded on seeing his serious, stern expression. He dropped his hands.

“You said you needed to leave.” He turned. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

No man had ever rejected her when she’d been standing naked in his arms. Then again, no man had consistently treated her with the respect Vincente did. Taking someone at their word, that was a value Grandpa Frank had taught her, one she’d tended to forget as she’d grown up. She’d gotten used to men—in business and personal life—who played games, manipulated, not men who could be trusted. She’d learned to question every statement, consider the angles, the hidden meanings and agendas.

“No thanks. I can walk. It’s all downhill from here.”

“In those shoes?” He pointed to her three-inch red heels. “I’ll give you a ride. It’s on my way to work.”

He shrugged on a shirt. The fun was over. Gina hunched and picked up her dress and underwear. They both dressed in silence.

Chapter Six

Vincente shoved on his workboots. He turned to Gina. Tensing his body, he ignored the shooting heat blasting through him. Her red dress brought out some sort of sparkle in her skin and hair, which were, alone, enough to make him lose his mind. And he had, the way he’d been acting.
Get it together.

“Ready?” he said.

She nodded, pouting a little. She must be used to getting her own way. Though not with her family, it seemed. But she’d been out on her own for years, and she could bring a man to his knees with a flip of her hair. He swallowed and held the door for her. Her ass switched back and forth in a mesmerizing dance. He shook his head and moved his gaze to the long hall. Paintings of the family villa and the surrounding town hung along the yellowy-cream walls. Plush Mediterranean blue carpet lined the floors, all the colors echoing those in the paintings.

“Pretty paintings.” Gina waved a hand. “They look like the ones in Enzo’s living room and foyer. Is it somewhere significant?”

“Uncle Enzo and Grandpop grew up there.” She must know that, since Gina’s late grandfather and his generation of D’Angelos had been from a neighboring town.

“Have you been?” Gina turned at the landing and started down the stairs.

“Just once.” After his late wife, Marie, had died, he’d needed to get away. He’d gotten away all right, retreated into a safe, if sedate, dwelling, his own private shelter in his mind, and heart…He used to think it was a respite, a retreat, but now…what he thought had sheltered him from emotional storms had closed him off to the excitement, the pleasure found in a woman like Gina. And not just the pleasure of her body, but her spontaneity, her passion. She made him feel…revitalized, energized.

“Is that where Enzo’s great-nephew Lorenzo is?”

“Yeah.” Was she keeping tabs on everyone in his family? He shook his head. Her suspiciousness was affecting him. Probably Celeste or Sophia had mentioned it to her.

“Must be nice.”

She didn’t sound nice, so Vincente didn’t comment. Gina couldn’t be the one for him. He didn’t need a woman who had a problem with his family, and who seemed to just be using him for sex, and maybe information. That wasn’t the kind of relationship he was looking for. But he hurt for the possibility of a chance with her even though his mind told him she was all wrong for him. Something in him wanted to keep seeing her, keep feeling this new energy in him. His body felt light, but grounded, like at the beginning of a great workout. But better than that.

She waited at the bottom of the stairs. Clattering—probably Marcella doing dishes—came from the kitchen.

“Stay here,” Vincente said, knowing Gina didn’t want anyone to see her. He opened the door to the main part of the house and checked down the front hall. “Come on,” he called. She hurried down the hall, her curves jiggling. He really had to get to work. A distraction from Gina, and the feelings she conjured in him, was needed.

He held the front door for her. Then he led her to where his truck was parked. He helped her up, trying not to actually touch her. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he started up the truck, pressed the automatic gate, and pulled out.

The sun was obscured by grey clouds and low-lying fog. He could barely even see the trees lining the street as he drove down toward D’Angelo’s Market. As they approached the busy intersection of Columbus and Green, Gina slid next to him.

“Thanks again, for everything. I wish…things could be different.” She kissed his cheek, her lips warm and gentle. An angel’s kiss. He gripped the steering wheel harder.

She edged away. “Can you just drop me after you pass the light?”

Of course she didn’t want anyone to see him drop her off. She wished things could be different? Then why didn’t she do something about it? He nodded to her. The light turned green. He drove through and pulled up to the curb. Gina jumped out, waving as she slammed the door. He watched for a moment as she wove her way through the other pedestrians and café tables and chairs.

He rolled his shoulders and drove on. He wished things could be different too. But it was best—they both saw that—if he and Gina stayed apart.

***

Vincente rubbed his shoulder and stepped out of the trailer on the second job site. He’d already checked in at the first earlier. It was close to lunch and Grandpop had texted, insisting Vincente come home. Nothing had loosened the tension, the ache, that had consumed him since this morning.

“You said you weren’t coming in today,” Juan said as he hopped down from the scaffolding. “Hottie bail on you?”

“Whaddaya mean?” Vincente’s chest gripped.

“I saw a woman jumping out of your truck this morning as I was getting off my bus. Who is she? Actress? Model? I haven’t seen anyone that hot since that JLo concert I took my girl to.”

Vincente flexed his biceps. His ears burned, the sensation tightening into his neck and throat. No one should talk about Gina like that. So what if he’d thought it.
Cool it.

Juan gave him a look, like “What the hell?” Vincente shrugged. “She’s a family friend, that’s all.”

“Do you have her number?” Juan’s broad smile didn’t stop Vincente from frowning.

“No.” And he didn’t. Not her cell, anyway.

“You know, my sister broke up with her boyfriend.”

“Did she?”

Juan had tried to set him up with his various female relatives before. Now that Juan thought he hadn’t bedded Gina, the hottie, that cemented his trustworthiness to escort any of Juan’s friends and relations. Usually, Vincente was that reliable. He respected women. Not that he didn’t respect Gina…She just threw him, made him want things…

“Uh, yeah…You okay,
amigo
?”

Vincente forced himself to look at Juan. He’d been staring at nothing, seeing only Gina.

“Yeah, no worries.” He clapped Juan on the shoulder. “Doing a great job. Call me if you need to. I have a meeting with
el jefe
.” They both chuckled. Grandpop wasn’t really the boss anymore, but everyone at DeGrazia Construction called him that—men like Grandpop didn’t really retire.

Vincente waved as he walked away. He’d dreaded this lunch with Grandpop, until he’d realized he had some questions of his own to ask.

He drove home, slowing as he passed D’Angelo’s Market. If they’d been open, he would’ve stopped, in hopes of catching a glimpse of Gina. This was bad. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d first met his late wife, Marie. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other—not uncommon for two twenty-one-year-olds. But he’d let it blind him to their incompatibility. Just like he was now. Thirty and he still hadn’t learned. Four years alone—more like five, since he and Marie hadn’t been together, really, the last year or so of their marriage. Just dates all those years—no one ever lasted, no one made him feel the way…

A car honked at him, brakes screeching. He started. He gripped the steering wheel. He’d just run right through the stop sign near home.
Get your mind in the game.
But the only game he was interested in anymore was the one he and Gina were playing.

***

Vincente wiped his mouth with his napkin and thanked Marcella as she cleared the table after lunch. He and Grandpop had spent lunch discussing company business.

“Close the door, please, Marcella,” Grandpop said.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had confidential things to say.

The door swung shut from the kitchen. Vincente glanced around the cozy but masculine sitting room and dining area. Grandpop had redone what used to be a ballroom into a private suite for himself after Grandma had died eight years ago. Grandpop had hoped Vincente would have a family living upstairs by now, but…

“I had a good weekend,
nipote
. How about you?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“You had dinner with Enzo and the D’Angelos, eh?”

Vincente nodded. He tapped a finger on the table, then stopped, realizing he was beginning to betray too much of his real mood. You had to play it cool to get anywhere with Grandpop.

“That Frank’s a real piece of work, just like his grandfather.”

Vincente leaned back in his chair, ready for a story. Grandpop rose, stretched, and poured himself a small glass of Limoncello from the bar.

He sipped it, walked to the dark green couch, and sat. Pausing, he relaxed into the cushions, crossing his legs and leaning into the armrest. Vincente stood and ambled around the room, giving Grandpop time to relax into whatever he wanted to say. As he walked, he picked up the few artifacts around the room—glass paperweights, a conch shell, an old inlaid box.

“Bring that here,” Grandpop said.

Vincente did. Grandpop pulled the gold chain he always wore from around his neck. It had a tiny key on it. Grandpop fitted it in the lock of the box and opened it.

Vincente sat down. He’d never known what that key was for. Inside the box were a ring, a locket, and a few locks of hair. Grandpop pulled out the ring. The diamond set in the thin gold band caught the afternoon light from the window. Grandpop handed it to him. The lightweight gold was slightly burnished, as if it had been handled over the years, but not worn. It was a simple ring, and all the more beautiful in its sparse, elegant design. It should be on the finger of a beautiful, graceful woman. Like Gina. Vincente swallowed and handed the ring back to Grandpop.

“I presented this ring to my first love, Marina D’Angelo, when we were eighteen. But her father refused my suit. And she wouldn’t go against him.”

“I thought Grandma was…”

Grandpop set the box on the coffee table. “I loved your grandma very much. But we, even so young, had loved and lost. It was one of the things that brought us together.”

“Okay, so, what? The D’Angelos have held that against us for all these years?”

“That’s not the whole story. Not only did her father hate me because of who he thought I was, but also that I had gotten his daughter pregnant.”

Vincente shook his head. He didn’t blame that now-dead D’Angelo patriarch. He’d be angry too.

“I didn’t know. She’d never told me. She didn’t know until after she’d sent me away. And then she lost the baby a month later. I didn’t know until she wrote to me almost a year later. She had become a nun, and wanted me to know the truth before she took her final vows. Not to give me hope that we could reunite, but to absolve herself of her guilt. I didn’t blame her…it was her father.” Grandpop swirled the golden liquid in his glass and set it with a clack on the table.

Vincente rose. “Look, Grandpop, I appreciate you telling me, but I don’t see—”

“You don’t see what this has to do with now? Now Frank D’Angelo, the old man’s grandson, is trying to prevent my brother, your uncle Enzo, from marrying his mother, Celeste. And he’s sniffing around our business. He thinks we are all corrupt and worthless people. So judgmental, eh?”

“We’re not exactly innocents, Grandpop.” Grandpop’s business hadn’t been upstanding, before. That was why Vincente’s dad had moved, and why Vincente had too. But once he’d come home after Marie’s death, he’d convinced Grandpop to give up and stay strictly legal. “And getting a young woman pregnant. Even now, I wouldn’t be happy if it was my daughter, but back then…” He shook his head.

“I know. And I was sorry, but I’ve made my peace with it. We were young, in love—you understand. I wanted to marry her. He was against me before he knew she was pregnant.”

“The ring…”

“It was for her. I saved it. Bought your grandma her own ring. I hoped to give the ring to you.”

When Vincente had married Marie, he’d been on the outs with Grandpop—and Grandpop hadn’t approved of Marie or their marriage. Vincente rubbed a hand over his mouth. He’d lost faith in himself, in finding lasting love. He closed his eyes a moment. That’s why he’d stopped dating. All his excuses about work and family commitments, about getting his life just right before he found the right woman, were just that, excuses. Damn. He’d never thought of himself as one of those self-deluded types. And now, Gina had rushed into his life. Gina made him feel…alive, hopeful. He leaned forward and straightened the magazines on the coffee table.

“I’d like the ring to be part of happiness, to carry on the love I felt for Marina.”