Believe

Believe

San Francisco Brides Book Two

Celia Juliano

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, incidents, and scenarios are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is coincidental.

First Edition,
Say Yes
, Copyright © 2012 Celia Juliano

Second, Revised Edition,
Believe
, Copyright © 2013 Celia Juliano

Third, Revised Edition, Copyright © 2014 Celia Juliano

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any format without the author’s consent.

First Digital Edition February 2012

Second Digital Edition August 2013

Third Digital Edition December 2014

Cover photo via Fotolia: ©wavebreakmediamicro

Cover design by Christy of Gilded Heart Design

Books by Celia Juliano

San Francisco Brides series

Ready for You
(A San Francisco Brides Book)

Book 1:
Always

Book 2:
Believe

Book 2.5:
Mistletoe Magic
(A San Francisco Brides Short Story)

Book 3:
Dare

Other:

Spankies

Spankified (Spankies #1)

***

Many thanks to Megan, Cheryl, Lisa, and my other beta readers for their help and support.

Special thanks to Marik and Jessica for talking me through the changes in the series and all their support and assistance, and to Jessa at Red Circle Ink for her insightful edits.

***

After five years of caring for her father in Italy, Lita Sabatini returns home to San Francisco. Her unexpected meeting with her long-time crush, Lorenzo Calabra, complicates her homecoming, endangering both her heart and the tenuous peace in her family. Lita knows what she wants—marriage and family—and Lorenzo isn’t a likely prospect. Not only is Lorenzo her older brother’s best friend, but he’s also the city’s most infamous bachelor, and the rumors of his corrupt ways are as numerous as his women. Lita won’t compromise her dreams for Lorenzo—but she wants to believe in
la grazia dell’amore
, the grace of love.

For three years, Lorenzo has fought his feelings for Lita. But she’s an angel, untouchable from the hell that is his life. When she returns home, he resolves to change. His family and friends don’t believe in him, but when Lita does, he acts. Their pasts and future collide, making them both doubt themselves and their love. Will Lorenzo and Lita lose each other, or will they finally believe in the grace of love?

Chapter One

Lita stood on the stone bench, surveying the lit-up, undulating city streets blanketed around her. The faint scent of San Francisco Bay—slightly salty, fresh, yet off, fishy or almost like wet wool—swirled around her. Her skirt pushed against her thighs. She breathed in again and smiled at the chatter of diners, the rustle of leaves in the trees, the twinkle of lights in the dusky night, the tall, white spires of Saints Peter and Paul Church before her.

Home, she was home again.

She hugged her waist. The city had been more a mother to her than her own, a comforting, stable presence, full of life and hope. The church, where she’d now attend with Uncle Enzo and his new wife Celeste, would provide another community of solace, faith, and inspiration. Her family—her father’s family—would give her love, as she loved them, another proof of the grace of love in her life. No matter what had happened to her, or would happen, home, community, and family boosted her strength to stay hopeful and open to love. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands, saying a silent prayer of gratitude.

“Hey, sexy,” a man’s voice said from behind her.

Lita stiffened her back and clutched her purse. She hopped off the bench, unsteady for a moment in her heels. A clammy hand grasped her arm. She whirled around, maneuvering her arm out of his grip, as she’d learned to do as a teenager in self-defense class.

“Aw, come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that.” The twenty-something Mediterranean-looking man slurred his words slightly.

Lita walked away, out to the sidewalk. His footsteps squeaked behind her. Lita rolled her eyes and kept walking. He was probably a harmless drunk. Still, she’d encountered enough dangerous drunks who’d seemed nice at first. She rubbed her throat. There were plenty of people around. Sirens sounded in the distance. Nothing would happen to her. Lita stopped and turned.

“Leave me alone.” She stared at the grinning man.

He stepped toward her, his mouth twisted in a smile. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone. Let’s get a drink.” His breath reeked of alcohol.

Panic seeped from her throat, cutting an icy, slow path through to her stomach. This wasn’t Sorrento, the little town in Italy where she’d lived with her father for the last five years, where people knew her, looked out for her, as she’d cared for her father during the final years of his illness—the only years she’d known him. San Francisco was a stranger to her now, a distant childhood friend who maybe wasn’t so friendly anymore.

“She said leave her alone,” a familiar male voice said.

The sick panic fizzed away, replaced by the effervescent buzz of good champagne. Lita instinctively moistened her lips and touched her hair. She faced the two men. Lorenzo. Tall, lean—an Italian Cary Grant—he stood with an intimidating frown next to Lita’s pest.

“Who the hell’re you to tell me—” The guy pushed at Lorenzo’s cashmere-sweater clad chest, drawing her gaze to its hard expanse.

She’d like to get her hands on Lorenzo’s solid chest. Lita bit the inside of her lip. He wasn’t the kind of man she should want, not what she needed.

“Lorenzo Calabra. Get the hell out of here.” His harsh words punctured her excitement at seeing him.

The guy pulled back his hand as if he’d been burned, stepped away, and jogged up the street. Her bubbly feeling popped, replaced by a puddle of flat disappointment. Lorenzo was no charming movie character—according to what she’d heard, he was a corrupt, womanizing player. Even if he had been her older brother Lee’s best friend for fourteen years, and had never shown her anything but kindness, Lorenzo was no kind of man for her.

“You okay?” Lorenzo walked to her. His dark, intense gaze trailed over her.

She ignored the surge of warmth pouring through her, nodded and strode back into the park. Lorenzo kept pace beside her. His scent, soothing and delicious as a cup of warm Earl Grey tea, made her falter in her step. He caught her arm in his.

“You shouldn’t be out alone.” His breath caressed her cheek.

She shook her head.
Stop getting gushy over him
. She frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. When did you get back from Italy?” He released her arm.

“Last night. I’m staying with Uncle Enzo.”

Lorenzo made a non-committal sound. It had been odd, when Lita’d found out five years ago who her father was, being related by marriage to Lorenzo’s maternal family. Her father’s older sister, Angela, had been married to Lorenzo’s great uncle Enzo. Aunt Angela had died just before Lita discovered who her father was. Lita still didn’t know the rest of Uncle Enzo’s family. Lita’d spent the last five years in Italy caring for her father, getting to know his few living relatives—the Sabatini side of her parentage—and getting her college degree. No one in the family had visited, except Uncle Enzo, Lorenzo, and Lee.

Lorenzo walked next to her. “Lee know?”

The thought of Lorenzo and her brother talking about her behind her back made Lita feel uncomfortably squirmy. She shifted her hips and smoothed her skirt. She breathed in again, hoping to replace the scent memory of Lorenzo. A breeze redolent of the surrounding North Beach restaurants and bakeries—roasted beef and garlic, spicy tomato sauces, fresh pasta and bread—blew around her. Her stomach tightened, but it wasn’t hunger, not for food, anyway.

“No.” Lita glanced at him. She stopped. Even Lorenzo’s strong profile was enough to make her forget where she was going.

He faced her. His brows pushed together. “I’m taking you home.” He grasped her elbow.

A thrilling shiver sizzled through her. If only it would flame and burst, a spectacular firework. But Lorenzo would never see her as anything but Lee’s silly little sister. The way he’d acted—like he was indulging a little girl—last month on his visit with Lee to Italy had confirmed that for her. And she shouldn’t want him to care more than he did. The sizzle fizzled like a burned-out sparkler.

She wanted a traditional family. She wanted a safe home. She wanted a loving husband. Lorenzo was the stuff of fantasy. Lita was tired of just dreaming.

“Lita.”

She touched her cheek where his breath had warmed it.

“Did that guy hurt you?” His intent, concerned tone pricked into her, like the unexpected jab of an embroidery needle that had missed its mark.

He probably still thought of her as if she was the scared girl she’d been that night seven years ago, when he and Lee’d caught her mother’s boyfriend trying to rape her. She shivered again, this time from the flash of images and sounds that rushed into her mind. She closed her eyes a moment, willing it all to go away. She’d dealt with all that in therapy…But every time she got intimate with a man, the feelings slammed into her, like she’d been wading in a calm ocean only to suddenly be overtaken and pulled under by a silent wave.

“No, I’m fine.” She flashed him a brief smile.

Lorenzo guided her up the sidewalk. “I’ll take you to Sal’s for dessert.”

He knew her weakness for chocolate. Lita smiled again, despite the heaviness in her limbs. She stifled a yawn. Uncle Enzo’d warned her that jet lag would engulf her. She might be tired from her trip, but what overwhelmed her was the whirlpool of feelings she had whenever Lorenzo was near. She still hadn’t resurfaced from the feelings swirled by his visit last month. And they’d never been alone, like this.

“I thought you said you weren’t ready to leave Italy. Are you sure you’re okay?” His tone had softened, voicing a gentle tenderness Lita had never heard from him before.

She glanced at him. She fingered her cross necklace. She was in danger. More danger than from a random drunk, a sexual predator, a cheating boyfriend—all of which she’d encountered.

Lorenzo endangered not just her body, which heated at his touch, but her mind and her heart. All three joined, a chorus, whispering to her to give herself to him, to surrender to the grace of love.
La grazia dell’amore
, her father had often said. And she believed—but this thing she had for Lorenzo wasn’t love, it was a masquerade, a pretender, a silly school-girl crush.

“I’m okay.” She blinked. She wasn’t okay. She missed her father. With Papa’s long illness, she’d thought she’d be prepared for his inevitable passing, but she still missed him every day—the only real parent she’d ever had. Her mother, Jane, had never been a real parent. Jane had only done what she had for Lita because of Lee.

She pushed her shoulders back. She’d been lucky to know her father, even if it had only been for the last five years. Better to experience
la grazia dell’amore
than to live in ignorance.

“You miss your dad. He was a good man.” Lorenzo’s voice had lowered further, into a hoarse rasp.

He knew, knew her inner thoughts…Except he didn’t, thank goodness. She grasped Lorenzo’s arm and squeezed lightly. You’re a good man too, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come, like Ariel’s voice trapped in an enchanted shell in
The Little Mermaid
. He didn’t always behave like a good man, from what she’d heard, but, to her, he was a caring, loyal man.

Lita strolled up the block with Lorenzo. The voices and lights brightened; the scents of coffee and pastry, the sounds of plates and glasses clinking, passed around her. She leaned closer to Lorenzo, centered in his presence. Everything else was a film, distant and entertaining, while Lorenzo was real, solid and captivating.

He opened the door to Sal’s for her. A mural of Italy’s Amalfi Coast on the far wall drew her eye—the blues, yellows, and purples capturing the essence of her second home. Several couples sat, nibbling desserts and sipping coffee or drinks, some in red-covered booths lining the walls, others at tables with crisp white cloths and black chairs in the middle of the dining area, a few lounging at the bar behind the host’s stand. The scent of pasta, tomato, and the sweet hint of chocolate lingered. Lita licked her bottom lip.

A dapper fifty-something man in a dark grey suit smiled at them as he approached the host’s stand—he must be Sal.
“Lorenzo, I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.” He ushered them into the dining room.

“Sal, this is Lita. Brought her in for dessert.”

They stopped in front of a booth on the end by the hall. Sal turned and grasped Lita’s hand. “I’ve heard much about you from my father. Welcome home.” His eyes were shrewd and deep brown, like Uncle Enzo’s.

Lita warmed. A big family was something she’d longed for since she could remember.

“Thank you. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

Sal released her hand with a flourish and smiled. Lita slid into the booth, tucking her full skirt under her. She set her purse on the seat.

Lorenzo sat across from her. “Chocolate mousse, Sal.” Lorenzo grinned, the dimple in his left cheek giving him a mischievous, boyish expression.

Lita edged her hands toward his on the table then fingered the water glass instead. She couldn’t just hold Lorenzo’s hand. They weren’t on a date. He was just being protective, like Lee would be.

Lorenzo removed his hands from the table. Lita crossed her legs at the ankle. He couldn’t know she wanted to hold his hand. Yet somehow she felt he could read her thoughts. He relaxed into the booth, checking his watch as he crossed his arms. She shifted. He was already bored. And why not—he had different women every week, every day for all she knew.

Lita circled her finger on the table. “How was Uncle Enzo’s wedding? I was sorry to miss it.”

“It was good. He and Celeste are happy. Won’t they wonder where you are?”

Lita scooted in her seat. “He was out with Celeste. I left a note that I was taking a walk.” Lita was glad for Uncle Enzo, finding love again with Celeste D’Angelo. The two seventy-somethings were now happy newlyweds.

Lorenzo glanced at her, his gaze taking in her clothes. “You aren’t dressed for a walk.”

“I took a cab then walked in the square a bit. I thought I might get a coffee.” She wasn’t about to admit how lonely she’d been, sitting home alone in Uncle Enzo’s huge house on the hill. That’s what she got for turning up unexpectedly. Uncle Enzo and Celeste had said they’d cancel their plans, but Lita wouldn’t hear of that. And Lita’s friend, Paolo, who’d visited in Italy on buying trips for his job at Nordstrom, had been busy too. She didn’t have any other friends in San Francisco anymore.

“Hello again,” a female voice said.

Lita glanced up. A skinny blonde stood near Lorenzo. Lita sipped her water. The woman’s half-smile and snarky tone made Lita want to say a few choice words.