Family Matters (DiCarlo Brides book 4) (The DiCarlo Brides) (16 page)

That was a much more comfortable topic, so she settled back, forcing the other thought to the back of her mind. Italy was much safer. Her salad and his pasta arrived a few minutes later and she sprinkled vinegar on the mix of leaves and veggies.

“Taste this,” he said, holding up a bite of cannelloni for her.

It looked decadent, like the cannelloni she’d eaten in Italy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It looks terrific and I might be tempted into stealing your whole plate.”

“Then I’ll order another one,” he said, shrugging it off.

She took the offered bite and nearly swooned it was so good. She chewed it slowly, enjoying every nuance and trying to figure out what was in it that her recipe lacked. “That’s seriously amazing.”

“Good, have another bite then,” he offered it to her.

“I can’t. You’ll be hungry if I eat half of your food.”

“Then I’ll have room for dessert. I hear they make excellent tiramisu.”

That was an inducement she couldn’t turn down. She’d spend more time on the elliptical in the morning.

Harrison loved watching Rosemary eat, and persuading her to do it when she was so reluctant to risk the calories was pure pleasure. She enjoyed food more than any woman he’d ever met—and yet she was rail thin. Much thinner than she’d been the previous summer. At first he’d thought it was his imagination—she was beautiful at any size, and when they met on the cruise eight years earlier, she hadn’t been thin, but he’d been instantly smitten anyway.

From time to time over the years since, he’d wondered if his strong impression that she was the woman for him had been his imagination. And if it wasn’t, then would he get another chance, because he hadn’t known who she was or how to find her. He’d dated other women, moved on and made a life, but he hadn’t been able to completely forget her. Finding her there in the hotel kitchen that day had nearly sent his heart into hyper drive. Over the past six months, he’d grown more certain that the impression had been right, though he hadn’t known how he was going to break through their disagreements to see if they could have the relationship he hoped for.  

As he stood from the table after dinner, though, he worried that he had totally freaked her out. If he lost her now because he had been more honest than she was ready for, he would regret it for the rest of his life. “If the weather wasn’t so cold, I’d suggest a walk outside in the moonlight.”

“I’d take you up on it, if I weren’t worried about becoming a Popsicle.” She accepted his hand, swinging it a little between them. “We’ve been here over two hours.”

“Yes. I wish it could have lasted longer.” They picked up their coats and he took advantage of the chance to help her on with hers to brush his fingers over the sensitive skin along her neck. She shifted her shoulder, indicating that it might have affected her a little. It made him happy. She really wasn’t immune to him. Sage had suggested to him once that his and Rosemary’s arguments had been caused by sexual tension and pure bull-headedness. She’d insinuated that he was equally as bull-headed. He could admit to himself that maybe she was right.

He opened the door, leading her back toward the car. “So how are you finding motherhood now that you’ve had ten days or so to adjust?”

“Yeah, because it’s like getting a goldfish—the adjustment period is no big deal, and you hardly have to change your life for them.”

“So, not used to it yet?” he teased.

“Not even close. But it’s nice. I love having her here, and yet it’s really hard for her, too. At least we can talk about her mom and dad, share memories. Can you imagine if she’d ended up with strangers?” She shook her head. There was a moment of pensive silence before she added, “And then I worry I’m going to turn into my mother.”

 Snow crunched under their feet on the blacktop and a night owl hooted. “Tell me about her. You never talk about what it was like growing up,” he prodded. He was unendingly curious about her as a kid and how her past made her into what she was now.

She shook her head, frowning. “You don’t want to hear. Trust me.”

He turned to face her in front of the passenger-side door. “That bad?”

“I don’t talk about this with anyone. Ever.”

He considered her words, but he didn’t think she was telling him no, just that she was nervous about it. “You can trust me.”

She nodded toward the car door and he opened it, letting her inside. He figured she wasn’t going to share, but once he had started the car, she began slowly. “When I was twelve I begged Dad to take me to live with him. I was so mad that Lana and Cami got to live with him, but he wouldn’t take me. Being at my mom’s was... pretty horrible sometimes. She kept me around because she wanted the child support checks, but that was about it.”

“Come on, that can’t be it. She must love you.” He couldn’t imagine it being any other way, even if they didn’t see eye to eye.

Her fingers twisted together on her lap. “No, I really don’t think she does. Or that she ever did.” She looked out the window, her face turned away from him. “She saw me as a meal ticket, and someone to blame things on. I started to cook in self-preservation; you know—cook or starve. And her boyfriends were useless most of the time. And that was when they were okay.”

It hurt to hear her talk about her childhood like that, made him swallow hard to try to dislodge the lump in his throat. “Did George know how bad it was?”

“I thought he’d figure it out when I begged him to let me live with him or go to a boarding school or something.” Her voice was quiet, matter of fact. “I think he didn’t want to see it, so he didn’t. I don’t think he really understood what was going on, though, or he’d have shipped me somewhere to get me away. As long as the checks kept coming, Wanda wouldn’t have cared.”

“And now we’ve wandered into the same kind of painful territory that had me putting you off earlier.” He took her hand, wanting to reassure and encourage her while his heart broke a little for the girl she used to be. “I’m honored that you told me so much.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Whatever this is between us, you obviously have strong feelings. I thought you deserved to know.”

“Are you trying to scare me away?”

A smile flit across her face and then disappeared again. “Maybe. I’m not sure how I feel yet.”

He ran his thumb across her knuckles. “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot. I want to know when you want to tell me, but I won’t pry. Well,” he reconsidered, “I’ll try not to pry. I can’t promise I’ll succeed.”

 Her fingers brushed his cheek. “Maybe another time. I know I missed my dessert conversation window, but if you want to bring that other stuff up, I’m all ears.”

He sighed a little. He hated talking about this, but he couldn’t expect her to open up if he wasn’t willing to reciprocate and their stories weren’t that far apart. “We were talking about my dad,” he said. “I don’t know anything about him, really. Some, here and there. Mom didn’t like to talk about him so I didn’t ask much. He left when I was still an infant, decided he didn’t want the responsibility. She got the divorce, though I’m not sure if he initiated it, or if she did. We never heard from him again, as far as I know. I don’t think he ever sent child support, either. She dated on and off, but never fell in love enough to marry again. She always said she was gun shy, but I think she was worried about protecting us, me and Sage. And protecting the secret about George being Sage’s father. Sometimes I wonder why she bothered to hide it, if it wouldn’t have been much easier just to tell the truth, but she respected his wishes. Last summer after everything came out someone accused her of keeping the secret because she was afraid the child support would go down, but she’s barely spent any of it. Money’s not really that important to her and the organic farm does well enough.”

Rosemary nodded. “Did your mother know, do you think, who Dad was, or that he was married when they dated?”

“No. Considering her rather hippie beliefs, Mom’s never gone for married men. I don’t think he told her, and she wasn’t the type to ask questions people didn’t want to answer—unless it was me or Sage. When we were growing up she would pry until she peeled back every secret, she prods for information now, but not like she used to. She claims we’re adults and deserve some privacy, but I know it’s killing her to let us live our lives without interference. She’s a good mom that way.” He shrugged a little, though the topic made him uncomfortable. “How about your mom?”

“I’ll never know if she knew who Dad was, or that he was married at first, but I doubt that would have bothered her. The sanctity of marriage has never been a concern for her.” Rosemary’s voice was bitter. “I talked to her the day you came to DC, the first day. She referred to my birth as
cashing in
. Dad enabled her to live very well for the past thirty or so years. She wasn’t happy when he died and left nothing to her.”

Harrison let that thought linger for a moment, sickened by her mother’s cruelty. “What happened with you and Cleo’s dad?” he asked, giving in to the burning question that had been nagging at him since he learned about Cleo.

Her face hardened a little. “He split when he found out I was pregnant. He didn’t want a kid, didn’t want to be tied down.”

Harrison couldn’t imagine not wanting Rosemary’s child. “Would you have married him and tried to make it work if he’d stuck around?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I wanted to love him, but I didn’t. Wanted him to give me something I couldn’t get at home, but he wasn’t ready, and I don’t think I was either.” She picked at her skirt. “It was a mistake from the beginning. I don’t think I’m really built for relationships.”

Harrison wondered how much of that was true, and how much a way to protect herself from being hurt. “Bad place to find yourself in at that age.”

“Yep, but it worked out great for everyone in the end. The Markhams were like parents to me. They taught me about gardening and baking and let me come play in their fairy cottage anytime I wanted.” She smiled. “I think we need a fairy cottage this summer for Cleo—she loved the one at home as much as I did at her age.”

That was such a magical thought he couldn’t imagine the Rosemary he knew now giving in to her fancies. “What’s a fairy cottage?”

“Just a spot in the back yard where the vines created a sheltered area. They had the most amazing blooms. It smelled like heaven in there.”

“Maybe you’ll need to talk to Vince about setting something up,” Harrison suggested, though he was thinking about his own property more than the girls’ home. He could just see Cleo tucked away, having a fairy tea party with friends while he and Rosemary made out on the couch inside. Or making out with her in the fairy house while the girls played inside. He wasn’t picky.

He was reluctant for the evening to end, but Rosemary had to work early, so he took her back home after dinner. He walked her to the front door, wondering if he should take that kiss he so desperately wanted. Maybe he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to put her off a second date, but he’d been trying not to stare at her mouth all evening—for six months of meetings, parties and encounters—and wanted to taste it. As they stopped on the front porch, she took the question out of his hands. She leaned in, slid her hands around his waist inside his coat and pressed her lips to his.

Harrison had already feared she was his everything, that there would never be anyone else who really mattered the way she did. But the moment their lips connected, he could see visions of their wedding, of her holding a dark-haired baby and a toddler running through the house, nearly bumping into Rosemary and her precious cargo, then falling on his diapered rump. He saw them exchanging rings at the altar and growing old together.

It all struck him in a blinding instant, so much stronger than he’d ever expected that it made him dizzy. He yanked back in surprise and stared at her for three labored breaths.

“What?” Confusion entered her eyes and she started to move away.

“Nothing.” He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his, wanting that future more than anything he could imagine, knowing it could happen for them, but only if he made it.

She wrapped her arms around him again.

He tipped her head to the side and trailed kisses down her neck, inhaling the perfume she’d dabbed at her pulse points. “Another date, soon. Tomorrow.”

She laughed and he felt the movement along her neck as he pressed his lips to her skin.

“Skiing Saturday with Jonquil and Cleo. You up for it?” she asked.

Anything. Everything. “Yes.” It was only a day and a half, he could wait that long.

“Great. See you at eight. Earlier if you want to have breakfast with us first.” With reluctance, she pulled back from his arms and slid inside.

Harrison watched her go, saw through the window when she greeted Jonquil then glanced up the stairs to where Cleo would be sleeping. He turned and walked to his car. He really had to talk to Sage about his weird vision. But not tonight. There were a few things to sort out in his head first.