Bella Rosa Proposals: Star-Crossed Sweethearts

“At your father,” she guessed.

“Him, yeah. And my mom.” Angelo snorted. “Hell, I was angry at everyone.” The sky held a million stars. He concentrated on one of them and continued. “No one seemed to give a damn about my brother and me. Our mom came home drunk most nights. She worked in public relations as a consultant. She kept a roof over our heads and, when she remembered to go grocery shopping, food in the pantry. But, honestly, I don’t know how she managed to keep a job.”

“Not all alcoholics are falling-down drunks. Some are quite capable of leading dual lives, at least for a while.”

“That was Cindy. She wasn’t a mean person, just disinterested in motherhood and, I think, angry with Luca that their marriage hadn’t worked out. From what little she said on the subject, they’d met while she was vacationing here, she got pregnant and they got married. They barely knew one another. Not exactly the recipe for long-term success.”

“No.”

“Anyway, I think she was desperate to stay young and free of responsibility.”

“That’s pretty hard to do when you have twins,” Atlanta inserted.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t stop her. She spent more time out partying at trendy nightclubs than she did at home with Alex and me.”

Maybe, Angelo realized now, that was why he’d never cared for the fun-loving party girls who hung around outside the stadium after games hoping to hook up with the players. They were a little too reminiscent of Cindy and her irresponsible ways for his taste.

The star he was staring at winked as if urging him on.

“Some of our teachers tried to help, but they could only do so much without state intervention. Cindy was good at avoiding that. Whenever she was called in for a parent-teacher conference or visited by a social worker, she would ramp up the tears and promise to change her ways. They believed her. Hell, Alex and I believed her.”

“Those kinds of promises are impossible not to believe coming from someone you need and love,” Atlanta said in a voice that sounded both sad and knowing.

“Things would be good for a while, but then she’d start going out again.”

The stars blurred out of focus. Angelo swallowed. His mother had abandoned her sons, too. Not physically, but emotionally.

“Didn’t your father at least help out financially?”

He shook his head. “According to her, the reason Alex and I wound up in the States to begin with was that Luca was broke and couldn’t provide for us. He was selling food from a roadside stand at that point.” Angelo’s tone turned frosty. “Eventually things turned around. He managed to open a restaurant, remarry and support a second family.”

“He never contacted you and Alex?”

“Once. We were eighteen and already living in New York. He managed to track us down through some shirttail relative of our mother’s. I was so ticked off at him that I hung up the telephone a few minutes into the conversation. Busted the receiver in two.” He snorted out a laugh that held no humor.

“You had a right to be angry.”

Hearing her say it opened the floodgate. During the past twenty years, he’d shared his private pain with no one except his twin. He found it surprisingly easy to tell Atlanta, “Luca forgot all about Alex and me. When you come right down to it, he abandoned us!”

His words echoed down the hillside.

“I’m sorry, Angelo.” Atlanta reached across the table to lay one of her hands over his.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Not so long that it doesn’t still hurt.”

And it did. The pain in his heart throbbed as intensely as the one in his shoulder. His throat constricted with emotions he rarely allowed to the surface. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“SO, TELL me how baseball saved you,” Atlanta said after a long moment. “Did you play for your high school’s team?”

“No. I didn’t have the grades to make the school’s team. You had to pull at least a C average in all of your classes to suit up one week to the next. I was lucky to be passing. If not for a couple of teachers who believed in social promotion, I don’t think Alex and I would have graduated the same year.” He swallowed before saying, “I wasn’t much of a studier and I have a hard time with letters. Some of them like to scramble up on me.”

“You’re dyslexic.”

“They didn’t use that term as much back then, but, yeah. I’m dyslexic.”

“So, where does baseball enter this picture?” she asked.

“Not long after I hotwired a cherry-red Porsche.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen? You can’t drive at that age.”

“Not legally, but I’d had a lot of practice.” Some of his good humor returned and he sent a wink in her direction. “I’d had a lot of practice at other things by that age, too, sweetheart.”

She shook her head on a weary laugh. “Just go on with the story, please.”

“Okay. By then Cindy was dead, and Alex and I were in the foster-care system. We’d already run away from a home in Boston and had lived on the streets for a while, dodging social workers and police. You meet people there.” He sobered as black-edged memories swirled in. “They make certain things sound…acceptable, even though you know they aren’t.”

“Things like stealing a car?”

“Yeah. They turn crime into a rite of passage for misguided kids looking for a place to belong. Alex wanted no part of it. To this day, he doesn’t know how close I came to being completely sucked under,” Angelo said quietly.

“How did you wind up in New York?”

“The people I was running with in Boston had friends in the Bronx. They said they could find work for me. Alex didn’t like it. He went with me to New York, determined to keep me out of trouble. One night, I was supposed to deliver the stolen car to a chop shop. I got the street wrong.” He shook his head. “Dyslexic, remember?”

“Then what?”

“When Alex came to see me in jail, social services swooped in. He was assigned a foster home in Brooklyn. The father was a no-nonsense former U.S. Marine. Big Mike, they called him. While I was awaiting my court date the guy pulled some strings and, after spending a few weeks in juvie, I got sent there.”

This wasn’t part of his official bio. Long ago, Angelo’s agent had talked him out of sharing any of the truly unsavory particulars. Fans rooted for underdogs, but there was no sense in making them squeamish.

“Were you found guilty?” Atlanta asked.

He nodded. “Grand theft auto, a felony. Even though I was a juvenile I was looking at some serious time. I had already racked up a couple of other minor offenses back in Boston. This made me a repeat offender as far as the DA in New York was concerned. So he charged me as an adult. I was facing time in juvenile detention until my eighteenth birthday, after which time I would be moved to the state penitentiary to finish out the rest of my sentence. But Big Mike, he was the foster dad, he went out on a limb for me at my sentencing hearing. He told the judge not to write me off. He said I was smart and had potential to turn my life around, but tossing me in the pen with the adult population would all but ensure I became a career criminal. Mike felt what I really needed was a good attitude adjustment and to have my energy refocused.”

“And the judge listened?” Atlanta asked, sounding as surprised as Angelo had been twenty-some years earlier.

“Mike’s word carried a lot of weight with the court.” He snorted out a laugh. “For good reason, as it turned out. The guy knew how to adjust attitudes and refocus energy. The first night I was in his home he sat me down at the kitchen table and point-blank told me that if I blew the second chance he’d just gotten me, he’d personally see to it that I wound up behind bars. That’s not all he told me, but I’ll spare your delicate sensibilities and won’t repeat the rest of his lecture.”

“You were scared straight.”

“Damned right. The guy was huge and intimidating as hell. He meant business. He also cared. What really kept me on the straight and narrow, though, was baseball. Mike coached a team in a recreational league. I’d always liked baseball. I’d always been good at it despite no formal training. But when I started playing on Mike’s team…” He shook his head, words failing him.

Atlanta’s expression softened with understanding. “So, baseball saved your life.”

He nodded. “That’s why it’s all I can imagine doing, even though I know I can’t do it forever. Given your circumstances, you probably feel the same about acting.”

A shadow passed over her face. “I love it. And you’re right. Acting saved me in a way, too.” It was gone by the time she went on. “But if I never starred in another movie like the ones I’ve been making for the past decade, I’d be okay with that.”

“Liar,” he taunted, sure she couldn’t mean it.

But her tone was emphatic. “I’m being honest, Angelo. I’m tired of the roles I’ve been playing. I’ve wanted to move in a different direction for a while now. During the past few years I’ve been approached by indie film makers with screenplays that have had me salivating despite the low pay and nearly nonexistent production budgets.”

“What’s stopped you from doing them?”

“Zeke.” She shook her head then. “No. That’s too neat of an explanation and not entirely accurate. The messier truth is I’ve been afraid. The moviegoing public loves Atlanta Jackson, the vulnerable vixen. But would they love me in a less-than-sexy role?”

Surprised, he asked, “Is that the kind of part you want to play?”

“If it had some real meat. I’ve also given some thought to directing. I’ve learned a lot from my time in front of the camera.” She lifted her hands. “The bottom line is I want to be taken seriously, Angelo.”

“I take you seriously.”

His reply had her flustered again. She rallied quickly. “Thank you. Unfortunately, in my business, women, especially attractive women, only seem to earn accolades when their looks are diminished.”

“You want more recognition in the industry?”

“Of course I do. But ultimately I want what that represents.”

“Respect.”

“Exactly. That’s what I want from my peers in the industry.”

“You don’t think you have it now?” he asked in disbelief. “I’m betting most actors would give their eye-teeth to be you or to have the chance to work with you. You’re one of the hottest properties on the planet, Atlanta. Plunk you in the lead role and, no matter what the movie is about, it’s destined to become a blockbuster and rake in millions if not billions of dollars worldwide.”

“That’s not a commentary on my talent. It only means that fans like the way I look and they’ve gobbled up all of the poor-little-rich-girl stories Zeke planted in the media over the years. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had. At one point the money was enough to keep me happy and make me feel safe.”

“Safe? That’s an odd word choice.”

“Um, you know, secure. Financially speaking.” Despite the hasty clarification, he didn’t think that was really what Atlanta meant. Since he’d just bared his soul, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that she was still holding back. She was saying, “I’ve got more money than I can spend in this lifetime, assuming Zeke’s palimony suit doesn’t leave me in the poorhouse.”

“The guy is suing you for palimony?” he asked incredulously.

She rattled off a monthly sum that left Angelo staggered. “He claims he neglected other business opportunities in order to put my career first.”

“He’s also claiming you did the horizontal mambo with his son and half the men in Hollywood. We both know the guy is delusional.”

“Thank you.”

“For what? For paying attention? I may not have known you long, Atlanta, but it’s plain to me the kind of person you are…and the kind of person you aren’t.”

She swallowed and shrugged. “That’s neither here nor there. Getting back to my point, despite being moneymakers, only a couple of my movies received positive reviews. The majority were panned.”

“To hell with the critics.” Angelo fumed on her behalf. He’d endured similar armchair analyses from so-called experts over the years. “What do they know?”

She sighed. “They know good acting, and so do I. I’m capable of it, too. I just haven’t found the right vehicle to stretch my talent. With Zeke, it became increasingly clear over the past few years that I never would. Every time I wanted to so much as read a script from a little-known screenwriter or got wind of a project that didn’t require me to show my cleavage, he vetoed it.”

“Is that why you finally left him?”

“I’d had enough,” she said softly.

“Good for you.”

“When I first met Zeke, I thought he was my savior, but it turned out I’d merely traded one male keeper for another.”

“How so?”

She blinked as if just realizing what she’d said. He doubted she knew how haunted or sad she looked. It was her expression that kept him from pushing when she said, “We’ll save that for another day. Do you realize it’s nearly midnight?”

He stood and came around the table, where he offered her his hand. “Tomorrow then.”

“Excuse me?” she asked as she rose to her feet.

“Tomorrow is another day. We can pick up where we left off. We could do dinner again.”

“Angelo—”

“You don’t have to tell me any deep, dark secrets. But if you do, you can trust me not to share anything I learn with another person.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it. “You’ll find me a good listener, Atlanta. Every bit as good as you were tonight when I bared my soul.”

“Then maybe you’ll take a bit of advice. You’re here to see your father, Angelo. You can’t keep avoiding him by spending all of your time with me.”

“You’re the only reason this trip is tolerable.” When Atlanta opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Don’t worry about Luca. My father and I will have our talk. A family gathering is planned. I’ll see him then and get to meet the rest of the clan.” He couldn’t quite keep the dread from his tone.

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as all that.”

“Maybe not.” He smiled. “You and I will skip out early. I see no point in staying for more than a few introductions and some small talk.”

That had Atlanta blinking. “You’re asking me to come with you?”

“I could use an ally.”

“It’s a family party, Angelo.”

“They’re strangers,” he corrected. “The only thing we have in common is DNA.”

He thought of Isabella and guilt nipped. The description didn’t seem fair. His sister was kind, interesting and spirited. He liked her, admired her. The fragile bond he already felt went beyond the Casali blue eyes and a blunt chin. Under other circumstances…

But the circumstances couldn’t be changed, which meant he was left to make the best of them.

“There’s no need to give me your answer right now. You can think about it. As for tomorrow, I’ll call early in the day, so you can figure out what our plans will be and what I should wear.”

She tipped her head to one side. “You want me to tell you what to wear?”

“No. I just want to be with you. But if that’s what it takes…”

He pulled her tight against him and kissed her with more passion than was wise. Was he testing her or testing himself? She sighed her consent as their lips parted. A moment later, however, her tone was no breathy whisper when she added, “We need to get one thing straight.”

“And that is?” He ran his knuckles down the sides of her ribcage before resting his hands on her waist and was pleased when he felt her tremble.

Her voice remained steady and strong when she said, “We share the decision-making. Okay?”

As he lowered his mouth to hers for the second time, he whispered, “I’ve got no problem with that.”

Atlanta was still in bed when Angelo called the following morning.

And the morning after that.

And the morning after that.

It became their habit to spend the better part of the day together and then share the evening meal. In addition to eating in, they’d dined at nearly every place in Monta Correnti. Except for Rosa and Sorella, of course.

Afterward, they talked, kissed and bade one another goodnight. It was unexpected and sweet. What was happening between them was neither friendship nor a fling. An exact definition failed her, but she knew one thing: it was becoming an exquisite kind of torture.

On this morning, Angelo’s deep voice reached through the phone like a caress.

“Did you sleep well?”

She’d barely slept at all. Again. Between Angelo’s increasingly bold kisses and her barely restrained responses to those kisses, she’d passed the better part of another night tossing and turning. While her legs had become tangled in the sheets, her mind had been free to roam. Time and again it strayed to sex…with Angelo. If the skill he’d shown with his mouth was any indication, the ultimate act would be good. Very good. At least from her perspective. But how would he rate the experience? Old insecurities bubbled back.

Zeke had been critical of her lovemaking.

“It’s a good thing your male fans aren’t privy to how inept you are in the sack, love. Ticket sales would tank.”

The memory had her stammering as she tried to speak to Angelo now.

“I…I…”

“I know. Me, too.”

His voice held humor, but it wasn’t directed at her. She pulled the lapels of her silk pajamas together, gathered her wits and struggled to a sitting position.

“So, what do you want to do today?”

“Do you really have to ask? I think you know what I’d like to do today. It’s the same thing I wanted to do last night and the night before and the night before.”

Atlanta levered the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her staggered breathing. Angelo broke the silence with a chuckle.

“Okay, I won’t go there.” Laughter rumbled again before he lowered his voice. In a silken whisper he added, “Yet. The day’s young. There’s plenty of time to revisit my original answer later on.”

“Sightseeing!” she all but shouted.

“Sightseeing?”

In a less zealous tone, she told him, “The woman who owns the villa I’m renting said some medieval fortress ruins are located not that far away. We’d have to drive some and then walk a ways since they are on a remote hilltop, but I’m up for some exercise.”

“So am I,” he quipped. “Or at least I can be at a moment’s notice.”

Despite her popping hormones, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’m talking about walking, Angelo.”

“There are other, more stimulating ways to increase your heart rate, you know.”

“Yes. A simple conversation with you is one of them.” She waited for his comeback, something cocky and off-color, but the phone line remained silent. “Angelo?”

“You shouldn’t tell a guy something like that,” he said at last, sounding much too serious.

“Why?”

“It might give him ideas.”

“From what I can tell, you have plenty of ideas already.” Feeling emboldened, she took the initiative to flirt. “What are you wearing?”

“You want to know what I’m wearing?” It was apparent in his tone that her boldness took him aback.

She laughed. “I’m wearing a cotton sheet and a smile. So, what about you?”

“Apparently one article of clothing too many. But that’s easy enough to remedy,” he assured her. “Hang on a minute, okay?”

“Angelo?” She got no response. Had he put down the receiver? She heard a creaking noise. Were those…bedsprings? Surely not. Even so, her grip tightened on the lapels of her pajama top and she had to pull it out from her chest a few times to cool her suddenly heated skin.

Angelo came back on the line then. “Do you want to know what I’m wearing now, Atlanta?”

His words held a dare. She nearly backed down. Basta. She’d had enough of meekness.

“I think I can guess,” she told him. “Hmm. Let’s see. A smile?”

“That’s a given. What else?”

The seductive voice that replied was one she barely recognized as her own. Even while filming a love scene on the set, she’d never sounded like this, nor had she ever felt this way around a man. Confident. Powerful. Sexy and in control.

You’re worthless, Jane. Worthless. You can’t do anything right. Just like your mother.

Body of a centerfold and no clue how to use it. Good thing your fans can’t see into our bedroom.

She banished the ugly memories and embraced the moment instead. “You do know that that sheet is optional, right?”

“Same goes.”

“I have a confession to make.”

“You’re not wearing a sheet.”

“I’m not.” She fingered the fabric-covered button between her breasts. Before she could fathom what she was doing, she’d fished it one-handed through its hole. A second one followed before she asked, “Does this constitute phone sex?”

“No. It’s more like phone foreplay. For the record, I prefer to do both in person. I can be at your villa in fifteen minutes if I don’t bother with stop signs and get lucky on those hairpin turns.”

“A tempting offer.” She meant it. Should she say yes? She wanted to. But the power she’d felt just a moment earlier proved fleeting. Her hand stilled on the third button. “You can take your time getting here, though. The ruins aren’t going anywhere.”

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