“I’m moving back to New York,” I declared, daring them to contradict me. “I’m gonna finish school.”
Mama sat up and yawned. “Did you fight with your boyfriend?”
“God damn it, Mama.” I hated her even more for reducing me to this adolescent emotional state—or more accurately for sussing out why I was so upset without me saying a word. “He finally kissed me for the first time tonight, and then made me get out of his car before I got what I really wanted.”
My father raised one dark eyebrow. I guess by this stage of his life, after parenting my wild-ass brothers and me there was very little that would shock the man.
Mama got up and stretched. Daddy sat there, having not even moved from his position since I first walked in.
“I knew I liked that boy,” she said, giving my cheek a little pat on her way past. “Will they give you your place back at the school?”
I sighed and gritted my teeth. “They will, even if I have to start all over again.”
I stomped after her into the kitchen. “You’re not sick anymore, right? I mean, I’m not gonna get yanked back to this fucking hellhole over a cancer surgery or another emergency, right? Mama?”
She regarded me in that flat, neutral way she’d adopted for as long as I could remember. “Well, since I don’t have a crystal ball, I can’t say for certain, but I’ll make you a promise. You go to New York and finish your schooling, and I promise not to bother you with my silly cancer anymore. Deal?” She walked past me before I could respond.
“Deal,” I said into the empty room, stuffing a couple of bucks into the swear jar out of habit.
I grabbed a set of keys and headed out. “I’ll be late,” I said to Daddy. “If I come home tonight at all.”
When he opened the door to his apartment, Cal looked rumpled, as if he’d fallen asleep on the couch in his clothes. I launched myself at him and wrapped my arms around his neck, moving us back to the couch. “It will be tonight, Cal Morrison. Humor me.”
He did. Several times. When I woke in his arms, I’d never felt safer.
Chapter Twenty
New York City
Three Years Later
“Honey, please, just listen to me.”
I blew out a breath and leaned against the tiny counter in the miniscule walkup I’d been squatting in since returning to New York.
“I’m not in the mood, I’m sorry.” I flexed my foot, pondering the nasty, swollen ankle, and worrying about the audition coming up for the end-of-year performance. “I know you’ve got the weekend off, but I’m telling you I don’t have time for …”
“Angel,” Cal said, the calm in his voice like fingernails on my internal chalkboard. “It’s been almost six weeks. I’m sorry, too, but I need …”
I grinned, despite my aggravation. “Steady diet of phone sex not enough for you, Doc?”
He was almost through medical school. Since I had to start from scratch, I still had one year to go at the performing arts school. He was now, in fact, my boyfriend. And I loved him so much it scared me sometimes.
“You could say that.” He sounded stressed.
“How’re Diana and the baby?”
“They seem to be doing fine. Dominic’s stuck fast to her side. He’s helping her find a new house.”
The only thing that could have forced my prodigal brother to return to the bosom of the Love family was the God-awful tragedy that befell Diana Brantley and her brief marriage to Lee Tolliver, the handsome and perfect vet. But that whole thing had gone down while I was working my way back into my professors’ good graces. I felt sufficiently removed from it to be objective. “How’s her frame of mind?”
“Better every day. Jen and Dale are busy renovating the farmhouse. The B&B should be open in the spring.”
“Good.” I hesitated, flexing my sore foot and ankle again. “I miss you, baby.”
“Oh, Angel, you have no idea how much I miss you.” He sighed, making me shiver all over. “Please let me see you this weekend. I won’t take up much space. Just a corner of the bed, me, and my blue balls.”
“Oh, all right,” I said, since I wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see me, if not more. “I gotta go.”
“I love you,” he said.
I bit my lip. “You too,” I said … flippant, I know. But the way I felt about the genuinely gentle, kind, smart, handsome, amazingly-adept-in-bed man had a way of overwhelming me to the point that I resisted it.
I jumped in the shower and got dressed up for a night out with girlfriends. I loved the sort of dancing I could do at a club—wild, un-choreographed, unscripted, sexy. I’d rebuffed plenty of hot guys at the end of those nights; all it took was the memory of my first time with Cal, when I cried and he wiped my tears and swore he’d never let anyone hurt me again, for me to head home alone.
That night, I drank a little more than usual, thanks to a dude who kept sending ice-cold vodka shots down the bar to our little group.
“He’s into you,” I said to Gwen, a tall, willowy blonde.
“Nah, it’s you,” she said, slamming her shot and heading to the dance floor.
I shrugged, drank mine, and had to grip the edge of the tall table when my sore ankle almost gave out. A warm hand gripped my elbow and I looked straight into the face of Mr. Generosity.
“Too much?” he asked, slipping an arm around my waist.
“Yeah,” I said, moving away, instantly on alert. “Back off, dude. I have a boyfriend.”
He laughed and sipped his drink. He was perhaps the most perfect-looking man I’d ever seen. Tall, dark, and exceedingly hot, with deep brown eyes and the physique of a bodybuilder, or maybe a model. Those guys were a dime a dozen in this town. His teeth were blinding white against the fullness of his lips.
“You’re Italian,” I said. He raised his glass.
“E tu sei la donna più bella che abbia mai visto.”
“Huh, flatterer.” I grinned at him, wincing as I slipped my feet out of the too-tall shoes.
“Well, I do know a good pick-up line, anyway. Sorry to interrupt. Tell your boyfriend he’s a lucky guy. You have some great moves. Call me if you ever want a change of scenery.” He cupped my elbow, put his lips to my ear and let them trail down my neck a few seconds. I froze, watching him saunter away. When I looked down, I saw he’d pressed a business card into my hand.
“Marco Lucanza,” it said in bold Times New Roman.
“President”
“Sun Coast Entertainment”
I checked his website when I got home, and was shocked to see he owned two theaters in Florida, one in Arizona, and he managed the entertainment options for two large cruise ships. When I woke, still on the couch and in my clubbing outfit, I realized that the banging on the door must be Calvin.
I let him in and we didn’t leave my bedroom for two days. The day he had to fly to Louisville, we sat at a coffee shop sharing overpriced muffins. “I love you,” he whispered, as he took my hand and dropped something in it.
I blinked, shocked but yet not at the same time. “I can’t, Cal. Not yet.” But I opened the ring box anyway, and let him slip the impressive diamond onto my finger. He put my knuckles to his lips.
“Just wear this while you think about your answer, okay?”
I nodded, unable to speak. He blew me a kiss and headed out, leaving me dazzled, confused, and pissed off at my inability to recognize and accept the perfection right in front of my face.
My phone buzzed with a text from my mother, who’d recently entered the twenty-first century and was now utterly addicted to texting, Facebook, and even had her own little following on Pinterest with her recipes and housecleaning hacks.
“Well?”
I rolled my eyes and deleted the message. The next one came from Rosie, followed quickly by one from Diana.