Zach backed up and returned to the hallway. He wanted to talk to David, but not under these circumstances.
As for Julie-and Mia-Zach didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. There was no way the marriage could take place-not with David sniffing after someone else. But what was he going to say and to whom? He didn’t want to be the one to tell Mia what was going on. That was David’s responsibility.
“A hell of a mess,” he muttered as he walked back to his car. And he didn’t have a clue as to what he was going to do about it.
The hacienda kitchen was empty for once. Francesca glanced around in surprise, then headed for the refrigerator. She was about to drive to Los Angeles for one of her experiments and wouldn’t have time to eat once she arrived. Not if she wanted to be in place by the time people were leaving work and hurrying home.
She dumped some leftover pasta into a bowl and stuck the bowl into the microwave. While her food heated, she bent over and studied the tattoos on her ankles. While she planned to carry an umbrella, the rain might still splash on her legs. Unfortunately in the fake-tattoo world, water was not her friend.
Still, she would have to take a chance. She’d pulled on a relatively short skirt and pumps, leaving her legs bare. A long vine-with-roses tattoo wrapped around one ankle, while a butterfly hovered on the other. She’d put another butterfly on the back of her thigh, just at her hemline, so anyone watching her walk would catch glimpses of the design. With luck, she would get some great reactions today.
The microwave beeped. She drew out her bowl and fished a clean fork from the drawer by the dishwasher. Then she headed for the kitchen table. Unexpectedly a door slammed in the house.
Francesca put down her bowl and headed for the noise. A subtle tension seemed to thicken the air, making her heart rate increase.
As she made her way down the hall, she could hear voices coming from the library. Although the door was closed, muffled words became more distinct as she approached.
“ ’Tis God’s punishment,” quiet Grammy M said with a force Francesca had never heard from her. “It was wrong thirty years ago and it’s still wrong.”
“God has no reason to punish this family,” Grandpa Lorenzo roared. Something heavy, probably a book, slammed on the desk. “We’ve been good Catholics for generations.”
“Sometimes that isn’t enough to please the Almighty,” Grammy M said.
Francesca’s father spoke next.
“This is an old argument that doesn’t change anything.” His voice sounded frustrated. “Do you think there’s a day that goes by that Colleen and I don’t regret what we did? Do you think there’s a day we don’t think of him?”
Francesca froze. She didn’t want to hear any more, but she couldn’t seem to tear herself away. She heard the sound of crying and would guess her mother had given in to tears. Grandma Tessa said something, but was too quiet to be audible.
“I should have been stronger. I should have run away rather than agree.”
Francesca heard her mother’s words and cringed.
“We’re all to blame,” Grammy M said, her voice heavy with pain. “We all carry the burden.”
Francesca took a step back, then another. She didn’t know what her family was talking about, but she didn’t like it. She grabbed her purse and hurried toward her truck. Once she was inside, she turned on the engine and cranked up the stereo as loud as it would go. Maybe the pounding beat would drive everything she’d just heard from her head.
Katie paced through her small house. Normally she found the space cozy rather than confining, but not tonight. Even more frustrating, she could no longer fool herself about the nature of her discontent. Restlessness when combined with excess ice-cream consumption could only have one cause: heartache.
She thought about pounding her head against the wall, if only to experience the relief when she stopped, but how would she explain the bruising?
Obviously her little crush on Zach had become something more when she hadn’t been looking. While she knew she wasn’t in love with him, she was willing to admit to some slight…infatuation.
It was the naked thing. If she hadn’t had sex with him, she would be fine. She drew in a deep breath. Okay. She’d learned her lesson. She was a mature, adult woman who empowered herself and her life and…was there any ice cream left?
Rather than risk the last pint of fudge brownie, she made her way to the bedroom and glanced at her tennis shoes tucked in a corner. Maybe she should go to the gym. A fast-paced aerobics class or some strength training would give her a strong moral backbone, not to mention acting as a counterbalance to all those ice-cream calories she’d consumed. Of course, she didn’t actually have a gym membership. Maybe she could join a gym. Or clean out her closet. That always comforted her. There was something about perfect orderliness that made her life seem complete.
Rather than face actual sweat at a gym, she moved toward her closet, only to have someone ring her doorbell. She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was seven in the evening, midweek. To the best of her knowledge, her family members were all accounted for. So who would come calling?
The answer to that question stepped across her threshold when she opened the door. He was tall, dark, and very dangerous. He also made her palms sweat, her breath quicken, and her hormones begin a quick salsa step through her midsection.
“Zach,” she said unnecessarily, because it wasn’t as if they both didn’t know who he was. But she couldn’t think of anything better to mutter. Not when she was still stinging from his dismissal earlier in the week.
He leaned against the wall, looking both appealing and far too good-looking for her mental health.
“I figured one of us had to be mature, and I got tired of waiting for it to be you,” he said.
“What?” Outrage pushed aside confusion. “When was I not mature?”
“When you ducked out the morning after. No note, nothing. A guy would think you were just using him for sex.”
She genuinely didn’t know what to say. “If I was, it would serve you right. How many times have you just walked away in the past?”
He shrugged. “Every time. It’s what I do. But we’re not here to talk about me.”
“Why not? It’s your favorite topic.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You have a temper.”
“I called and you blew me off.”
“You called about the party and that’s what we talked about.”
Good point. “Yeah, well, if you’d taken fifteen seconds to listen, I might have gotten to something else.”
“I’m in trouble for not reading your mind?”
She ground her teeth together. “Why exactly are you here?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I thought I’d let you apologize for leaving so rudely.”
She couldn’t believe it. “I…You…But you…” She glared at him. “If I thought I could get away with it, I’d strangle you right here.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Because I’m sorry, too.”
“Too?”
“Sure. I’m accepting your apology. That’s the kind of guy I am.”
She hadn’t apologized. At least she didn’t think she had. Her head was starting to spin and she couldn’t be sure of anything.
She led the way to the living room and sat on her floral-print sofa, then waited until he took the club chair opposite. Her thoughts slowly collected and organized. “I should have left a note,” she said cautiously.
“Agreed,” he said with just enough cheer to make her hair hurt. “And I…” His voice trailed off and his humor faded. “I’m sorry about the phone call. I had some things on my mind. David mostly.”
She instantly went on alert. “What happened?”
“We had a fight. He stalked out of the house and I haven’t been able to talk to him since. When you called, I was caught up in a hellish divorce case and worrying about him.”