America's Star-Crossed Sweethearts Page 14

  “Yeah, but it’s not just the rags that are reporting these things. I saw a piece on the nightly news the other day that the two of you are holed up together at an undisclosed location in Italy. Baseball fans are wondering why you’re not at the playoff games, even if you can’t swing a bat. When the Rogues lost the other night, a couple of fans burned your effigy.”

  “What?”

  “They were drunk and ticketed for disorderly conduct, but they aren’t the only ones who feel like you’ve written off your team.”

  “That’s not true,” he yelled into the phone.

  “It’s not me you need to convince,” Alex said quietly.

  “It would kill me to suit up and sit on the bench, but I’ve followed the games on the Internet. I’ve been in contact with management and my agent. Hell, I even e-mailed that rookie outfielder with some advice and encouragement.”

  “The fans only see what they see. And right now what they’re seeing is New York’s Angel tramping about in Italy somewhere with Hollywood’s Mata Hari.”

  Angelo let out a string of curses while his brother continued.

  “One report claims you and Atlanta met a few years ago. Now the speculation is that you’ve been seeing one another behind her boyfriend’s back and you’re the main reason for their breakup.”

  “You know me better than that. I don’t poach,” he growled.

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just saying there’s a lot of speculation out there.”

  “Well, here’s the truth. Atlanta and I did meet a few years back, but she blew me off completely.” Muffled laughter rumbled through the line. Angelo ignored it. “Then we ran into each other at JFK on our way here. We barely know one another,” he concluded. Even without glancing at the bed, he knew he was lying.

  “A waitress from the airport’s VIP lounge says she saw the two of you together. She said you looked very chummy and even shared a kiss.”

  “It was more like a friendly peck goodbye.”

  “Goodbye? You’re still together,” Alex pointed out.

  “We wound up on the same plane, bound for the same place. Pure coincidence.” Or was it fate?

  “So, it’s nothing?” Alex said.

  Angelo watched Atlanta through the window and took his time responding. “I don’t know what it is.”

  “That sounds serious coming from you.”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “You can do better than a bimbo, Angelo.”

  If they’d been face to face rather than speaking on the phone, Angelo would have taken a swing at Alex. His anger came through loud and clear in his words.

  “Watch what you say about her.”

  “It’s like that, huh?”

  “Like what?” he grumbled.

  “Serious.”

  “It’s not serious.” Liar, his conscience argued.

  “Are you sure?” Alex’s voice lowered then. “I told myself that when I met Allie. Love is pretty scary and at times it’s damned inconvenient, but it’s worth it when the woman is right.”

  He sucked in a breath, feeling gut-punched. “I’m not in love.”

  Alex didn’t argue with him. Instead, he said, “Be careful, Angelo. Be sure she’s the right one.”

  The panic he’d felt at the mention of the L-word dissipated. “She’s not who you think she is. Atlanta is very different from the women she plays onscreen, and she’s definitely nothing like the woman the media are portraying her to be.”

  “Where there’s smoke…” Alex said. Another time, Angelo would have realized he was being baited. Right now, he launched his attack.

  “You’re wrong. She’s being set up by her ex. He’s bitter and controlling. She’s been his cash cow for the past decade and he’s ticked that she’s walked out on him.”

  “You sound awfully…involved in her business,” Alex finished after a short pause.

  Angelo huffed out a sigh. “I hate seeing anyone railroaded.”

  “What about the affairs?”

  “Rumored affairs. And the rumors are bunk. Atlanta is no femme fatale.”

  “Then far be it from me to argue,” Alex responded quietly. “Besides, your love life isn’t the reason for my call.”

  “I’d rather talk about Atlanta than Luca.”

  Alex merely laughed. “I bet you would. Have you had a chance to meet anyone else from the family?”

  “Isabella.” Angelo’s tone softened. “She was at the villa when I arrived. She welcomed me to Monta Correnti with a feast fit for a king.”

  “She’s all heart, not to mention one hell of a cook,” Alex agreed.

  “I still can’t believe we have a sister.”

  “And a couple of brothers, too.” Alex chuckled. “Wait till you meet Valentino. He’s the life of the party. He kind of reminds me of you. He’s a thrill-seeking adrenaline junkie, not to mention a real player when it comes to the ladies. Not that he’s doing that any more. Clara would have his hide.”

  Angelo mentally flicked back through conversations he’d had with his brother on this topic, conversations he’d dismissed at the time but now found himself wanting to recall. “Valentino’s not really our brother, though, is he? I’m talking blood-wise. He’s not a Casali.”

  “Don’t let anyone there hear you saying that,” Alex warned in a surprisingly stern voice. “Valentino may not be Luca’s biological son, but that’s a non-issue for all involved. He’s family.”

  Family. Alex bandied the word about with such ease.

  “So, Luca could father a kid he didn’t, well, father, but conveniently forget all about us?”

  “That chip you’re carrying around has to be hell on your bum shoulder,” Alex said dryly. “Speaking of which, what are you going to do about it?”

  “The chip?”

  “The shoulder.”

  Angelo knew. He’d always known. “Surgery.”

  “And then?”

  “I’m thinking about coaching. Or I may try my hand at commentating.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “Why? I love the game. I’ll always be part of it.”

  “That’s not what I find surprising.” Alex was quiet a moment. “I’m glad you finally came to this realization.”

  He’d had some help, Angelo knew.

  He decided to redirect the conversation. “Isabella mentioned that Cristiano is a firefighter and he’d been injured in a blaze in Rome.”

  “Yes. Although Isabella is playing that down somewhat—it was no ordinary blaze. Cristiano saved seven lives in the recent terror attacks in Rome. He’s a hero. They’re all very proud of him.”

  Respect welled a second time. Admiration followed. He found himself curious about this man, this brother, and wanting to meet him. In fact, he found himself wanting to meet Valentino. Family. When had the concept stopped feeling so foreign?

  Alex’s voice came through the line. “Hey, are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” Angelo rubbed his temple and admitted, “It’s a lot to process, you know?”

  “I know. I struggled with it at first, too. Allie helped me see what a gift I was being given.”

  “A gift.” Angelo snorted.

  “Give it time,” Alex urged. Before hanging up, he added, “And give Luca a chance.”

  His brother’s plea echoed in Angelo’s head long after their conversation ended. Maybe their father was due a few more minutes of his time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE JOINED Atlanta out by the pool. She was seated on the edge, her bare feet and legs dangling in the sun-dappled water. He settled beside her and gave her a kiss.

  “I’ve got to tell you, I don’t like waking up alone.”

  “Sorry. I’m an early riser. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

  “Wake me,” he said. The kiss that accompanied his request was longer than the first one. If not for the cool water lapping at his legs, he would have forgotten what he needed to say. He
pulled back and cleared his throat. “There’s been a change of plans for today.”

  “Has something come up?”

  “I…I need to go see my father.”

  She blinked in surprise. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Alex.” He sighed heavily. “My brother just called. He thinks I should give our father a little more of my time.”

  Atlanta rested her head on his shoulder. “He’s not the only one who feels that way.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think you’ll regret it, no matter what the outcome.”

  “The past needs to be confronted and all that.”

  “So, you have been listening.” After giving him a kiss, Atlanta rose to her feet. “Call me later?”

  “Count on it.”

  Despite his resolve, Angelo wound up taking his time going to see Luca, whom he knew from a call to Isabella would be at Rosa. It was late afternoon when he finally made it to the village. His footsteps faltered outside the restaurant and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Five minutes passed and found him still standing in the same spot.

  “He who hesitates…” a feminine voice remarked dryly.

  He turned to find an older woman standing in the doorway of the restaurant next door. She was a stranger, but he felt certain of her identity. The infamous Aunt Lisa. The woman who’d apparently had the means to bail out her brother, but had chosen to let him send his sons away instead.

  “I’m not lost,” he countered.

  “And yet you are still standing there.” Her lips curved. She had classical features, the kind that defied the passage of time. She had to be around Luca’s age, yet she remained a strikingly beautiful woman.

  “I like taking my time.”

  “Then, by all means, carry on.”

  Neither of them moved. After a moment, he said, “I believe we’re related.”

  “I believe you are right.” Her gaze held a hint of amusement. “I am Lisa Firenzi.”

  He nodded as he mentally added another face to the list of names in his head. “You’re Luca’s older sister.”

  Her mouth tightened fractionally. Vanity, he decided. Few women appreciated having their age referenced in any way. Given this woman’s sleek dark hair and fashionable appearance, it was clear she was determined to wage a take-no-prisoners battle against time.

  “And you are Angelo, or, as they call you back in New York, the Angel.”

  “That’s right,” he said, and crossed to where she stood.

  “I visited your city once and saw a photograph of you in the newspaper. You are quite famous, I gather.”

  “I’m good at what I do,” he replied mildly.

  Lisa wasn’t fooled. “You are better than good, at least according to the newspaper clipping I read. I do not claim to know anything about this sport you play—”

  “Baseball.”

  “Sì. But the article made it plain that you have many loyal fans.”

  How loyal? The very question that had niggled so persistently for weeks suddenly seemed unimportant. They’d remember him or they wouldn’t.

  Lisa was saying, “Why don’t you come in to Sorella? Let me treat my famous nephew to an exceptionally fine meal.”

  He cast a glance back at his father’s restaurant.

  Lisa apparently read his mind. “Rosa isn’t going anywhere and neither is Luca. Besides, I believe you might know one of my guests, a lovely young American woman who is sitting all alone.” Lisa clicked her tongue. “Such a pity.”

  He peered past his aunt into Sorella. Atlanta was seated with her back to him at a table in the middle of the restaurant. His pulse picked up speed when he spied the familiar cascade of nearly white hair.

  “I’ll come in,” he informed his aunt. “But I’ll buy my own dinner.”

  “You are so like your father.” The corners of her mouth turned down then and she shrugged. “As you wish.”

  “Fancy running into you.”

  Startled, Atlanta turned to find Angelo standing behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing you are. Planning to have an early supper.” Angelo settled into the chair opposite hers, dwarfing its sleek chrome frame.

  She lowered her voice, “So, how did it go, your meeting with Luca?”

  “I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “You’ve had all day,” she said.

  “I know.”

  He wasn’t quite ready.

  The same waiter who’d taken her order for chicken piccata came by again. Angelo requested linguine in white clam sauce and a bottle of wine. Courage, she decided.

  The wine arrived at their table a moment later. Followed not long after by their entrées.

  “I’m curious about something,” she said. “When you spoke to your brother earlier, what did he have to say about me?”

  Angelo halted mid-sip. Not a good sign, she thought.

  “What makes you think we talked about you?”

  She eyed him in challenge. “You didn’t?”

  “Maybe just a little. He read about us.”

  “God.” Her fork clattered to her plate. “Tell me you set him straight.”

  “Of course I did. I made sure he knew that all that stuff is garbage.” He reached across the table for her hand. “He’s going to like you.”

  Angelo toyed with the last of his linguine as he mulled what he’d just said. He’d never brought a woman around to meet his brother, yet he couldn’t deny he wanted to introduce Atlanta to Alex and not only because he wanted his twin to see her for the woman she was, rather than the film sensation or the tabloid staple she’d become.

  “You’re frowning,” Atlanta said softly.

  “This thing with Luca,” he evaded. “I don’t like being at odds with my brother.”

  It was true, just not the whole truth. She picked up on that.

  “But that’s not the only reason you’re out of sorts. In fact, Alex isn’t the only reason you came to Italy.”

  “I’m looking for some answers,” he admitted. Part of him wanted to make those meaningful connections he’d not only been denied, but had denied himself.

  Family.

  Despite his close ties to Alex, Angelo truly had never understood its importance or its staying power. He was starting to. It created connections, not only between people, but between the past and the present. Isabella and his cousins placed such stock in it they were rallying together to mend an old rift. Family also held out a promise for the future. Connections, he thought again, his mind turning to Alex and Allie and little Cherry.

  “What’s my legacy?” he asked softly, almost to himself.

  Before coming to Italy he’d thought he knew. It was baseball—his stats at bat and in the field. It was a good bet he’d be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. That kind of immortality was no longer enough.

  “Your legacy is what you choose it to be.” Her expression held understanding.

  A feeling of rightness settled, only to be tempered by fear. What if he loved Atlanta and she left him, too? She smiled a little uncertainly as he continued to stare.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he lied as emotions tumbled through him.

  “You’re not, but I understand.”

  “You do?” He swallowed, not caring in the least for this vulnerability.

  “Go and see Luca. It’s time, Angelo.”

  He should have been relieved she’d misinterpreted his thoughts. He wasn’t. “We’re not done with our meals.”

  “I’ll have yours boxed and pick up the check. You can finish it at my villa later.”

  And finish this conversation, too, he decided. “Fine. But the meal’s on me.”

  His act of chivalry wound up being a moot point. When he went to pay, he was told there was no charge. Damn his aunt. He glanced around to set her straight. He’d pay his own way. He wasn’t sure why it was so important, just that it was.

  It became doubly so when
the hostess said, “It was Signor Casali. He stopped in a few minutes ago. He paid your bill.”

  Angelo had been irritated when he’d thought his aunt had paid for the meal. Now anger, whose origin dated back a few decades, surged to the fore. Next door, Rosa bustled with patrons. People laughed and talked over one another. Festive music played in the background. It struck him again how different the atmosphere here was compared to that next door. It was far less formal. More…homey. The thought added new heat to his anger.

  He wound his way through the tables and headed to the kitchen. He stormed through the swinging doors like an outlaw looking for a gunfight. The white-coated chef whirled around and let out a stream of words in hard-edged Italian. The man clearly was not happy to have his territory invaded. Angelo was past the point of worrying about stepping on toes.

  “I’m looking for Luca Casali,” he announced.

  The man’s fierce expression subsided. “You…you are Angelo?”

  “Yes.”

  A grin broke over the man’s face. “I am Lorenzo. Lorenzo Nesta. I am head chef at Rosa. I also am engaged to your cousin Scarlett.”

  More ties, more connections.

  “Can you tell me where to find Luca?”

  “He is with Scarlett in the office.” Lorenzo pointed toward a set of doors. His lips twitched a little when he added, “Maybe you could knock this time, no?”

  Angelo had no intention of heeding Lorenzo’s advice. Luca had barged back into his life without invitation. Why shouldn’t he return the favor? So, when he reached the office, he turned the doorknob and sent the door flying open with enough force that it came back and banged him in his bad arm. That ticked him off even more.

  “Angelo!” Luca blinked in surprise at his son’s sudden appearance. The young woman sitting behind the desk appeared utterly startled.

  “I came to return your money.” He bit out the words.

  Luca’s face clouded with confusion. “Scusi?”

  “There was no need for you to buy dinner for Atlanta and me.”

  “No need, sì. I wished to do it. I told you so the other day.”

  “Well, I don’t wish you to do it. I want nothing from you. Not a damn thing!” He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and pressed them into his father’s hand. The amount was more than enough to cover the check.