Misty shook her head. “Remember what you said earlier? You did all the work in the kitchen. Dish duty is mine.”
“I like this one, Cain.” Isabella handed her plate up into Misty’s waiting hands. “She’s a keeper.”
“In that case, I’d better help dry.” Cain hopped up and gathered empty bowls and serving platters, following fast through the kitchen doors.
Misty filled the sink with steamy water and bubbles. Rinsing, rubbing the scrubby sponge over the Talavera plates, she found peace in the repetitive tasks.
Cain kept up with her, dish for dish, filling the drying rack with the fruits of Misty’s annoyance. He kept silent, waiting—she guessed—for her to get to what was eating at her. And knowing that he knew her well enough to let her stew made it impossible to stay angry. But she wasn’t ready to let him know that just yet.
“Well, Trovato.” Misty swept her damp dishrag over the granite counter, wiping the surface to gleaming. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Actually, I’ve got to make a pot of coffee.” He turned, and filled the coffee pot with water. “To go with the canolli.”
Misty tilted her head. “Are you planning to tell me this online affair between our grandparents had nothing to do with you?” Arms crossed, she waited.
“I’m not planning on telling you anything.” He slipped a filter into the machine, followed by several heaping spoonfuls of rich, dark grounds. “You’re doing quite a good enough job all by yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She turned, hands on hips, her back to the sink.
“It means, you’re going to think whatever you want until you’re ready to listen.” He flipped the machine on to brew, and turned his heavy-lidded gaze to hers. “So whenever that is, you just let me know.”
She watched him walk from the kitchen out the back door, allowing it to slam shut behind him.
A hush from the dining room, and Misty knew that the dinner party guests now strained to hear the lovers’ quarrel. Sighing, she followed Cain out into the moonlight.
Stars peeked out over the olive groves, the hills of Long Valley spread out below, rows of streetlamps illuminating broad swaths of streets. Houses filled with countless families just sitting down to dinner. Such a picturesque scene of a life she’d once dreamed of, but thought lost to her—a life she could actually imagine again—this time with Cain Trovato in the leading role.
Silent and staring into the night, he turned up the sleeves of his shirt, hands snapping the fabric into even folds.
Still fuming, she guessed, watching Cain jam one shoulder against the porch post.
Inside, the conversation filtered out in low tones, punctuated with Desiree’s high-pitched laugh.
Glancing to the large paned, open windows, Misty stepped toward him. She placed a tender hand to his exposed forearm. “I’m sorry.”
He turned to face her, scowl sliding into a smile. “You’re sorry? For what? I’m the one who encouraged this.” He gestured to the group inside. “Now look at them.”
At the table, Anton swept his hands over his tangle of white hair, an easy smile on his craggy, handsome face. Shadows, perhaps, of what Cain would look like in his late seventies, she mused. He wrapped a protective arm around her grandmother’s back, her head to Anton’s shoulder, eyes closed, a satisfied smile dusting Nona’s beautiful face. Misty’s heart tugged at the sight. How long since Grandma Nona had laughed so much, looked so light and free?
She turned to Cain. “You should have told me.”
“You know what? Your grandmother mentioned something rather interesting about a letter you wrote. Something about a note sent without her reading it, where you…How’d you put that again? Oh right, embellished a bit, yourself?”
“That was different.” Misty jutted her chin, and leaned on the rail beside him. “She sent it by accident.”
“And that accident brought them together,” he whispered in her hair. “Who cares how it happened.”
Her mouth curled into a smile as he moved to stand behind, wrapped her in his strong embrace. Delightful chills ran races across her skin. In his arms, she could almost forget how her stomach twisted with thoughts of showing the film they’d made. Of how Grandma Nona’s long-standing reputation as America’s sweetheart would soon be tarnished forever.
Her soul swirled with the tumult and worry, but Cain held her firm—steadfast in the coming storm—as the low lights and laughter from inside the Trovato house pushed back the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cain strolled up his front drive, hands in pockets, chasing his moon shadow with every step. The Trovato house, dark and quiet, save for the lamp light from the front window. He sighed at the sight. Mom never failed to leave on a light for the last one home. What used to comfort was now more along the lines of awkward and pathetic. How long could a grown man live under his parents’ roof?
Crossing the wide front porch, he stopped, then rested hands on the rail and caught sight of Misty turning out her bedroom light at the Darling house on the opposite hill, and thought on their goodnight.
He’d driven the ladies home, her grandma had said goodnight while he and Misty took a turn on her swing. He’d already decided that old, white wicker bench was his new favorite place in the world. There, side by side, his arm across her shoulders, breathing in the sight and scent of her, he knew. She was the one.
He’d upturned her chin with tentative fingers, drank from her waiting lips, found them warm and willing. The intensity of their deep, rich kisses, heated with passion of a day apart. A day!
Her bare shoulders sparked under his hands. That little tank top and shorts could have been the finest lingerie. He’d inhaled her—fresh orange blossoms—until he was drunk with the woman. Then, at last, he’d forced himself to walk home, uncomfortable and alone, while she watched from the front door, a sentinel in the dark.
Cain paused, keys to his parent’s home jangling. Neither he nor Misty had places to call their own. That would become complicated. Especially considering how difficult their goodbyes were getting. He licked his lips. Orange blossoms. His heart did a slow dance, while his head filled with a song centering on her name. Rubbing thumb to forefinger, he frowned. Itching to write the love song that rounded his thoughts. Maybe it was time. Could it really be time?
What he wouldn’t give for his own digs. A place they could share—maybe one of those little Victorians with the railed-front porches and little neat front yards, near the shop in the center of town. Where they could stroll to the Farmer’s Market. Go grab a coffee, or dinner, or a show on a summer night. And, of course, they’d have to put up a porch swing of their own.
The hall clock sounded the late hour, followed by the grandfather clock, then the mantel clock, and others scattered throughout the house. Dad never could get them all to chime at once. Not like he was in past curfew, as a grown man, his mother didn’t care if he came or went, just that he called if he would miss a meal. Foolish, how something so natural just the day before now such a point of concern. Something he’d start looking into tomorrow, Cain decided with a yawn, putting foot to stair tread.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Grandpa Anton’s voice sounded like a cannon blast in the empty house. A lamp flipped on, shrouding him a pool of light.
“You’re up late,” he managed to say, eyes closed, and took a deep breath to still his racing pulse. “Scared me, Poppa.”
“It takes awhile to adjust. Back at my villa, it’s just now time for antipasto.” Poppa spoke in his thick Italian vibrato. “What about you, Cain, eh? Lost, in thoughts of your young lady?”
“Always.” Cain accepted the shot of brandy his grandfather poured, and plunked down at the footstool by the old man’s feet. The drink burned a trail to his stomach. He took another sip.
“I, too.” Poppa nodded. “Bellissima, this angel, her grandmother. I like her very much.”
They talked of the women who shared the house on the oppos
ite hill. Cain listened to his grandfather speak of Tuscany, of marriage, and of family. The old man’s words of wisdom had his own mind turning. Every story, carefully translated into haphazard English, and each one, a bittersweet memory.
“I’ve been looking through your mother’s house. At the pictures your grandmother painted. Our villa. Our life. So happy…so full of love.” His pale blue eyes welled with tears quickly blinked away.
“She was a beautiful lady, Pop.” Cain nodded, glancing at one of her paintings, a knot in his throat at the mention of his grandmother. He recalled the subtle grace of her brush on the canvas while she’d painted it.
“Si.” He swallowed a long drink, finishing his glass. “Do you think she would smile on this?”
Cain frowned, considering. He had only thought of his grandfather’s loneliness when he’d agreed to translate the letters. He’d never imagined that Grandpa Anton would really fall in love. Now, they were both in it, and deep. So, what would Grandma think about this? A picture of her swept through his mind, and brought a laugh, lightened the mood—just as his grandmother would have done.
“I think…” He licked his lips, meeting the old man’s stare with his own. “Grandma would probably chase you with a wooden spoon.”
A shared laugh erupted from each.
“Shh!” Cain darted a glance up to the ceiling, knowing his Mom had ears of an elephant, then shook his head and sighed. The truth behind the image speared back any hint of sadness.
Anton nodded. “Oh, that’s for sure. But after…I think she would like Nona. Approve. Eh?”
“I do, too,” Cain agreed, and meant it.
Above, a door creaked. Footsteps stomped to the second floor landing. His mother’s voice muttered in Italian, followed by the English translation. “Poppa! Cain! Go to bed!”
They collapsed shoulders into one another, laughing again.
“Soon, cara. Soon,” Anton assured his daughter.
“Va bene.” Her footsteps padded across the floor upstairs, back to her room. Door shut, a bit harder than necessary.
“It’s a good house. Familia.” He looked back to Cain. “But, you’re a grown man. You need your own roof. Your own roots, capice?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“The Darling women…” Anton’s eyes were lost in the crease of his grin. “They are both good choices, both, no?”
“Si, Pop.” Cain reached over and clasped his grandfather’s outstretched hand, and felt something hard and round in its palm. “What’s this?”
Anton cleared his throat. “This was your grandmother’s. I gave it to her the day after I met her. Not a rich man, but I had deep roots. Like you. I had no home of my own, like you. Only the love for a woman, and that made me very rich indeed. For the rest of our days.” He placed his palm on Cain’s shoulder and squeezed. “You understand?”
Cain stared at the band of white gold, the tiny ornate olive leaves that circled the diamond. He remembered seeing it on Grandma’s finger. Of toying with the band when he was a small boy. He never imagined it would be his, to give to the woman of his choosing. Thoughts swirled to Misty. Her laugh. Her smile. Her heart. Just the heart he’d want caring for his own kids, someday.
His stomach did a quick flip and a twist. Cain clasped his grandfather’s hand, gave it a warm shake. “Capice.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Misty’s cell phone chirped, announcing a text message from Diane. The Nona Darling Film Festival officially was underway. At the college, the tables were set, the arches were up, and she dodged the unrolling red carpet—even as she typed.
She held a mental picture of Diane, thumbs flying over her cell phone keypad, negotiating high-hurdles in her formal gown. Bubbling laughter released the swirl of butterflies from her belly. Everything was ready.
Almost everything.
Misty eyed the time. Only twenty minutes until their car arrived. She placed a final few bobby pins in her hair, attempting to manage the stray blonde curls from escaping around her ears. She did her best to keep them at bay and screwed her lips at the result then raced across the hall.
Rapid fire, she knocked on Grandma’s door, calling, “Time to go!”
“Come in.” Nona’s lyrical voice had an edge to it.
Nerves, perhaps, Misty guessed. She hurried into the master suite, her black, silk skirts in hand, as she sought out the guest of honor. “Are you ready?”
“You tell me.” Grandma sat in front of her vanity table, back razor straight.
Misty eyed the gorgeous off-white jacketed gown they’d purchased the day before. Stunning, in concert with her trademark rope of pearls wrapped around her long neck, her snow-white hair pinned into a chignon. No “former starlet” about it. Nona Darling—her grandmother—positively sparkled.
Their gazes locked through the reflection. Grandma’s lips pressed into a firm smile. “Passing fair?”
“Elegant.” Misty darted a kiss to her cheek, then wiped away the residual splotch of lipstick with a tissue. “You look lovely.”
“Maybe, but I’ve got opening night jitters something fierce! You look beautiful, Misty.” Grandma’s gaze warmed with approval. She held out her willowy arm, draped with an ornate gold bracelet, bedecked in diamonds and rubies. “I could use your help on the clasp.”
“Granddaddy gave this to you, didn’t he?” Misty asked while securing the lock-chain.
“For our fifth anniversary. More than we could afford, but he said I was worth all that and more. Of everything he gave me, it’s still my favorite.” Grandma clung to her hands. “We talked about this day, you know—of telling the truth about those early years. I never imagined he wouldn’t be standing beside me when the time rolled around…”
“I miss him, too.” Misty swallowed her emotions, though tears obscured her vision. “Anton’s a lovely man. You’re lucky to be the gal on his arm.”
“And we have you to thank.” Grandma hugged her back, just as tight. “You and Cain.”
“Yeah.” Misty wondered if her heart would always kick up a beat when his name was mentioned. Sooner or later, it was bound to be old hat, but not tonight. Tonight, she might as well have been waiting for her prom date. Or her wedding. Where had that thought come from? A glance at her reflection showed her cheeks as pale as they felt. A quick pinch put color back into them.
“Misty?” Grandma blinked. “Have you heard a word I said?”
“Sorry. I just…lost in thought.” She shook her head back to the here and now, a hand to her grandmother’s elbow as she stood. “What did you say?”
“You realize, if you pull this off, kiddo, you’ll be back in the limelight again.”
“We’ll see.”
“Nothing doing. It’s just a fact.” Grandma circled Misty’s face with her hands. “You look like a million bucks, and you’re ready. Just do it on your terms.”
Misty nodded. She wouldn’t let her grandmother down ever again.
“Now. Let’s go see if there’s any Hollywood magic left in these old bones.” She straightened her skirts.
The two gazed at each other, sought strength from one another as the front doorbell rang.
Misty blew a nervous breath and took a step to the landing. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
****
Cain pressed the bell again. That Brad Paisley song filtered through his mind, what was it about waiting on a woman, anyway? The house echoed bells. Finally, footsteps from above.
“Your chariot awaits, ladies,” he announced, crossing the threshold.
“Just a minute.” Misty’s voice rained from upstairs.
Cain breathed deep, comforted in the sights and scents of this house. He fiddled with his sleeves, pulling them through his tuxedo jacket, playing a moment with the gold musical note cufflinks—a college graduation gift from his parents. Not that he’d ever imagined wearing a tuxedo back then. Cufflinks were a nice touch for a guy with a degree in music. Mom always knew bes
t.
He turned to the mirror, dusted a hand across his clean-shaven cheek. His hair, slicked back and away from his face. Cleaned up okay, his mother had gone gooey at the sight of him, while attaching the white rose boutonniere so he must have done something right.
Cain patted his right inside pocket with a fidgety hand. Still there. Why he’d brought the thing tonight of all nights, he hadn’t a clue. Sounded like a good idea when filling his pockets with keys, wallet, money clip. Engagement ring. Sure, why not. Such a cavalier thought for something that now set his palms to sweating.
“Cain.”
Nona Darling’s voice startled him. He turned his head, looking up the stairs as she descended. A cloud of white satin, her floor-length skirt whispered as she walked. The belted jacket, pearls, and the gem of a lady adorned much the same. “Wow.” He helped her down the last set, giving her a light kiss on the hand. “You’re stunning.”
Nona’s green eyes resisted a flick to her painted image, failed, then sighed. “Age before beauty.” She grinned, and glanced up the staircase.
“Bellissima.” Poppa applauded her approach, looking sharp himself, in Armani. White hair, dusted back, a rose clipped to his lapel. “You are beautiful, Nona.”
He watched Nona actually blush as she went to his grandfather.
“You don’t look so bad yourself, Anton.” She allowed a tender kiss at her cheek, and giggled. Nona turned back to Cain. “She’ll be right down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He swallowed, hand to pocket. Still there. He took a deep breath, and orange blossoms flooded his senses.
“I’m here. Sorry…” Misty edged her way down the stairs, hand to rail, a black pearl in satin, hair up in a cascade, flyaway curls escaping to frame her lovely face. He caught sight of a bare, polished red toe and the silver sandal heel she wore like a glass slipper. His personal Cinderella.
“No. Don’t hurry.” He swallowed.
She pursed her glossy lips at him, brows darting up in humor. Straightening her shoulders, she made her way, elegantly down the stairs.
His and Hers Page 13
