Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines CollideTo Love Again

by Adrianne Byrd

  “Are you a masochist?” she heard him say as he gunned the motor. She held on tightly as he sped out of the parking lot. “I will not give you her name and address,” he said with finality.

  Alana rested against him, letting the pain of his revelation wash over her.

  As he drove, Nico could feel her body tremble in the throes of a crying jag. God knew, there was very little he would deny her, but how long was he expected to watch her being consumed with the loss of a man who didn’t show her the respect she deserved? Maybe he was missing something here. It was impossible for him to put himself in her place. What could possess her to want to talk to the woman who had been her husband’s lover? He didn’t understand it. Perhaps he never would.

  He pulled into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant and shut off the engine.

  Alana slid off the seat and waited for him to join her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said before he could even utter a word. “You don’t owe me a thing, Nico. You’ve been a prince throughout this whole sorry mess.” Her soft brown eyes were contrite as she looked up at him. Her hand went to her face to wipe away the residue left by her tears. “I’m such a fool. It’s not as if I didn’t suspect Michael had someone else. I mean, a woman knows these things. But to actually have my suspicions confirmed. Well, that’s a whole different ball game.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” Nico said, his voice harsh.

  Alana stepped backward. “You’re angry—”

  Nico quickly caught her by the arm. He smiled. “No. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming to you with the proof you’ve been looking for and then refusing to go a step further because I don’t agree with your line of reasoning.” He let go of her. “I can’t know what you’ve been going through since Michael was killed. I only know what I’ve observed. And my perceptions have been colored by my love for you. So you tell me, Alana. Tell me why you feel the need to meet with this woman.”

  People were going in and coming out of the restaurant around them, and there was a brisk winter breeze making its presence felt. Alana had been growing cold standing out in the open, but now she felt a warmth from within. To be loved by a man of Nico’s caliber was an unexpected pleasure. It was funny—up until a few minutes ago, she had thought Michael had been the love of her life. As it turned out, what they had shared was built on lies and illusions. His lies. Her self-delusion. But here was a man who was offering her his heart and soul, with no excess baggage attached.

  “I think it’s because I feel the need to be totally rid of him,” she said softly. “It’s like being immersed in ice water. It’s a shock to the system, and it numbs you. I don’t want to wonder about them any longer. Once I meet her, and if she’s willing to talk to me, I know I’ll be able to put everything associated with Michael behind me.”

  They had removed their helmets and their gestures were dramatic as they talked. To anyone looking on, they appeared to be arguing. Ultimately, a Mexican gentleman with a handlebar mustache, wearing a large, white apron with the words, El Jardin Abundancia emblazoned across the front, came outside and called, “Hey, lady, is that guy bothering you?”

  Alana paused in mid-sentence and smiled at the man. “No. Everything’s fine here. Thanks for asking.”

  “All right,” the fellow said. “You coming in to eat? Today’s special is the tortillas.”

  Turning to Nico with a wry smile on her lips, Alana said, “Were you planning on feeding me tonight?”

  Nico eyed the small restaurant with skepticism. “I was going to take you someplace nicer,” he said in a low voice.

  “We’ll be right in,” Alana told the proprietor.

  The man grinned at her and went back inside.

  “Okay,” Nico said grudgingly as they began walking toward the restaurant’s entrance. “But don’t blame me if you have a sudden attack of Montezuma’s revenge and spend half the night in the bathroom.”

  Laughing, Alana put her hand through his arm, urging him forward. “Some of the best cooks are found in the most unlikely places,” she said from experience.

  The decor of El Jardin Abundancia—the abundant garden—restaurant consisted of original oil paintings on the walls of beautiful flower and vegetable gardens, red tablecloths on the tables and hanging plants. “It’s clean,” Nico observed. “I’ll give them that much.”

  “And the air smells good,” Alana said as they claimed a booth near the picture window.

  They sat down opposite each other and deposited their helmets on the seat beside them. Nico reached across the table and playfully traced the outline of Alana’s jaw. He sighed. “They say good things come to those who wait,” he murmured, as though he was talking to himself. He raised his gaze then, his liquid brown eyes caressing her face. “Do you want to know when I first knew I was in love with you, Alana?”

  Alana lowered her eyes, her sooty black lashes resting above high cheekbones. Moistening her lips, she looked directly into his eyes. “Let me guess. Was it the time we went to Lake Tahoe and your date, the supermodel, refused to go into the water and Michael was glued in front of the TV watching basketball, which left the two of us?”

  Leaning forward, Nico grinned at her. “What makes you think it was that time? As I recall, you wore that white one-piece, and by the time we finished one game of water polo, you, and it, looked like something the cat dragged in.”

  “Is that right?” Alana said, feigning hurt feelings. “Well, if I remember correctly, you and Sheena—”

  “Shana,” Nico corrected her.

  “You and ‘Shana’ went for a stroll in the woods and returned covered with poison oak. I’ve spent many a spare moment wondering how you managed that in a vertical position.”

  “You thought about that, huh?” Nico asked, his left eyebrow arched in amusement. “Actually it was all quite innocent. She picked up a leaf, admiring its beauty. The girl was used to limousines and champagne. What did she know about the woods? I took the leaf from her. You know how quickly poison oak spreads.”

  “Yeah.” Alana laughed. “By the time you two got back to the cabin, you were covered in red welts and scratching like crazy.”

  “We’ve gotten off the subject,” Nico said seriously. “Which, I think, was your intention. Why does my telling you I love you make you so uneasy?”

  Alana grasped one of his big hands across the tabletop. “You mean so much to me, Nico. I think you know that. I definitely couldn’t have made it through the last year without you.” She gently held his hand and met his gaze. “I’m afraid that if we take our relationship a step farther, that we’ll end up spoiling what we already have. You know how it is between couples who’ve become intimate and something goes wrong. Chances are, they are not going to continue being friends.” Cocking her head sideways, she placed his hand on her cheek. “I want you in my life forever, Nico. Not just for a moment.”

  “Don’t compare me to him, Alana,” Nico told her evenly. His dark, hooded eyes bored into hers. “I knew it was inevitable, your reluctance to allow yourself to fall in love again after your experience with Michael. But I’m not like Michael, Alana. We were total opposites. His not knowing his father did something to his psyche. I, on the other hand, have a great relationship with my dad. We love and respect one another. My papa taught me the most difficult lesson a father can teach his son. He taught me to love the woman I choose to spend my life with. My father has never been untrue to my mother, not after forty years of marriage. Not after six children, a mortgage and the ups and downs of life, in general. They remain as in love today as they were when they were first married at the base of Cuba’s highest mountain, Pico Turquino, forty years ago.”

  “Good evening,” the waitress, a pretty Mexican girl in her late teens said, as she stopped next to their booth. “My name is Lucy, and I’ll be your waitress tonight.” She paused, her broad smile revealing straight, white teeth. “We’re happy you could join us. The special tonight is
—”

  “Tortillas!” Alana and Nico responded in unison to the delight of Lucy who laughed happily.

  “I see you’ve met my uncle Rudy,” she said.

  Chapter 5

  The City by the Bay was awash with light and brimming with activity as Alana and Nico made their way across town on the Harley Davidson. Alana was content to sit behind Nico, her arms wrapped around him, her cheek pressed against his back. For the moment she had given up the idea of seeking out Michael’s mistress. She was tempted to let it go, as Nico and Margery had urged her to do. What would she accomplish anyway? Michael was beyond redemption. And the woman, whoever she was, would probably be hostile toward her, especially if she had known Michael was a married man and had still opted to be with him.

  But what if she was also a victim? Michael could have deceived her, too. They could have both been his unsuspecting dupes. That possibility hadn’t previously occurred to her. If there was a chance that they had both been played for fools, she wanted to know about it. Logically, the only way to find out was by meeting with the other woman.

  So when Nico walked her to her door, she gave him a hug and said in his ear, “I know you don’t want me to pursue this, but I’ve decided I’d like to meet her.”

  Holding her at arm’s length, Nico peered down into her face. “I had a feeling you would,” he said, his voice low. He smiled at her. “How do you want to handle it?”

  Frowning, Alana considered it. “Let me get back to you on that, okay? Bree’s flying in from L.A. in the morning, and I promised Georgie I’d go with her to pick her up at the airport.” She smiled at him, her eyes bright. “Have you picked up your tuxedo yet? You do remember that you’re my date for the ball?”

  Nico grinned. “That date was made before we, well, you know,” he said, referring to the first time they’d kissed and the subsequent results of their actions. “Do you still want me?” He stepped closer to her. “It would be my pleasure to escort you. Do you want me, Alana?”

  Alana’s pulse rate accelerated, and she felt the heat beginning to rise somewhere in the vicinity of her lower regions. Want him? Yes, she wanted him. She wanted him with a ferocity that alarmed her.

  She inhaled silently and exhaled with a groan. Their eyes met, and seeing the humor in his told her he’d chosen his words specifically to get a rise out of her. He smiled. She rolled her eyes. “You are the biggest flirt, Nico Setera,” she said accusingly as she stepped backward. “Yes, Setera. I’d like you to take me to the ball. I want you to be dressed to the nines. I want you to be on time. And I want you to drive the Stingray, not the Harley. For now, that’s all I want of you. So say good night.”

  “Good night,” Nico responded, still smiling at her expense.

  Alana tiptoed to plant a kiss on his cheek, and Nico kissed her on the forehead, his mouth lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “Things have a way of changing,” he said.

  * * *

  The next morning Alana rose from her comfortable bed, went into the closet, removed Michael’s jacket from its hanger, threw it onto the floor and stomped on it. Then she found a cardboard box and dumped everything belonging to her dead husband (that she’d formerly been reluctant to part with) into it and hauled it to the curb. Thursday was garbage pick-up day.

  She was just completing her task when Georgette Shaw, one of her dearest friends, pulled up in her 1965 powder blue Mustang convertible. Georgie, with her long braids flowing behind her, walked up to Alana and gave her a brief hug. “Hey, girlfriend. What in the world are you doing? Why are you jumping up and down in that box?”

  Stepping out of the box, Alana smiled at Georgie. “I was just getting rid of some of Michael’s things, that’s all.”

  “And having fun doing it,” Georgie observed with a grin. She placed an arm about Alana’s shoulders as they walked to the house. “What happened? Did you and Michael argue in one of those too-vivid dreams you have about him? Do you want to talk about it?”

  They climbed the stairs to Alana’s apartment side by side, and once inside, Alana retrieved her shoulder bag and came back out to the living room where she’d left Georgie.

  “We can talk on the way to the airport,” she said. “If the flight is on time, Bree and Pierre will be wondering where we are.”

  “The dog or the man?” Georgie said as they left the apartment.

  Turning around to look at her, Alana said, “What do you mean, the dog or the man? I’m talking about her poodle.”

  “Then you haven’t heard,” Georgie said with a scowl. “My sister’s latest Don Juan happens to be named Pierre St. Martin. He is a wannabe who has latched on to her in hope that some of her good fortune will rub off on him.”

  “She’s bringing him?” Alana asked. She wanted to meet him. Bree’s relationships were always interesting even if they were invariably short-lived.

  “She is,” Georgie confirmed with a grimace. “We spoke last night. She says she can’t bear to be away from him for two whole days. Love’s in full bloom. I tell you, Alana, I don’t think anything Mom tried to teach that girl about self-respect ever sank in.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it,” Alana said in her role as mediator. “Believe me, Aunt Toni will have him running back to La La Land, with his tail between his legs, in a matter of seconds if she gets one inkling that he’s mistreating Bree. So don’t worry about it.”

  In the car Georgie turned to smile at her. “You’re right. The Terminator will handle that situation. What’s going on with you? Have you experienced satori concerning your husband?”

  As Georgie pulled away from the curb, Alana fastened her seat belt and relaxed. “You could say I’ve experienced a sense of sudden enlightenment about my husband.” She went on to tell Georgie everything she’d learned about Michael over the last twenty-four hours.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Georgie said once Alana was finished. “But I am sorry to hear it, girlfriend. My sympathies are with you. I just regret Michael isn’t still with us so that we can plot a proper form of punishment for him. Now that would be good therapy for you.”

  Alana smiled at her friend who, as an attorney with the public defender’s office in San Francisco, was well versed about crime and punishment.

  She and Georgie and Bree had known one another all their lives. Georgie and Bree were two years older than Alana so they’d always regarded her as their baby sister. The sisters were fraternal twins. Georgette was born three minutes before Bree which, throughout their formative years, was the catalyst that made her the leader, and instigator, in their relationship. Her rule often made Bree resent her sister, however not to the extent that their bond became irreparable. They loved each other and remained loyal sisters in every sense of the word.

  Alana envied them their closeness because she had no siblings. And on several occasions she’d used that argument to shame the sisters into settling disputes. They were lucky to have one another, and she made sure they remembered it.

  As they approached San Francisco International Airport, Alana admonished Georgie to be nice to Bree’s new beau. “Who knows?” she said. “Your first impression of him could have been flawed.”

  Georgie gave her a knowing look and laughed. “Okay. We shall see what you think of him.”

  After leaving the car in short-term parking, they entered the terminal and spent ten minutes trying to locate Bree among the crowd of travelers. San Francisco International Airport is one of the world’s busiest airports, so they were fortunate when they heard Bree calling to them from across the room.

  Alana had to admit Georgie had been correct about Pierre St. Martin. He and Bree were standing near the luggage carousel awaiting the arrival of their bags. They were both dressed casually—Bree in jeans and a golden-hued silk blouse and her favorite pair of Doc Martens. He was also wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket with leather boots, all in black. He wore dark glasses and his long, natural black hair in dreadlocks. There was s
omething innately cocky about his stance as he stared off into space, a look of utter boredom on his handsome face.

  The sisters hugged fiercely, then Alana gave Bree a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Hi, sweetie, you look gorgeous as always,” she said.

  She wasn’t exaggerating. Bree was beautiful with her large light-brown eyes, unlike her mother’s or Georgie’s, who had very dark eyes. Alana supposed Bree inherited her eye color from their long-dead father, killed during the Vietnam War.

  Bree had the pecan-tan skin that paler women burned themselves on beaches in hope of acquiring. Her mouth was full and her nose long, well-shaped. She wore her thick, black luxurious locks in a short, tousled style that was all the rage in Tinseltown. She was extremely popular as an actress in Hollywood, being one of the most sought-after performers in television. She jokingly referred to herself as the queen of the small screen. She’d made several television movies and was well-known as the black detective, Jody Freeman, who always got her man. The Jody Freeman movies were action-packed comedy-dramas that always drew a large viewing audience.

  That wasn’t to say that her sister was plain. Georgie held her own in the looks department. They were opposites in how they perceived beauty, however. Bree was more glamorous—it was her job to look good, after all. Georgie adopted a business look for the courtroom and had a more casual approach to apparel for everyday. She fancied jeans and loose tops and her hair was invariably in braids. She’d worn it in that style since college, and now it hung down her back, almost to her hips.

  They were both five feet, eight inches tall, Bree being rather slim and willowy, Georgie, more voluptuous, like her mother. They were both athletic. Bree enjoyed running and swimming. Georgie also ran and had a third-degree black belt in judo, an interest introduced to her by her friend, Sammy Chan, who owned a dojo there in the city.

  “Georgie, you remember Pierre...” Bree said, her well-modulated voice enthusiastic. She was praying her sister would also remember her manners.

  “Yes, how are you, Pierre? Welcome to San Francisco, I hope you enjoy your stay,” Georgie said politely.