by Robin Kaye
He checked his watch. “I have to go. I’m meeting Mr. Ronaldi at two.”
She kissed his cheek and then rubbed off the lipstick. “You’ll be fine, Michael. Just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s lucky to have you, just as you’re lucky to have her. This isn’t a one-sided relationship.”
Mike hoped not. “Love you, Mum. Thanks again… and I’ll call you… you know, later.”
“I’d be surprised to hear from you before tomorrow. Have a wonderful night tonight. Make it one that neither of you will ever forget.”
“Okay…”
“And Michael, remember this is something she’s going to tell your children and grandchildren about. Don’t propose in a way that would force her to lie every time your daughter asks how you proposed. Make it special.”
“Right… special.” Shit, this was more complicated than he thought it would be.
Mike parked Nick’s car in front of the Ronaldi’s house. The front door flew open before he hit the first step. Mrs. Ronaldi waited, smiling, holding the door.
“Michael, so nice of you to come. Here. Come in, come in.”
He followed her inside. “Thanks, Mrs. Ronaldi. I’m supposed to meet your husband. Is he home yet?”
“He’s changing. Sit, sit. Can I get you a coffee? Espresso?”
“No thank you, I’m good.” Mike had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say to Annabelle’s mother. His mind was a total blank.
She motioned for him to sit on the couch in the living room. When he did, the air escaped from the plastic that encased it.
Mrs. Ronaldi sat in the chair beside the couch. “Did you have a nice holiday?”
He wiped his damp palms on his pants. “Yes… I took Annabelle out to the Hamptons for the long weekend. We stayed at Nick’s place. It was really relaxing.”
“I hope she took good care of you. Both my girls are wonderful cooks.”
“Actually, I usually do the cooking. It’s a hobby of mine. I don’t think I’ve given Annabelle much of a chance to um… show off.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, I learned when I worked at DiNicola’s. I don’t get to cook nearly enough. Annabelle doesn’t seem to mind my taking over the kitchen, though.”
“Oh, well. I guess if it’s your hobby, eh? It’s a good thing then.”
“Yeah, it’s all good.”
Mr. Ronaldi thankfully came down. “Maria, get the man a drink.”
Mike stood to greet Mr. Ronaldi. He had the same good looks Annabelle’s brother, Richie, had with a bit more meat on his tall frame—and a lot more muscle. Mike wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. “Mrs. Ronaldi already offered. I’m fine.” Mike shook his hand. “Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Ronaldi.”
“I’m having a beer. You wanna change your mind?”
Mike cleared his throat. “Fine. A beer would be nice. Thanks.”
Mr. Ronaldi turned to his wife. “Well, you heard him. Go get us our drinks.”
Mrs. Ronaldi scurried away, embarrassed. Mike couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He couldn’t believe the way Mr. Ronaldi spoke to his wife, but ignored the urge to tell Mr. Ronaldi where to get off. It probably wasn’t a good time, especially considering the question Mike came to ask.
“Mr. Ronaldi—”
“Paul. You call me Paul.”
“Fine, Paul. I came over today because… I love Annabelle, and I want to marry her. I came to ask for your blessing.”
Something crashed in the kitchen. Mike jerked his head toward the noise. It was probably a couple of beers.
“You didn’t knock her up, did you?”
“No, sir. I love her, and I want to marry her. If she’ll have me.”
Mrs. Ronaldi ran out with the beer, shoving Paul’s at him. “Of course she will have you. A nice doctor like you, so well mannered and handsome, why wouldn’t she have you? You’re Catholic?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m Catholic.”
“Good, then there’s no problem.”
“I hope you’re right.” He turned to Mr. Ronaldi. “Do I have your permission to marry your daughter?”
Mr. Ronaldi looked him up and down. “Yeah. You can marry her. You better take good care of her, though.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
Mr. Ronaldi raised his glass. “Salute, and good luck.”
Mike sipped of the cold beer. He could really use it. The luck that is. He hoped proposing to Annabelle would be less nerve-racking than asking her father for his permission had been. Somehow, he doubted it.
Mike did his best to come up with a romantic way to propose to Annabelle. Unfortunately, romance wasn’t his forte. The best he could do on short notice was a nice romantic dinner.
He went shopping and bought a few filets mignons, mushrooms, a good Marsala wine to use in a mushroom and wine reduction, and everything else he’d need. Lord knew, he couldn’t count on Annabelle to have anything on hand in her kitchen. He bought candles and prayed that Rosalie had left candlesticks. There weren’t any in the market, and he didn’t have any at his place either.
Mike hurried to Annabelle’s and let himself in. If he wanted to have everything ready before she got home from work, he needed to move fast.
After taking Dave out for a quick walk, Mike got down to work. He set up his little hibachi in the garden, started the coals, and locked Dave in the apartment to make sure he didn’t go sniffing around the fire.
Once the coals were heating, he searched for candlesticks. He checked every cabinet in the kitchen to no avail before moving to the den, which was now filled with boxes he’d never seen. There was an armoire hidden behind a pile of boxes. He hoped it contained a set of candlesticks because he really didn’t have time to run to another store. A large three-foot-by-five-foot canvas rested against the armoire, its back facing out. He looked for a better place to rest it, but the room was so cluttered, he found none. Heck, maybe he should hang the damn thing because there was no floor space left to speak of. Beside the canvas were the remains of the crate it must have been shipped in, as well as a pink and purple polka dot toolbox with Wayne’s name stenciled on the side.
He opened the toolbox, took out the hammer, a picture hook, and a nail, and after finding a stud in the middle of the wall, he drove the nail in. The canvas already had a metal wire and had obviously been hung before. Maybe it was something Annabelle brought home from the gallery. She probably didn’t want it hanging in the den, but she wasn’t there for consultation. If she wanted him to move it later, he would. But for right now, it was better to get it up off the floor before it was damaged.
Mike lifted it over the stacked boxes, turning it carefully so as not to knock any of her things over, and was surprised to see it was a painting of a naked guy. He couldn’t help but notice it was a naked guy with a little dick. Not that he usually checked out guys’ dicks, but it was literally right in front of his eyes.
He cursed as he tried to get the wire on the damn picture hook. Finally it caught. Mike straightened the canvas a little and stepped back to see the whole picture so to speak.
Mike couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a painting of him… but not. Christ, whoever painted this needed to have his eyes examined. The nose looked just like his nose before he’d broken it, the mouth was all wrong, and damn, he certainly didn’t have a little dick. Even the eye color was wrong. It wasn’t him. He looked for some clue as to who it was, and all he saw was Annabelle’s signature and the year it was painted.
She’d painted it four years before they’d met. It couldn’t be him. It was a relief to know she didn’t think his dick was that small. But shit, who was this guy? And why did he look so much like him? And what was she doing with a naked guy who looked like he could be his twin?
That bad feeling Mike had since he and Annabelle left the Hamptons was so strong it threatened to crush him. The front door opened and closed. Annabelle greeted Dave and called Mike’s name, but he
couldn’t take his eyes off the painting.
He didn’t turn to face the open doorway; he knew she’d found him when he heard the sharp intake of breath. Any hope that this was some kind of joke dissolved with her slow exhale. He turned. Annabelle stood holding on to the doorframe like she needed the support. He could really use some too; support that is. The shock and horror on her face gave him the feeling that the bottom had just dropped out of his plan for the night and for the rest of his life. Christ, he was nervous before—now he felt sick to his stomach. Annabelle looked pale, but worse, she looked guilty as hell. “Who is this painting of?”
Annabelle grabbed the doorjamb tighter; the tone of his voice was so cold, as cold as the look in his gray eyes. In every nightmare she’d had about his reaction to the moment he found out the truth, his eyes were never like that. She’d never felt such distance between them. When she moved toward him, he held his hand up to stop her.
“Just answer the damn question.”
“Please don’t look at me like that.” The vein in her forehead pulsed double time. She tried to blink away the tears welling in her eyes. Mike never blinked. This was it. This was the end. Oh God, it hurt. It was all she could do to stay standing. She wanted to curl into a ball to protect herself from the cold pain in his eyes. Instead, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand, either to cover a sob or to keep herself from blurting out the truth.
She nodded and took a deep breath. “I was going to tell you today. I would have told you as soon as I found out, but I didn’t want to ruin the weekend you’d worked so hard for.” She looked away; she couldn’t watch him, and she couldn’t bear to see the hate in his eyes. “Michael, I never lied to you, not about anything. I want you to know that.”
Mike let out what sounded like a growl. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Would you please just say what you need to say?”
“I love you.” She wiped the tears running down her face. She had a hard time breathing. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept going. “Becca came to visit. I thought she came to help me unpack everything I’ve had in storage.” She gestured to the boxes everywhere. “I left to meet your mother for lunch. Remember?”
Mike remained silent, and Annabelle didn’t have the guts to look at him. “I found out that Christopher Larsen is your father. I didn’t know before then. I swear. I ran home to Becca to tell her. She knows. The painting is of Chip. He posed for me. It was done a few months before we found out the cancer had come back. Chip and Becca are twins. Becca’s your sister.”
“You called me Chip that night at the wedding.”
Annabelle nodded. “I thought I saw a ghost.”
“That’s why you went home with me. Because I looked like him?”
“I don’t know, maybe at first. But Mike, that’s not why I kept seeing you.”
“And you expect me to believe that? Especially since you’ve been so honest with me about everything else.”
She nodded and looked at her feet. This hurt so much more than she could ever have imagined. “It’s the truth.” Oh God, part of her wanted to run to him and beg him to stay. She envisioned throwing herself at him and hanging on as he tried to escape. No, she wouldn’t beg a man to stay with her again. She’d begged Chip every day as she watched him wither away, refusing to fight for their relationship or his life. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
Dave stood beside her, Mike’s underwear hanging from his mouth, looking from Mike to her. He whined and butted his head against her thigh, almost knocking her over.
“I lit a charcoal grill in the garden. You might want to douse it before you let Dave out there.”
“Okay.”
He was telling her about a grill in the garden. Like she really cared about a grill. He’d just taken a wrecking ball to her life. Her heart shattered. She’d known this was coming, but she’d never expected it to feel like this. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to hold it together and couldn’t bear to watch him leave.
Annabelle hugged herself to keep from reaching for him as he passed. She leaned against the wall and staggered into her bedroom. The front door slammed as she dropped onto the bed. She pulled a pillow to her face and cried.
Chapter 16
ANNABELLE CRIED WITH A PILLOW OVER HER FACE. THE last thing she needed was the Fairy Godfathers trying to cheer her up. She hurt, and after what she’d done to Mike, she deserved it.
She knew that letting him go was the right thing to do. He’d never have left if she explained how she felt about Chip, the differences in their relationship. He would have forgiven her, and after meeting his dad, he would have stayed with her, supported her. She was even sure he’d have told his dad where to go. But the only loser in the situation would be him. She wasn’t sure when, but someday he’d look back and see how much being together had cost him, and whether he admitted it to himself or not, he would resent her for it.
No, this was the best thing for both of them. It just felt as if she was dying inside, and eventually, she’d learn to live with the pain and learn to live without Mike. Eventually. She hoped.
Right now, she wasn’t sure giving Becca’s way of dealing with excruciating pain a try was the right thing to do. Feeling the pain when she should. Another sob escaped, and she didn’t recognize the sound. She cried so hard she could barely breathe. It hurt everywhere. Her body was racked with sobs, her throat was raw, her eyes burned, and she was exhausted, physically and mentally. Dave circled the bed whining before he finally jumped up and lay beside her. Letting Mike go was the best thing she could do for him in the end. When she made the decision, she had no idea she’d feel like this. She had no idea she’d hurt him as much as she had, no idea how to live without him, and no idea how to live with the guilt.
Mike walked out and wanted to punch something. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t attract a woman of his own? He finally found the one woman he would love forever, and she didn’t love him—she loved his dead brother. She was just like all the rest, only worse. He knew the others had been getting over Nick. With them, there was no pretense. Annabelle had blindsided him. He’d had no idea she’d been with his double—and the man was almost an exact double—which explained her shock when she’d awakened with Mike the morning after the wedding.
And to think, he was about to make a complete ass out of himself by proposing. At least she’d saved him that humiliation.
Mike had just found out he had a sister and a dead brother, and he could care less. He only saw an empty life without Annabelle in it. He only felt pain and anger—he could barely breathe, and he’d be damned if he knew what the hell to do.
She lied to him, she led him on, and she played him like a fucking fool. How could he be so dumb? How could he still be so in love with her?
He got into Nick’s car, drove, and somehow he ended up in front of DiNicola’s. Mike walked in the front door of the restaurant, right past Mona, sat at the bar, and started drinking. By the end of the night, Rita was hanging around his neck. He’d drunk most of a bottle of Jack and was seeing double.
Mona and Vinny poured him into their car and took him to their house to sleep it off. But Mike couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was lying in a tiny white bed in a pink room, or because the room was full of stuffed animals that, in the light from the street, looked as if they were watching him. Or because every time he closed his eyes, he’d see Annabelle’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks. He’d felt as if she’d stabbed him in the heart; then he’d see that fucking picture. Not only had he lost his girlfriend, he’d lost a brother he never knew existed. Now he had a sister he had no idea what to do with and the father he’d never wanted. Fuck.
Becca was worried sick. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe she should have gone to Brooklyn after all. What if Annabelle needed her? She didn’t think Mike would be a jerk about it, but what the heck did she know? All she knew about her brother was what Annabelle had told her
. And Becca knew as well as anyone, Annabelle didn’t have the best taste in men.
It was after eleven o’clock, and Annabelle still hadn’t called. She’d promised she would tell Mike the truth today. She promised she’d call Becca after she did.
Becca made another lap around her apartment. She climbed into the swing she’d hung from the open ceiling of her loft. When swinging didn’t help calm her nerves, she tried her old standby. She curled up on the window seat and used her stuffed Snoopy as a pillow. Most of Snoopy’s fur had been worn off. The poor guy. She rubbed the sleeve of her sweatshirt between her thumb and pointer finger—a nervous habit. Over the years, she rubbed holes in the cuffs of all her jeans and sweatshirts, which is why Annabelle hated when Becca borrowed her clothes.
Not able to stand the torture of not knowing what had happened one more minute, Becca grabbed her phone, hit the speed dial, and prayed Annabelle would pick up.
When the ringing stopped, Becca heard a long hiccup, like when someone was crying and had to stop to breathe. Oh God. “Annabelle?”
A sob came over the line. “Oh, Becca…”
Becca stood and resumed pacing. “Are you okay?” She was crying too hard to talk. “Okay, you need to calm down. You’re going to hyperventilate and pass out.”
“I… I can’t. Oh God, Bec, he’s gone.”
What an asshole. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You’re going to be okay. Maybe when he calms down, you two can talk.”
“He… he saw the painting of Chip. He hates me, Bec. Oh God. He hates me, and it’s all my fault. I hurt him.”
“Stop it. You didn’t know.”
“But I suspected… I should have told him in the beginning. He said I lied to him. He doesn’t even believe I love him.”
“Look, he’s in shock. If he’s half the guy you say he is, he’ll calm down and talk to you. He loves you remember?”
“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. It’s over. It’s better this way.”
“Better for whom?”
“You sound like your mother.”
