A Family Affair: The Secret; Truth in Lies, Book 8

by Mary Campisi

  ***

  Sasha Rishkov was a bundle of energy, excitement, and passion in a flowing skirt and bangles who said she wanted to dive into life as if it were the Ashokan Reservoir in March. One needs to appreciate the smallest joy as well as the greatest sorrow, she said. That is how one learns to hope, strives to understand, gives himself up to love. The woman had a crowd of followers who gathered at Lina’s Café or the Heart Sent to listen to her speak about the universe as a family, selfless love, and a path of reflection.

  When Sasha switched to philosophical guru mode, Angie didn’t understand half of what she said, not that she couldn’t have if she’d really listened, but she’d never much cared for big words or strings of phrases that made the speaker sound more intelligent than the listener. She and Sasha were in the spare room of the Magdalena Towne Hall, thanks to Mimi Pendergrass’s generous nature. Mimi said her deceased relatives would be proud to have artists creating in this building and any time Angie wanted to move her workshop from Nate’s, she was welcome to do so.

  She’d thought of doing just that but wanted to wait until she made the final cuts on the houses. Painting and assembly were time-consuming, intricate work that didn’t require the tools in Nate Desantro’s workshop, though he did have an awful sweet painting and finishing area. But Sasha said she could really use Angie’s company and Mimi had given them permission to work any hour of the day or night, so different from Nate’s 6:00 p.m. clock-out. She got that he didn’t know her, and a man like that had to trust a person before he opened up his place of business and let her roam around without him. Speaking of roaming around a person’s place of business, it had been two days since Gina’s baby arrived, two days since she kissed Roman Ventori, touched him…

  She hadn’t tried to see him and he hadn’t tried to see her.

  Great. Just great. She could pretend she didn’t care, pretend she hadn’t thought of the kisses, the touches, the hardness of his body pressed against hers, but that would be such a lie. She did care and that terrified her. There was no place in her life for caring about a man because that opened her up to getting hurt, maybe even destroyed, and she was not going through that again. If she avoided Roman Ventori and concentrated very hard on her work, she could drive him out of her brain, couldn’t she? Well, couldn’t she? The man was dangerous, with that slow smile and those dark good looks. Any man who made it between the covers of an entertainment magazine should be considered suspicious and smacked with the label Caution! May Be Hazardous To Your Health. And then there was the questionable association with his ex-girlfriend who just so happened to appear with tears and a sob story about missing him, yada yada. Angie bet the woman did miss him. Who wouldn’t, with a guy like that, especially if the woman found herself tied to a less-than-exciting husband and an existence that said, This is your life and this is as good as it gets? What if the ex-girlfriend realized she’d made a mistake and wanted Roman back? Yeah, what about that hornet’s nest? Angie’s stomach churned at the thought. He wouldn’t be so idiotic as to fall for tears and a sad story, words wrapped up in regrets and uttered from full pink lips.

  Would he? If the woman loved Roman so damn much, why’d she bail on him when he needed her? So what if she was just a teenager? So was he. If there were only a handful of people who believed in his innocence, shouldn’t his girlfriend have been one of them? And if she wasn’t, what did that say about her? How convenient to claim undying love when her loyalty didn’t matter anymore, when the only benefit to such a claim was the upside of a potential life with a wealthy, handsome, successful former boyfriend.

  And what about Natalie Servetti? That was another story altogether, one that depended on the person you talked to and how much truth they were willing to reveal. The big question around town had to be whether Roman and Natalie were lovers, and if they weren’t now, had they been? When? Where? Angie hadn’t missed the pitiful look Tess gave her when she made the comment about Natalie being responsible for ruining more than one relationship. The look and the comment implied Angie and Natalie might both be vying for Roman’s attention and Natalie would not play fair.

  Fine. Angie didn’t care if Natalie stripped naked and showed up at Roman Ventori’s doorstep, though his father might have a thing or two to say about that.

  Sasha Rishkov pulled her away from thoughts of Natalie Servetti and her capabilities with a tsk-tsk. “You look pensive, and in my many years that usually has to do with a man.” She eyed Angie, her silver gaze narrowed, red lips pursed. “True?”

  Angie shrugged. “Why are men such idiots?”

  Sasha threw back her head and laughed. “They aren’t idiots, dear. They just need a bit of training, that’s all.” When Angie scrunched up her nose at the comment, the older woman smiled, gave her a knowing look. “They want to play nice, want to please us, but they don’t know the rules.” Sasha tapped a red nail against her chin. “It’s up to us to teach them. Now, why don’t you tell me all about this man and I’ll see what I can do to help?”

  ***

  Babies made all things possible, and right now, Pop was thinking about a bushel of possibilities, starting with Alexander Benjamin Reed. The boy was long and lean like his daddy, with dark hair and a howl that matched the Casherdons’ rescue, Henry. Who would have thought when Ben Reed strutted into town a few years ago, with too much attitude and not enough kind words to say about small towns, that he’d settle down here, find a wife, have a baby? Pop saw it, from the first time the boy danced with Gina Servetti at Cash and Tess’s wedding. The dang chemistry between the two almost exploded, like a pressure cooker on the fritz.

  And then there were Nate and Christine, two people who were about as likely a couple as Romano cheese on a rye sandwich. But when Christine drove her car off the road trying to bring Nate chicken soup, and the boy had to go find her despite a fever, chills, and a killer cold, well, that made them more human, made them see each other that way, too. The shiner Christine got from the crash didn’t hurt either. That was the beginning of the end of Nate Desantro’s fight with himself over Christine Blacksworth. He wasn’t the only one fighting a losing battle. Christine had a chance to see the softer side of Nate, the one he reserved for Lily, his mother, and the stray animals he picked up every now and again. God gave them Anna Nicolina and soon, another Desantro would join them. Didn’t get much better than that, unless they continued with the expansion program…

  One way or the other, the Casherdons were getting a baby if Pop had to oversee the project himself. There was more than one way to get a baby, and maybe it was time those two started thinking about the other ways before heartache and an empty crib dried up their hope. He’d seen what losing hope did to good, loving couples, watched the relationships crumble like a stale cracker, and he did not want that for Tess and Cash. Of course, his granddaughter worked it all backwards, getting the baby first, minus the husband. Pop sighed. It could have been easier, but when had easy ever played a part in relationships? Not often and not for long, at least in Pop’s estimation. He and his Lucy had their share of rough patches, torn and ripped like a pair of old jeans at the playground. But they’d shored up the holes with commitment, love, and a lot of tears. He sniffed, cleared his throat. Those were the happiest days of his life.

  And now he had the pleasure of a ringside seat as Roman Ventori and Angie Sorrento battled for a future. It was pure pleasure to watch such a headstrong couple try to deny feelings for each other. He chuckled, poured two glasses of homemade wine, and handed one to Sal. “Things are moving right along.” Another chuckle. “I hear they’ve avoided each other since the night at the hospital.”

  Sal lifted his wine glass, saluted Pop, and took a drink. “Interesting, huh? What do you think happened?”

  “Passion and pretense,” Pop said as he eased into his chair and lifted his glass. Oh, he had a good idea what happened. He might be old, but he’d caught Angie Sorrento’s flushed face, the T-shirt bunched to one side, the wilder than usual hair. Yup, that
spelled passion, and nobody was telling him any different. Same with Roman. The boy was distracted when he returned from outside, exactly fifteen minutes after Angie. Must have timed his entrance and that always smelled of rotten eggs and guilt. Most people were too busy munching on sandwiches and Pop’s pizzelles or getting antsy about the baby. Pop was just as eager as the rest and just as busy munching, but he was a multitasker, and he knew those two were both outside, and that made him curious. He checked his watch and started timing them the second Roman headed out. Ten minutes, that’s all those two spent outdoors, but that was long enough to get into a lot of trouble…or a lot of passion. Pop zeroed in on his watch again when Angie returned and positioned herself away from Roman’s vacated chair. He stopped checking when the boy returned with a look on his face that said stunned.

  “Passion and what?” Sal leaned toward Pop, scratched his head.

  “Pretense. You know trying to act like something’s true when it’s not.” Pop’s lips hovered in a smile. “Roman and Angie want all of us to think they haven’t noticed each other in a man-woman way. They want us to believe they could never be interested in a life together.” He paused, nodded as the visual of those two swirled in his head. “But that’s not the vibe I got the other night at the hospital. No sir. Those two were covered in passion and pretense; I saw it and I smelled it.”

  Sal laughed, finished off his wine. “Smelled it, huh? What did it smell like? Garlic and oil, or parsley and oregano?” He laughed again. “I don’t care if you tasted it, as long as those two end up together and I get a grandbaby.”

  “Patience, Sal. All good things take time. What’s Lorraine have to say about the prospect of Angie for a daughter-in-law?”

  Sal shot him a look. “You mean a real daughter-in-law, not one who’s afraid to wash dishes and struts around the house in her diamonds?” When Pop raised a brow, Sal held up a hand and said, “Swear on my father’s name, I never seen so much jewelry on one person. Sad that my son thought that kind of woman could bring him happiness. Angela isn’t like that, I can tell.”

  Why was Sal dancing around the mulberry bush and not answering Pop’s question about his wife? “So, what about Lorraine? Is she excited?”

  Sal shrugged. “She will be.”

  “Ah. Sounds like she hasn’t given you the 100 percent approval rating, am I right?” When Sal nodded, Pop grinned. “No worries. We’ll convince her, but right now we have to ramp up the competition.”

  “Huh? Why would we do that when we want him to choose Angela?”

  “Because he’s not going to like the other choices.” Pop sipped his wine, glanced at the portrait of his dear Lucy. A couple should be so lucky to share the years he and his Lucy had, years filled with love, hope, commitment, laughter. It had all been worth it even if he had to lose her to the cancer in the end, her body thin, her soul tired. Every last second had been worth it.

  “What about Natalie Servetti and Charlotte Simmons?”

  “Those two.” Pop snorted. “They’re both up to something, and I’m gonna figure out what.”

  ***

  Charlotte had called him three times. Roman, I need to see you, followed by, There’s no one else I can turn to, and finally, I’m afraid. So afraid. Please, please help me. It was the last one that sent him to their old meeting spot at Boon’s Peak. How could he ignore the plea in her voice filled with what sounded like real fear? For what? Her husband? Roman couldn’t ignore it, though meeting an old girlfriend at the spot where they’d both lost their virginity was not tops on his “need to do” list.

  When he arrived, Charlotte was already there, standing next to her gray SUV, dressed in a tank top and shorts. Two children hadn’t filled her out, had actually made her thinner, her face almost gaunt. The high cheekbones had hollowed out more, the neck stretched, the lips thinned. Did kids do that to you? Or was it the marriage that gave a person that crispy, dried-up look? Christine Desantro didn’t have that crispiness to her, neither did Gina Reed, and if he wanted to think pregnancy softened the look, then what about Tess Casherdon? She wasn’t pregnant and she sure looked damn good. Nope. This had to do with Charlotte and whatever was going on in her life.

  “Roman, thank you for coming. I’m so glad to see you.” His ex-girlfriend pushed her sunglasses on top of her blond head, clutched his hands. “Let’s go down by the lake.” She linked her arm through his, smiled up at him. “I still come down here every now and then. Steven refuses to step foot in the grass because of his allergies, but I’m fine with that.” She matched his step as they worked their way toward the lake. Wildflowers, grasses, and trees covered either side of the dirt path, the perfect backdrop for a summer afternoon. “Sometimes I bring a blanket and a bottle of wine and I sit over by our tree.” Her voice dipped, turned soft and mellow. “Remember our tree?”

  Roman cleared his throat, forced out a single word. “Yes.” How could a guy forget the place he’d made love to the woman he hoped to marry? The dreams they’d shared, the promises they’d made to one another had happened here. But that was a lifetime ago. Time and circumstance had shattered the dreams, snuffed out the promises. Life had happened to them in all of its crazy, convoluted existence and it was too late to go back or pretend it hadn’t.

  “There it is.” Charlotte pointed to a huge oak tree surrounded by other oaks, smaller, less majestic. She raced toward it, placed a hand on the trunk, and touched the rough bark like a caress. “Look, Roman, it’s still here.”

  He didn’t have to ask for clarification because he knew she meant the etched-out heart with their initials that he’d carved in the tree the first time they made love. A sign of our love, he’d said. She’d cried and wrapped her arms around his waist, vowed to love him until she drew her last breath. But that hadn’t been exactly true.

  Charlotte traced their initials with her index finger, leaned forward, and planted a soft kiss in the center of the heart. Roman shoved his hands in his pockets, waited. He hadn’t minded listening to her or agreeing to meet because she’d sounded so miserable and because they’d shared a past. But this was getting uncomfortable and heading out of “friendship” territory, into something murky and undefined. Well, he was about to clear up the situation and define it. “Charlotte, why are you doing this?”

  She eased away from the tree, eyes bright, lips moist. “What?”

  “This.” He motioned to the tree. “Bringing me here, kissing the tree, quoting things I said. Why are you doing this?”

  She let out a small, fragile cry, moved toward him. “I want to be happy again.” Her voice dipped, cracked. “And I’m not. We were good together.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Don’t you want to feel that way again?”

  “We were kids, young and innocent enough to believe we could do anything we wanted.” He didn’t mention how the harsh reality of a false accusation had stripped his innocence or how she’d left him because of it. What was the point? It didn’t matter anymore. Roman gentled his voice, kept his gaze trained on hers. “We aren’t kids anymore. We’re grownups with responsibilities. You have a husband and two children who need you.”

  “Of course, my babies need me, and I’ll always be there for them.”

  “And Steven?”

  A laugh trickled from her, shriveled to a sigh. “Steven doesn’t need anyone, least of all me.”

  There were layers of issues in that statement with the truth buried deep inside. Roman had flunked Marriage 101, booted out before the babies came, but he could sniff out relationship problems and this one had them. “What’s really going on with you and your husband?”

  Her lips quivered, her shoulders slumped, seconds before she fell against him and let out the painful truth. “Steven is having an affair with Natalie Servetti.”

  Roman hadn’t seen that one coming. The Steven Simmons he knew put extra money in his parking meter, just in case. The law profession, the two kids, the four-bedroom house, hell, the car that had been rated one of the safest vehicles on the roa
d—all of those spoke of staying inside the lines of common sense and careful. But an affair with Natalie? That was downright stupid. What the hell had gotten into the guy? Okay, sure, Natalie had a way of making a guy lose focus for a second or two, maybe even imagine a visual of what it could be like with her, but then reality took over and snuffed it out. And what about Natalie’s claim that she was a better person, a changed person? Reformed? Was that all a bunch of bull? And the guy she supposedly was head over heels for, the one she didn’t want to learn about her past—did he know she was sleeping with a married man? Now, because he’d given his damn word, he had to confront Natalie and he was so not looking forward to that. How had he gotten into the middle of this mess? All he’d done was come home to see his father and he’d only done that because of the old man’s heart attack. But then he’d started to pitch in at the grocery store and by the end of the first day, he was managing it. Didn’t matter that he actually enjoyed it; that was beside the point. What mattered was that he’d been minding his own business, counting the days before he could head back to Chicago and his old life, a life that might not contain any “meaningful” relationships except for his business partner and one or two friends, but it wasn’t crammed with headaches either.

  But no, this town couldn’t leave him alone. Natalie came after him with her tears and a request for help, Charlotte found him and tried in that subtle way she had to pull him back fourteen years for a second chance. His father had it in his head that he needed a grandchild before he died and he’d enlisted Pop Benito to concoct a plan to make that happen. Those two even had a prime candidate and that was the biggest problem of all. Angie Sorrento. Bad enough the woman drove him crazy, but did he have to kiss her, touch her? What the hell was wrong with him? He did not need a complication like Angie Sorrento in his life. Damn it, no. The other night he’d considered a second chance with a town like Magdalena and a woman like Angie. But three days had passed without seeing her and so what if they were avoiding each other? He didn’t want to see her, didn’t want the confusion she brought the second she opened her mouth. His mother said Angie had called to say she was at a point in the project where she wouldn’t need help from Sal’s. Help from Sal’s? Interesting way to put it. That reeked of avoidance and only a fool wouldn’t notice and Lorraine Ventori was no fool. Maybe that’s why his mother had been watching him with that just-so-you-know-I-already-know look and popping in with questions about payroll when she’d been handling these decisions herself for years.