by Gina Ardito
Hayley sucked a breath through her teeth. “Ooh, touchy, aren’t we?”
“I’m not touchy.”
“I understand. You’re probably terrified. You haven’t seen Frank or Rachel since the last day of school, and tonight, well, you’re gonna have to confront them both. But no matter how blind Frank’s been over the last few months, he’s gonna have second thoughts when he spots you in that dress. He’ll take one look at you and regret ever getting involved with Rachel.”
Reminders of tonight sent butterflies scattering in Gianna’s belly. Great. Now she had a pain in the neck from Sonja and an upset stomach, thanks to Hayley. With her luck, she’d take one look at Frank tonight and vomit all over his shiny tux.
Would that be a good thing or bad? A sudden heat traveled down her spine and through her limbs. Not uncomfortable. More like a hot bath after a long day. Soothing and thoroughly ah-inspiring.
“All done,” Sonja announced as she stepped away from the table.
“What time is Kyle picking you up?” Hayley’s question splashed ice water in her face. “He is picking you up, isn’t he? You’re going to let him drive, right? God, there’s nothing more embarrassing to a man than being in the passenger seat when a woman drives. Don’t ask me why.”
Propping her head on one hand prevented Hayley from seeing her eyes roll back. “I told him to be at the house by seven. The ceremony’s at eight, reception immediately following in the same location. I had Dad drive my car today so I don’t have to pick Kyle up. Satisfied? Did I miss anything?”
With her massage ended, Hayley rolled over, purring, “Even if you did, you won’t have time to fix your boo-boo now.”
“Gee, thanks. You sure know how to make a friend feel better.”
“What can I say?” she replied with a giggle. “It’s a gift.”
“Well, I’d prefer you kept that particular gift to yourself from now on,” Gianna grumbled over the butterflies wreaking havoc.
Chapter Thirteen
Any doubts Gianna had about her appearance disappeared the moment Kyle saw her. He stared, face drawn and mouth agape, for ten long seconds—she knew, she counted—then extended a hand as if touching a faraway constellation.
The trip to Bergdorf’s and all the ministrations had paid off. Strapless gold brocade hugged her bosom and waist before cascading outwards with the help of a generous black tulle underskirt. Bare shoulders, dusted with gold powder, sparkled. Thanks to two hours in Jean de Viv’s chair, her long hair now lay in thick ribbons of curls. Tiny golden stars pinned each tress to her head. Miniscule gemstones embedded in the center of each star, Jean had advised, would twinkle beneath the chandeliers inside the Crystal Palace, giving her a celestial appearance.
While she floated to where Kyle stood waiting, his gaze followed every move, never blinking, never turning away. Their hands made contact, and an electrical charge tingled from her fingertips to her wrist. “I feel like a kid on prom night,” she confessed.
“You look like a goddess.” His voice was a husky whisper, thick and enveloping. “Any man who would willingly walk away from you is a fool.”
New heat spiraled into her cheeks, and she waved a hand to cool the air. Her face had already been rouged enough. The last thing she needed was her own bloodstream adding additional color.
“You look good enough to grace the cover of GQ,” she said. If she felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball, Kyle definitely fit the role of Prince Charming in his black tuxedo, black tie, and white dress shirt. With this gorgeous man by her side, she could take on the world and come out on top. “Are you sure that’s a rented tux?”
“Borrowed,” he corrected with a grin that curled her toes. “Not rented.”
God, would she ever get used to his smile? Or the way her heart pounded when he stood so close? “Hard to believe.” Did he hear the way her voice shook? “I mean, this tux could have been made just for you. You and your friend must be built to exactly the same proportions. Are you twins or something?”
He didn’t reply, but folded her hand over his elbow instead. “Shall we go?”
“I’m...” The words stuck in her throat as anxious butterflies tickled her insides. Quick! Change the subject. Buy time. “You know, you haven’t told me. How do you like working at Villa Mare with my parents?”
With an exaggerated groan, he grimaced. “You might have warned me your mother is the Grand Dame there.”
Despite her teetering nerves, she giggled. “Everyone thinks Dad is the tough one. The truth is, he’s a big pussycat. Now, Mom, well, Daddy says she looks fluffy as a cloud, but cross her and you’re in the middle of a hurricane.”
His finger traced the inside of her palm in a slow, lazy fashion. The simple action sent skitters of electricity straight from her hand to the center of her heart. “You’ve got a lot of your mother in you, Gianna. Remember that tonight.”
****
When Gianna and Kyle walked into the Seashell Suite at the Crystal Palace, most of the guests already sat in a small alcove of the flower-bedecked room. Before the ceremony started, she and Kyle quickly sat in the back. Heads turned, and hands rose to hide hushed whispers.
Discomfort wilted her until Kyle gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t let ‘em throw you,” he whispered behind his smile. “Think of your Hurricane Mama. Show them your stormy side.”
With his words bolstering her reserve, she sat up straight and completely at ease. “You’re right. What do I care what they think? My presence here makes a statement. I survived the debacle they threw my way. And now, I’m stronger than ever.”
“I am Woman, hear me roar,” he replied.
She laughed, and as if her humor broke the spell, the guests returned to their own conversations.
All too soon, the groom and best man took their places at the front of the alcove before a large picture window festooned in arches of colorful autumn leaves. Piped-in music played “Here Comes the Bride” as Rachel, wrapped in a white sheath-style gown, her face hidden behind a fingertip-length veil, made her way to the altar with her father by her side.
“That’s the famous Rachel?” Kyle asked, aghast. “She looks like a mummy in that get-up.”
Gianna’s lips quirked, but her amusement faded quickly. Frank’s face alit with adoration at Rachel’s approach, and a stab of self-pity stung like a thousand knives. Once again, Kyle’s hand gave hers a squeeze. The pressure of his fingers filled her with a placidity she didn’t know she owned. Having Kyle by her side lightened her gray mood to sunny yellow.
Soon enough, the bride and groom walked down the aisle together, faces beaming with joy. As if on cue, the guests rose to form a receiving line at the back of the room. With Kyle behind her, she joined them. Since their seats had been in the rear, they found themselves in the front of the line. She couldn’t have planned the moment better if she’d tried.
“Gianna?” The name erupted from Frank’s mouth in a frog’s croak.
Rachel turned, a crocodile grin on her features. But her toothy satisfaction evaporated as her gaze skimmed Gianna from updo to gold-dusted shoulders, all the way to the hem of the expensive designer dress. A deep frown and a slightly purple color washed over her blotchy complexion. Gianna savored the moment as she would a sip of the world’s finest champagne. Without saying a word, she had rendered Rachel speechless—no small feat.
“Congratulations, Frank, Rachel,” she said, leaning to place a kiss on each of their cheeks. She felt a bit like Judas, but tamped down her guilt with a quick press of golden-polished fingernails into palms. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
In that moment, she realized she meant what she said. These two reptiles deserved one another. And she was well rid of both of them.
“We’re so glad you could attend our wedding, Gianna,” Rachel purred. “We haven’t seen you since you left Madison Elementary in June. The children wondered why you didn’t return in September. I told them, of course, you had decided to leave
teaching. I hope you don’t mind.”
Point, Rachel. Like a poisonous snake, she knew where to inflict the most damage.
Well, Gianna refused to play the role of victim ever again. With Kyle beside her, she stood tall enough to look down on the smug face of the bride. “Actually I do mind,” she replied in a strong voice. “In the first place, I didn’t ask you to speak to anyone on my behalf. And in the second place, your information lacks substance. I haven’t left teaching.”
“Oh?” Frank wrapped an arm around Rachel’s waist, showing stalwart support for his wife. “You’re working somewhere? Last I heard you’d gone back to the family pizzeria.” He sneered the last two words.
An overwhelming urge to smack his face rose within her. What was this, tag-team insults? Terrific. No problem. She was armed and dangerous. “That was only temporary. To help out while they were away. Joey and I sent them to Italy for their thirtieth anniversary. Don’t you remember?” Her tone took on the sweetness of pure maple syrup. “You were with me when I made the arrangements with the travel agent.”
Rachel’s face changed from florid purple to beet-red.
Point, me.
But she quickly recovered and volleyed back. “I assume you got the approvals for the daycare center you wanted to start? How exciting for you. When does the center open? And where on earth did you get that kind of cash?” She laughed, a sound full of malice and spite, and then placed her head on Frank’s shoulder, suggesting ownership. “Don’t tell me you won the lottery. Lucky Gianna. Just like those cats you rescue, always landing on your feet.”
Pain seared her ribcage. Her daycare center. The mortal wound. The one dream she hadn’t been able to make come true. Smelling blood in the water, Rachel had honed in for the kill.
Surrender. Admit defeat and move on. “Actually, I—”
“We haven’t completed the renovations yet,” Kyle interrupted. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Y-yes, of course,” she managed, but she stared at Kyle’s grinning face with wonder. How had he known?
“Forgive me,” he said to Frank and Rachel, hand outstretched. “We haven’t been properly introduced. Kyle Hayden. Congratulations on the occasion of your marriage.”
“Thank you,” Frank mumbled, confusion swinging from Kyle’s face to Gianna’s and back again.
No doubt her own surprise mirrored back.
“Sweetheart,” Kyle said to Gianna, his voice husky with promised sensuality. “We’re holding up the line of well-wishers. Perhaps we should find our table.”
Despite feeling adrift, she forced a carefree smile. “Yes, I think you’re right, honey.”
His warm hand against the small of her back led her away from slack-jawed Frank and his equally stunned bride.
Out of their earshot, she leaned closer to Kyle. “Thank you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, remember? To steer you through the rocky parts.”
Knees knocking, she paused in the reception area beneath a rose-filled bower. “But how did you know about the daycare center?”
In an almost careless gesture, he shrugged. “Hayley told me.”
“She did?” How? When? Why? “What exactly did she tell you?”
“Dr. Weber’s old office had a perfect location and examining rooms that could be converted into classrooms fairly easily,” he replied. “She also said you couldn’t afford the place, but you were hoping to get some kind of grant from the state since the center would be for lower income families.”
The accuracy of his knowledge unnerved her, spilling her confidence, leaving her a fragile shell. “Wh-when did Hayley tell you all this?”
“Last week. When you picked up your parents at the airport, Hayley treated me to lunch at the Inn on the Sound.”
The Inn on the Sound, one of the most romantic restaurants on all of Long Island. Hayley sure could pick ‘em. Something slithered into her belly, the green-eyed monster. “Funny. Hayley never mentioned your lunch date.”
Kyle’s expression remained impassive, and she gulped several breaths to remove the jealousy monster. She didn’t own exclusive rights to him. They were friends, nothing more. And if he and Hayley hit it off, well, good. Hayley deserved some happiness in her love life, considering her mother’s serial marriage record.
Besides, Hayley and Kyle would make a perfect couple. Candy-box Hayley who never took anything seriously and oh, so proper Kyle who took everything seriously. Still, she would have appreciated a heads-up regarding their romantic interests. Best friends didn’t bushwhack one another.
“You know, it wouldn’t be difficult to do.”
Kyle’s smooth voice broke into her troubled thoughts.
“Huh?” It? What it? Someone should throw her a life preserver before she drowned in confusion. “What’s that?”
“If you want to fund a daycare center, all you have to do is hit up the right people for generous donations.”
“Uh-huh.” Acid laced her tongue, dripping from each word. “And who are these ‘right people?’ Mrs. Melendez, who can barely make ends meet on the pittance she earns every week? The ROMEOs who scrape by on Social Security and whatever IRA money they squirreled away? Or Bethany and her gaggle of friends who spend every spare dime they have on video games, pizza, and beer?”
“No, I mean wealthy people. Influential people.”
“Yes, well, I don’t know any wealthy people.” Not even anyone attending this lavish affair. Regardless of what they flashed in glitz and glamour, no one here had the kind of money she needed. Or even knew anyone who did.
“I do.”
“You?” Bitter laughter erupted.
He shrugged. “I still have contacts in my old world.”
Oh, sure. Tell me another one. “You couldn’t find a person to give you a place to live when you were about to become homeless. What makes you think you can get any of your so-called friends to pry open their wallets for a bunch of dirty-faced, snot-nosed brats on Long Island?”
“Because, unlike helping out an acquaintance, helping out a bunch of dirty-faced, snot-nosed brats on Long Island is tax deductible.”
He had a point. Maybe she was being unfair. And maybe, just maybe, she was taking out her frustrations on the wrong man. But aside from a slight tightening around his mouth, Kyle gave no indication her comment fazed him. He must have known she was insulting him with the “snot-nosed brat” bit, yet he had the grace to take her verbal slap in stride. She stared at the floor, seeking a vortex to suck her into another dimension. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled at last. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Forget it. Besides, you’re right. If someone approached me about a daycare center a few months ago, I’d say exactly what you expected. But I know better now.”
“Oh? Why?”
His fingertips grazed the underside of her chin, and he tilted her head to meet his burning gaze.
Trapped. His eyes held her as firmly as if cement encased her from the calves down. When his index finger drew a lazy line from her chin to her ear, her lips instinctively parted to draw his exhaled breath into her own mouth.
“Because an incredibly magnanimous woman showed me the error of my ways. And I want to pay back her generosity.”
Screeeeech! In zero-point-two seconds flat, her interior engine went from revved to stone cold dead. He was so solicitous because he wanted to “pay her back?” Or worse, did Hayley have to convince him?
“I appreciate the offer,” she said, jerking her chin from his grip. “But I have to take care of this on my own.”
“Why?”
A chasm opened between them. In two backward steps, she widened the gap. “Because my problems are no one else’s business.”
He folded his arms over his chest and lowered his voice to a whisper more dangerous than a shout. “You know, Gianna, I’ve noticed something. You go out of your way to help everybody you know—hell, even people you don’t know. But the minute someone tries to help you, or even makes the off
er, you bolt in the opposite direction.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do. I’ve seen you pull away from Mrs. Melendez, from Hayley, from Tony Garibaldi. Now me. Why don’t you accept the fact you’re not Superwoman and admit you might need a little help every once in a while?”
The sting in his words pierced her flesh, and she sucked in a breath. “Because I don’t need help. And even if I did, I doubt you’d know how to help me. Who set you up to be my caretaker? To make judgments on what I do with my life? You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re trying to do something noble. Is it stubborn pride that makes you turn down every offer of assistance?” His eyebrows pleated. “Or maybe you get some perverse satisfaction out of being the Queen of Beneficence. Maybe you think yourself above the rest of us mortals—too good to need the help of lowly creatures who aren’t fit to be a part of your self-sacrificing existence.”
Hurt stole the volume from her voice, but not the indignation. “How dare you! That’s not true at all. How could you even say such a thing? I’ve never been anything but nice to you—”
“Why was that, anyway?” Stance resembling an attorney on cross-examination, he leaned closer. “And don’t give me some crap about a stray cat. Why did I matter to you? Anyone else would have left me in the garbage. But not the perfect Gianna Randazzo. Not the Mother Teresa of Setquott Beach.”
Each word pinged with the sharpness of a BB shot. “Is that what you think of me? I’m some frustrated martyr or something?”
“No.” He sighed, sending the bad humors scattering with his expulsion of air. The wave of some invisible magic wand relaxed his posture and smoothed the tight lines around his lips.
In the blink of an eye, he transformed into the Kyle she’d brought with her, leaving the self-righteous, angry preacher behind.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Your business is your business, and I have no right to interfere, even if my intentions were pure. Am I forgiven?”
Soreness eased. Resentment deflated like air from a leaky balloon. “Of course, you’re forgiven.”
