by Susan Meier
She turned that over in her head until she remembered that the real bottom line was that he might have feelings for her but he didn’t want them.
Hadn’t he said it a million times?
And he was strong enough to fight them.
Because he liked his life simple. No complications.
She stared at him, feeling like an idiot as her heart splintered into a million pieces. Not only had she found her first love; she was getting her first heartbreak.
She stepped back. “You know what? You’re right.” She smiled at him as her pride swelled, refusing to let her try to convince him he was wrong for fear that she’d beg. Love was new for her. The all-encompassing sensations told her she was in over her head, not experienced enough to handle it and certainly not experienced enough to walk into a situation with someone who didn’t feel the same as she did.
The pain of just the thought almost paralyzed her.
She pulled in a breath. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
She heard Riccardo say, “You’re welcome,” as she turned and walked into her apartment. Her gown shivered and swished as she went directly to the phone. She dialed the number for the household staff and not only ordered a limo, but she also asked if the family jet had been reserved for her. A manager came to the phone and assured her that it was blocked off for her use and if her plans had changed it could be available to her in two hours, the time it would take to get a pilot.
She thanked him and hung up the phone.
Then she let herself cry. For being naive. For being so lonely she’d fallen for the first man who was kind to her. And for being back to being lonely again.
When her tears slowed, she almost began packing. Then she realized she wanted nothing that would remind her of this time. She might have fallen in love but it had been a foolish thing to do, the silly, heartbreaking meanderings of someone who had imploded her life and then set about to pick up the pieces and restore some semblance of normality.
But in her naïveté, she’d fallen for the man who had helped her, and he’d had to tell her what a fool she was.
* * *
Riccardo woke the next morning a little after ten, ran his hands down his face and dressed for breakfast with the family. Everyone had been out late the night before so the meal would be more of a brunch. They’d laugh and talk about the ball, mostly gossip, but good-natured gossip. His nanna loved to talk about a party as much as she loved to attend one. Everyone would be there, including Morgan.
He paused at her door before shaking his head and walking to the elevator. She wouldn’t want to see him. And he shouldn’t want to see her. He couldn’t believe he’d been so desperate as to want one real night with her. But he had. And then it had taken the willpower of a saint to pull away from her.
And that kiss?
Walking to the main house, he reminded himself he couldn’t think about that kiss. This morning, he had to appear unaffected. Nonchalant. He’d just barely gotten them out of a potentially sticky situation at her door the night before. He didn’t want to hurt her now.
But the kiss had been everything. He’d probably remember those few hours at the ball for the rest of his life. He’d probably always wonder what it would have been like if he could have taken the next step.
Sadly, though, he knew there was only one answer to that. She’d realize two or three months—or maybe two years, as Cicely had—into their future that she’d fallen for him out of need, necessity, when she was vulnerable, and she’d break it off.
It was better to part now.
He trudged up the stairway and down the hall, upset with himself, but ready to be cool and distant. He rang the bell and let himself in. Everyone was already in the dining room. He took his seat at the end of the table, and realized that for the first time since he’d brought Morgan to the Ochoa home, he didn’t have someone to sit beside.
Mitch was the first to notice him. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.”
“Cats didn’t have to drag me anywhere,” he replied with a laugh. “I danced off my whiskey.” He almost added, Where’s Morgan? His tongue itched to say the words, but his brain reminded him that he wasn’t supposed to care. To his family, he was nothing more than her caretaker.
Julia sighed. “Everybody stop talking about drinking. I had to pass up France’s best champagne last night.”
“Poor baby,” Mitch teased.
But Alonzo took her hand and kissed the knuckles. “It will be worth it.”
Julia’s entire demeanor changed as she gazed into his eyes. “It will.”
Riccardo had never seen Mitch look at Julia the way Alonzo did. But more important, he’d never seen Julia look at Mitch the way she looked at Alonzo.
He shook his head to clear it of the thought that had seemed to come out of nowhere, and when he did, his gaze collided with the empty chair beside his.
He couldn’t believe she was missing her last meal with the family. He wondered if Morgan was sick—then he remembered she’d turned away rather quickly the night before. Maybe the break he’d thought so simple hadn’t been? Maybe she was so upset she didn’t want to eat breakfast with his family?
An odd sense tumbled through him, regret so intense he could barely breathe. He never, ever, ever wanted to hurt her.
“So, Riccardo, I’m surprised you’re here,” Nanna said, then sipped her tea. “The limo’s scheduled to take Morgan to the airport in ten minutes. I thought you’d accompany her.”
That news cut through him like a knife. She wasn’t supposed to leave until two. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of her. To say goodbye.
Julia teared up. “I am so sorry to see her go.”
Lila said, “Me, too. Did she invite you to the girls’ weekend in Paris?”
Paloma said, “I think she invited all of us. Mani-pedis and margaritas.”
The women laughed.
His father said, “I’ll miss her.”
Santiago said, “Me, too. I don’t think anybody’s ever hugged me goodbye quite that hard.”
Marguerite said, “Best guest we’ve ever had.”
Everybody laughed, but Riccardo’s blood stopped pumping through his veins. Though he kept himself from embarrassing himself, he couldn’t stop his brain from jumping to the obvious conclusion.
She left without saying goodbye to him.
She’d said goodbye to everybody but him.
He’d brought her here, talked her through everything in her life, wanted to kiss her so many times he’d ached from it...then she left without saying goodbye?
It hurt. Oddly. Passionately. So deeply his muscles trembled. But he forced himself not to care. He couldn’t care. What they had was some sort of temporary thing a woman got for a man who helped her. She did not love him. She had needed him.
Twenty minutes later, he, Mitch, Alonzo and their fathers walked out of Nanna’s home, down the circular stairway and toward the conference room.
Riccardo said nothing as his cousins and uncle talked about the third vineyard. Mostly how they would pay for it since Alonzo and Julia would need a house, a big house for the children they planned to have. He wasn’t brooding over Morgan not saying goodbye. Technically, they’d said their goodbyes the night before—
But he felt empty. At a loss. He’d guarded her, protected her from her dad, brought her to his family. Enjoyed her company. Shared kisses that had touched his soul—
Didn’t he deserve a goodbye?
The answer crept into his conscious. He would have deserved a goodbye if he hadn’t hurt her the night before. He hadn’t seen it at the time, because he was so grateful he had the strength to pull himself away from her. But looking back, remembering how she’d walked into her condo, he saw it. The droop of her shoulders. The sadness in her eyes.
They reached the conference room door but before his f
ather could open it, the sound of his grandmother calling his name echoed down the corridor.
“Riccardo! Riccardo!”
All five men stopped. When she reached them, she said, “I’d like a moment with Riccardo.”
Santiago said, “Of course.”
Puzzled, Riccardo stepped out of the way to let his father, uncle and cousins pass. His dad closed the door behind them.
Nanna said, “Go after her.”
“What?”
“Go after Morgan. She’s only got a short head start. They have to load her bags, run preflight checks. If you take one of Mitch’s motorcycles, you can catch her before the plane takes off.”
“No. I don’t want to catch her.” He did. He desperately did. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for hurting her. He wanted to kiss her senseless. Beg her to stay. “I don’t know what you think you saw happening between us, but I kept her from being another Cicely. I rescued Morgan and she was grateful. But neither of us did anything we’d regret. And when she gets home and is settled in New York City, she’ll thank me. She’ll realize what she thought was happening between us was only appreciation.”
Nanna’s brow winkled. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know. I went through this with Cicely, remember?”
“I remember Cicely, but I also remember that she loved her ex. Always loved her ex.”
Riccardo just looked at her.
“Morgan didn’t love Charles. At best, she thought of him as a friend. Are you saying you’re letting her go because of Charles?”
“No. I’m letting her go because she’s only two weeks out of her relationship.”
“No, she’s two weeks out of a prison her dad created for her.”
He ran his hand across the back of his neck, remembering that she’d barely spoken about Charles. That her concern had always been for her dad. Not losing her dad. She might have wanted to see Charles, but it had been to give back the ring. To set things straight.
Still...
“It doesn’t matter. An engagement is an engagement and she just ended hers.”
His grandmother heaved a long-suffering sigh. “So you’re willing to let her go back to her fiancé?”
“She’s not going back to her fiancé.”
“You think not?” Nanna’s eyes narrowed. “You hurt her. Only a complete moron would have missed it when we said goodbye this morning. She talked about seeing Charles, about how nice it would be to talk to him.” Nanna shook her finger at him. “You thought you were a rebound for her? Charles is going to be the real rebound man. She’ll go home to Charles, who will comfort her, and that will be how they will get back together.”
He thought about everything she’d gone through. How her freedom had been so hard-won. “She wouldn’t—I mean she might revert to some of her old behaviors with her dad. But she’s a new person. She wouldn’t want her old fiancé back.”
“Maybe.”
There were too many options in that one little word. The possibilities spun through his brain.
“Think it through. The fiancé she left will be the one to help her pick up the pieces from the broken heart you gave her.”
Riccardo shook his head. “That’s all wrong. Backward. She needed help getting away from him. I gave it to her. I can’t be the reason she ends up with him.”
“Then go after her.”
“I can’t!”
“Oh, Riccardo.” Nanna’s eyes softened. “If you don’t, you will not get another chance. You will lose another love.”
When he said nothing, not wanting anyone to realize how quickly he’d fallen for her, she caught his forearm. “I saw how you looked at her.”
He thought of Alonzo and Julia and wondered if that’s how he’d looked at Morgan. With his heart in his eyes.
“I saw how she looked at you. Like a woman who’s found the one man she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”
Just the thought that she might really love him opened his heart. Air began filling his lungs again.
“If you’ve never trusted me about anything else. Trust me on this, Nene.”
“I do trust you.”
He finally saw what she saw. They might not have known each other long, but she’d been a blank slate when he met her. Not a woman pining for a man who had left her, but a woman who had no idea what love was.
He’d realized he was falling for her the night before he shuffled her off to Spain. If this empty ache in his chest was any indication, the falling was over and he was in love.
And he’d let her go.
* * *
Morgan’s car sat in the lot of the municipal airport right where she’d left it. She jumped in and began the short drive to her father’s vineyard.
She was strong now. Wise and strong. There was no point in going to Paris, waiting the two days before her dad’s trip to Stockholm. Her dad would be at the house when she got there.
She didn’t care. She was in the throes of her first heartbreak. She’d stupidly fallen in love in two weeks. With a man who didn’t want to be in love. Another woman would turn to her father for comfort. She girded herself to prepare for his wrath.
Though part of her thought her dad was the one who might need to prepare himself for her. She wasn’t the sheep who’d run from her wedding. She would speak her mind.
She pulled the car in front of the house, got out and headed for the main door. She stopped and took a breath. Then she twisted the knob, gave a push and called, “I’m home.”
Her father started down the quietly elegant wooden stairway, Charles behind him. “We know. We saw someone open the gate and alerted security. You’re lucky you weren’t arrested.”
He reached the bottom of the stairs. She longed to throw herself into his arms, to tell him her heart had been broken, to get the comfort only a father could give.
She straightened her shoulders. “It’s nice to see you, too, Dad.”
“You’re not getting snippy with me, are you?”
“No, but I’m also not going to play sheep anymore.”
His face contorted in confusion. “Sheep?”
“You and I will talk in a minute.” She looked past him, smiled warmly. “Charles.”
He reached out and hugged her, a soft, sweet hug that spoke of their friendship. She almost broke down. But they had things to talk about. She called upon the well of reserves she had way deep down inside her to keep her composure.
“Let’s go into the den.”
Charles said, “Sure.”
They headed to her dad’s den and the Colonel exploded. “What is going on here!”
“I’m going to talk to Charles, to apologize in person. Then I’m going to talk to you.”
“No! No! No!” her dad sputtered. “I’ve spent two weeks apologizing for you! I’ll have my time now!”
“I never asked you to apologize for me. But more than that, even you should respect Charles’s right to get a better explanation than the brief apology I gave him over the phone.”
She turned and walked with Charles into the den.
* * *
Riccardo counted the minutes it took to get from the small Lake Justice municipal airport to Monroe Vineyards. He’d gotten to his family’s private airstrip a few minutes too late and cursed Morgan’s ability to get away. He’d made a few calls and finally got a jet from a family friend and told the pilot to punch it, yet he’d still arrived in the United States an hour after Morgan.
When he got to the gate for Monroe Vineyards, he scanned his brain for the code to get inside, hoping they hadn’t changed it since the night after Morgan’s wedding, when he’d met with the Colonel to talk about him going after her. He punched in two sets of numbers before he got it right and suspected the wrong attempts had probably set off an alarm, but he didn’t care. He r
aced to the house, jumped out of his rental vehicle and ran to the front door.
When he stepped into the quiet, formal foyer, he met Colonel Monroe. “You’re the second person today to get inside my compound without my authorization.”
“You should change more than one number when you reset your gate lock.”
“There are twenty-four digits in that code. How did you know that I only changed one number? Better yet, how did you know what number changed?”
He hadn’t. He’d guessed. Still, he pointed at his temple. “Mind like a steel trap.” He looked around frantically. “Where’s Morgan?”
“Talking to Charles in the den. Seriously, they’ve been in there an hour. I tried to get in twice—she threated to disown me. What the hell did you do to her, son?”
“They’ve been in there an hour?”
“Yes! I think—”
“Don’t think!” he said, suddenly understanding Morgan’s frustration that day she’d told him not to think. “Which way is the den?”
“Down that hall and to the right, but—”
Riccardo didn’t hear the rest of what the Colonel said. He ran down the hall and whipped open the door. “Don’t get back together with him! You belong to me!”
It took a second for his surroundings to sink in, to see the brown leather sofa, huge mahogany desk, cold fireplace and two shell-shocked people.
“Riccardo?”
The man Riccardo assumed was Charles turned to Morgan. “This is Riccardo?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head with a laugh as he rose. He leaned down and kissed Morgan’s cheek. “We’ll talk again.”
Riccardo’s blood all but boiled. “No. You won’t.”
Charles laughed and left the room.
* * *
Morgan rose from the brown leather chair. “I belong to no one.” She said the words quietly, succinctly, but inside her heart thundered. She didn’t consider belonging to him as being a possession, but more of a commitment. But he’d hurt her, confused her so many times, he had some explaining to do.
He caught her hands, brought them to his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Fear raced through her. That didn’t sound like the declaration of a man who wanted her to belong to him.
