“You’re going to be made love to.”
“Oh. Okay.” Searching his eyes, she grabbed his shoulders and held on as he rocked into her with a few deliberate thrusts. Locking together, they moved slowly until sweat coated them both.
He wanted to love her for the rest of their lives. When they came, it left them weak, exhausted and so intoxicated that they lay together on top of the sheets, not exactly sure what had just happened but glad that it had. And it fulfilled them both so unexpectedly that Bindi forgot to run to the shower and Santino forgot that sleep didn’t come easy.
*
It was past midnight when Bindi awoke next to Santino. They got up leisurely, enjoying these quiet minutes in a darkened room, showering together and then dressing to face the outside world together.
They separated outside her building, taking separate vehicles to the same destination. The hospital where Alessandro was under close watch was a striking building gloriously illuminated at night. The landscaping was humble yet creative, and she admired the care taken to the topiaries. Professionals were recruited and trusted to bring this type of artistic blessing to commercial grounds all the time. Maybe one day she could be a professional and share her designs and visions with clients.
Someone—her someone—loved her. Anything was possible.
Bindi slipped past the throng of reporters while they were distracted by Santino. Once safely inside, they joined his brother in the psychiatric ward’s waiting room. Two chairs were available, and when Santino made his choice, she had the option to step away and stand near the refreshments bar, or sit between the two brothers. One loved her; the other didn’t particularly like her.
But that was the thing with families. Not everyone meshed, but somehow you found a way to fit together or you gravitated elsewhere.
Bindi sat on the vacant chair, and out of her periphery, she saw Nate shift his arm to free up the armrest between them. “Thanks,” she mumbled, even though the single word felt inadequate. She propped her elbow up and silently sighed, content for this shard of a moment.
“Visitors for Alessandro Franco?”
The three glanced up in unison at a man who introduced himself as Doctor Gomez.
“Are you three his children?”
Santino and Nate looked at her, and she felt her skin flush. “No,” she clarified. “They are. But I’m Al’s ex-fiancée and I’m in love with his son, Santino. May I visit him anyway?”
Orderlies crossing the space had a hitch in their step as they eavesdropped.
“Uh…” Doctor Gomez stammered. “Yeah. Yes, uh, you may see him.”
Bindi got up but first knelt in front of Santino. “I love you. Okay? I don’t know if it’s a good thing for you, or if staying in Las Vegas is even the best decision for me, or if one of us is going to end up hurt because of it, but I do love you. It just seemed a lot like lying to not tell you.”
Before he could comment, she straightened and added, “Come with me to see your father.” After a moment, he followed her and the doctor to Al’s visitation room. The room was small, but not as sterile as she’d seen on television and in films. The space was simply decorated with neutral tones of paint and windows set high on the walls.
Alessandro sat at a table, his hair a youthful black but his face that of an old and tired man. “Santino,” he said, lifting his arms up as if to embrace his son.
“No contact,” a stern voice warned. Two uniformed police officers were hovering close and a nurse was stationed at each of the four corners of the visitation room. A high-profile patient who was connected to NFL scandal and had given a confession that had landed a ruthless casino owner in custody got the psyche ward star treatment.
“Nate’s here, too,” Santino said to his father as he and Bindi sat across from Alessandro. “He’s waiting outside. Look, your attorneys resigned. You need representation. We—we— Dammit, Dad, we started to think you were dead and then we find out that you tried to kill yourself.”
“When it happened, I thought of you and Nate and I wanted to see my boys. It was already done but I wanted to live for you and your brother. Do you…” His voice shook. “Do you hate me?”
Bindi turned slightly toward Santino. What would he say? Hate made severing a complicated relationship easier.
But as always, Santino placed honesty over taking the easy route. “I don’t hate you, Dad. You’re sick, you need help and you need to answer for the hell you and Gian brought down. But I love you, if that makes a difference.”
Alessandro nodded and his mouth stayed shut in a firm line. When he lifted his head as Santino rose from the table to leave the visitation room, his eyes were rimmed in red. “So, Bindi Paxton. If you knew then what you know now, would you have still accepted my ring?”
“What would be the point of answering that, Al?” When he appeared crestfallen, she approached her response from a different angle. “I’m not proud of the reasons why I took your ring, but I’m not sorry I met you. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but because of you I met Santino. I love him. He loves me.”
“You’re going to take his ring?”
She didn’t dare look behind her, but hoped that Santino had already left. “He hasn’t offered one. I don’t want a diamond. I want more out of a relationship than that. Like a home or a sense of belonging—things like that.” Bindi openly studied his thickly bandaged arms, and it hurt her square in the chest to think of him parting flesh and vein and tendons to escape what he’d done. “Al?”
“Yes?”
“It gets better, if you let it. And I forgive you.”
When Bindi returned to her seat in the waiting room, she saw Santino walking toward the stairwell with an intimidating goliath of a man. “What’s Marshall Blue doing here?” she asked Nate, who remained seated even though Santino had said they had agreed to shifts.
“His exact words were, ‘In times of personal crisis, I like to focus on business. Let’s talk business. It won’t take long,’” Nate relayed, leaning forward to prop his forearms on his thighs. “I was about to go, but I’m staying to find out what the hell he wants.”
“Still excited to be marrying into the Blue family?” she murmured discreetly.
“Ask Lottie if she’s excited to be marrying into the Franco family. Thing is, I don’t think of it that way. I’m marrying Charlotte and only Charlotte.”
Bindi smiled and she thought for a flicker of a second that he’d smiled back.
True enough, in a Las Vegas minute Santino was heading back their way.
“What did Marshall want?” his brother asked without preamble.
“To offer me a job. There’s a weakness in offensive coordinating. He wants a meeting at the stadium this week. I didn’t say yes or no.”
Bindi didn’t mind that his brother assailed him with hushed questions; she was speechless. Marshall Blue had offered a Franco a job within his franchise? Nate had resigned from his athletic trainer position after his first camp under Blue leadership—but that probably had everything to do with him wanting to keep up a relationship with his colleague Charlotte.
What kind of business strategy were the Blues trying to put into place?
Bindi didn’t ignore the thought that if Santino accepted the position, he’d be staying in Las Vegas. As for her, she couldn’t go home again, as her friend Toya had, but could she stay in this city where she had no chance of being constantly reminded of her past mistakes?
Could she really walk away from the man she loved, even if it allowed her to walk away from her old self?
*
Alessandro missed Gloria. He missed the moments in which he could be certain she was near, could hear her voice and know that he was loved. The love of a patient and tough woman was a miracle amongst life’s tragedies.
Yet he didn’t miss the consequences of being visited by his wife. Today he’d seen his sons, and though their heartbreak was still evident on their stoic faces, he was at peace beyond the deep throbbing pain in his woun
ds.
“One more visitor,” a guard told him when he started to push back from the table.
Settling back in the seat, he froze as Marshall Blue was escorted into the room. Marshall, with his coffee-colored skin and hard, angry expression, was a giant in size and power, who could pulverize with his fists or with a business move—Al had realized that. Still, he’d crafted lies against the man out of desperation.
Why weren’t the guards protecting him? Why had they allowed Marshall to enter this room, when the papers and internet were chock-full of the details of bad blood between them? Why did everyone want to see him hurt, when losing his wife had hurt worse than any physical pain could?
“Guard, you want to escort him out?” Al demanded when Marshall was next to the table. “Guard!”
“Calm down, Alessandro Franco,” Marshall Blue said, as if he had all of eternity to do what he’d come here to do. “I’m not here to harm you. You’re under protection.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Wise man. You’re not all gone up here.” Marshall tapped his temple. “I have something for you. It’s a privilege, and I’ll be taking it back when I leave. We’re just going to have a conversation now.”
Warily, Alessandro sat silent as Marshall smoothed his custom designer suit down the front, unbuttoned the jacket and sat down opposite him. On the table he set down a brand-new pack of playing cards.
Alessandro sighed weakly. Opening the box would aggravate his wounds. The pain medication was beginning to lose its potency. “Cards?”
“I’ll open them. I can shuffle them if you can’t.”
Alessandro moistened his lips. They’d become so dry and cracked in Sicily. He waited for Marshall Blue to clear the stack of the box, and then he set them facedown on the table. “Simple game today, Alessandro. War.”
“Okay.” Alessandro shuffled despite the ache in his fresh wounds. The crisp cards fell into formation magnificently. “And what is it that you have to tell me while we play?”
“I’ve offered your son Santino a job on my team. Offensive coordinator position. His stats are impeccable, and I received some privileged information that he had been in training for a year to return to the field in a jersey. It’s not going to happen for him, though. If he didn’t already tell you, let him do it in his own time. But I want you to know that I am looking out for your boys.”
“What about Nate?”
“Nate is engaged to my daughter, Charlotte.”
“Bella Charlotte.” Alessandro shook his head, bewildered. He was missing everything, and for what?
“When he marries my daughter, he’ll become part of my family whether he accepts that or not. I’ll watch out for your children, Alessandro. That is something you can trust.”
Alessandro began to deal the cards, slowly, solemnly. “Why help me?”
“I have a wife that I love.”
“My wife. My Gloria…”
Marshall nodded slightly as Alessandro continued to deal. “Tell me about your wife.”
Chapter 12
Bindi didn’t find herself sitting at the rear of a synagogue because she had made a firm life-directing decision. She was here for quiet and to better remember her maternal grandmother, who’d asked her to consider remembering all the facets of her that made her an individual—that made her Bindi Paxton.
She was Christian, Jewish, African-American, German, Polish, Armenian, Native American—and yet she was none of those things, living disconnected from everything that made her Bindi Paxton. The pressure to choose, to settle on an alliance, was one she resisted. All or none was the choice she’d given herself when she’d left her parents’ home ten years ago.
Today, she wondered if any religion would have her and all the issues she came with. Sitting with her black lace-gloved hands folded in her lap and the lace trim of her scarf tickling the sides of her face, she sat quietly and wondered if the rabbi would notice her.
“Have you come to pray?” he asked before she realized that he watched her with a peaceful curiosity.
Bindi shook her head. “I’m not a member.”
“Are you Jewish?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and expected irritation.
But the rabbi only nodded.
“Rabbi?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know much about religion, but my heritage is complicated and part of my family practices Christianity while another part practices Judaism. I don’t want to choose, but…I want to belong to somebody—to something.”
“Hybrid religious identities are becoming more common,” the rabbi shared, moving so slowly his robes barely rustled. “We will welcome and accept you should you choose Judaism or a hybrid religious identity. Please don’t take the decision lightly. Why is it so important to you? I’d like to hear your answer to that.”
“Because…” Well, why was it? “Because I don’t belong anywhere. I belong to me…and I’m important.”
“Who says you’re important?”
“I do. I love myself.”
Smiling, the rabbi nodded.
“May I sit here for a few more minutes?” Bindi asked, smiling, too.
“Of course.”
Bindi wasn’t waiting for anything, just sitting still and listening to nothing. Who she would be and where she would go was truly a decision that only she could make. The reality of it made her feel alone yet brave.
There was that, too. Bindi Paxton was brave.
*
It was raining when Bindi turned away from her windowsill plants and called Santino’s phone. When he answered, she blurted, “I love you.”
“I love you,” he said. “I think we should start all of our phone calls off like that.”
“I want to see you. Are you home?”
“I’m going to be someplace else, actually. Write this address down?”
Bindi jotted it on a grocery list pad and rushed through her apartment to dress up her button-down shirt and sexy jeans with tall brown boots, a hunter-green jacket and tons of mismatched beaded bracelets. Rainy days were excellent days to make life-sculpting decisions.
They were also terrible days to leave the house without any hair coverage other than a glossy magazine. She stopped in front of a stone-fronted house that looked like it might belong to a wealthy fairy-tale giant that knew zilch about landscaping.
Getting out of the Grand Cherokee, she walked around the front of the vehicle, holding the magazine in place on top of her head. As she neared the veranda, her jacket began to feel heavy from all the absorbed rainwater.
Santino, way too sexy for a rainy day in a dark gray suit and white shirt, opened the door before she made it up the steps. Instead of letting her in, he joined her outside and took her free hand. “This way.”
“This feels a little covert. Whose house is this? Is this what you experienced when I asked you to bring a car seat to my apartment?”
“First, what do you think of all these hedges and shrubs and trees?”
“They have potential,” she said slowly. “A little TLC from somebody with an eye for it, and repairing the entire law isn’t insurmountable.”
“How much time do you think that’d take?”
“A bit. This property is…wow. The grounds are all the privacy anyone could want in this part of Las Vegas.” Now the rain was stroking into her hair in spite of her efforts to shield it. She lowered the magazine. “So whose property?”
“Mine.”
“You own this house? Why did you buy it?”
“So my someone could have somewhere to belong.”
Bindi laughed, or was it a cry? She didn’t know if the wetness on her face was from the rain or her tears, but she didn’t care as she grabbed his face and kissed him. “You know what someone and somewhere mean?”
“I picked up on them when you and your friend referenced them.”
“And you bought a place that I could belong to? But Las Vegas…”
“If you don’
t want Las Vegas, you don’t have to have it. Your future is your choice. But I’m here to tell you that this house will be here. And I want you here. With me. Because I love you, and no, I don’t want you to run away from Las Vegas and what you did wrong. Leaving a place doesn’t mean you can escape what you’re running from. My father tried that.”
Bindi dropped her forehead to his chest. He raised a couple of damn good points. Running wouldn’t guarantee that she could forget who she used to be. Still, she was free to do as she pleased.
“Fight for happiness. Fight for this—you and me.”
They were a this now. And he was her someone. He was already fighting to keep her in his life because he loved her. Sometimes love meant letting go. But other times, like right now, it meant trusting someone to protect you.
“What’s inside the house right now?” she asked, looking up at him.
“A baby grand piano and a box of random novelty stuff.”
“You rescued them!” Just like he rescued her, and let her rescue him.
“If you want, I can teach you to play.”
“So you’ll teach me piano and I can teach you how to conquer this landscaping dilemma? The only other thing I can offer you is love.”
“Love?”
She nodded. “That’s all.”
“That’s everything, Bindi.”
Bindi looked from him to the massive house. No, home. Their home. With massive, sturdy trees that’d make perfect structures to choose for a swing. If not for a child someday, then for her. “Take me home.”
Kissing her, he took her hand and they raced through the rain to get cracking on their future.
*
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