America's Star-Crossed Sweethearts

by Jackie Braun

  Atlanta’s expression softened with understanding. “So, baseball saved your life.”

  He nodded. “That’s why it’s all I can imagine doing, even though I know I can’t do it forever. Given your circumstances, you probably feel the same about acting.”

  A shadow passed over her face. “I love it. And you’re right. Acting saved me in a way, too.” It was gone by the time she went on. “But if I never starred in another movie like the ones I’ve been making for the past decade, I’d be okay with that.”

  “Liar,” he taunted, sure she couldn’t mean it.

  But her tone was emphatic. “I’m being honest, Angelo. I’m tired of the roles I’ve been playing. I’ve wanted to move in a different direction for a while now. During the past few years I’ve been approached by indie film makers with screenplays that have had me salivating despite the low pay and nearly nonexistent production budgets.”

  “What’s stopped you from doing them?”

  “Zeke.” She shook her head then. “No. That’s too neat of an explanation and not entirely accurate. The messier truth is I’ve been afraid. The moviegoing public loves Atlanta Jackson, the vulnerable vixen. But would they love me in a less-than-sexy role?”

  Surprised, he asked, “Is that the kind of part you want to play?”

  “If it had some real meat. I’ve also given some thought to directing. I’ve learned a lot from my time in front of the camera.” She lifted her hands. “The bottom line is I want to be taken seriously, Angelo.”

  “I take you seriously.”

  His reply had her flustered again. She rallied quickly. “Thank you. Unfortunately, in my business, women, especially attractive women, only seem to earn accolades when their looks are diminished.”

  “You want more recognition in the industry?”

  “Of course I do. But ultimately I want what that represents.”

  “Respect.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I want from my peers in the industry.”

  “You don’t think you have it now?” he asked in disbelief. “I’m betting most actors would give their eye-teeth to be you or to have the chance to work with you. You’re one of the hottest properties on the planet, Atlanta. Plunk you in the lead role and, no matter what the movie is about, it’s destined to become a blockbuster and rake in millions if not billions of dollars worldwide.”

  “That’s not a commentary on my talent. It only means that fans like the way I look and they’ve gobbled up all of the poor-little-rich-girl stories Zeke planted in the media over the years. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had. At one point the money was enough to keep me happy and make me feel safe.”

  “Safe? That’s an odd word choice.”

  “Um, you know, secure. Financially speaking.” Despite the hasty clarification, he didn’t think that was really what Atlanta meant. Since he’d just bared his soul, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that she was still holding back. She was saying, “I’ve got more money than I can spend in this lifetime, assuming Zeke’s palimony suit doesn’t leave me in the poorhouse.”

  “The guy is suing you for palimony?” he asked incredulously.

  She rattled off a monthly sum that left Angelo staggered. “He claims he neglected other business opportunities in order to put my career first.”

  “He’s also claiming you did the horizontal mambo with his son and half the men in Hollywood. We both know the guy is delusional.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what? For paying attention? I may not have known you long, Atlanta, but it’s plain to me the kind of person you are…and the kind of person you aren’t.”

  She swallowed and shrugged. “That’s neither here nor there. Getting back to my point, despite being money-makers, only a couple of my movies received positive reviews. The majority were panned.”

  “To hell with the critics.” Angelo fumed on her behalf. He’d endured similar armchair analyses from so-called experts over the years. “What do they know?”

  She sighed. “They know good acting, and so do I. I’m capable of it, too. I just haven’t found the right vehicle to stretch my talent. With Zeke, it became increasingly clear over the past few years that I never would. Every time I wanted to so much as read a script from a little-known screenwriter or got wind of a project that didn’t require me to show my cleavage, he vetoed it.”

  “Is that why you finally left him?”

  “I’d had enough,” she said softly.

  “Good for you.”

  “When I first met Zeke, I thought he was my savior, but it turned out I’d merely traded one male keeper for another.”

  “How so?”

  She blinked as if just realizing what she’d said. He doubted she knew how haunted or sad she looked. It was her expression that kept him from pushing when she said, “We’ll save that for another day. Do you realize it’s nearly midnight?”

  He stood and came around the table, where he offered her his hand. “Tomorrow then.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked as she rose to her feet.

  “Tomorrow is another day. We can pick up where we left off. We could do dinner again.”

  “Angelo—”

  “You don’t have to tell me any deep, dark secrets. But if you do, you can trust me not to share anything I learn with another person.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it. “You’ll find me a good listener, Atlanta. Every bit as good as you were tonight when I bared my soul.”

  “Then maybe you’ll take a bit of advice. You’re here to see your father, Angelo. You can’t keep avoiding him by spending all of your time with me.”

  “You’re the only reason this trip is tolerable.” When Atlanta opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Don’t worry about Luca. My father and I will have our talk. A family gathering is planned. I’ll see him then and get to meet the rest of the clan.” He couldn’t quite keep the dread from his tone.

  “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as all that.”

  “Maybe not.” He smiled. “You and I will skip out early. I see no point in staying for more than a few introductions and some small talk.”

  That had Atlanta blinking. “You’re asking me to come with you?”

  “I could use an ally.”

  “It’s a family party, Angelo.”

  “They’re strangers,” he corrected. “The only thing we have in common is DNA.”

  He thought of Isabella and guilt nipped. The description didn’t seem fair. His sister was kind, interesting and spirited. He liked her, admired her. The fragile bond he already felt went beyond the Casali blue eyes and a blunt chin. Under other circumstances…

  But the circumstances couldn’t be changed, which meant he was left to make the best of them.

  “There’s no need to give me your answer right now. You can think about it. As for tomorrow, I’ll call early in the day, so you can figure out what our plans will be and what I should wear.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “You want me to tell you what to wear?”

  “No. I just want to be with you. But if that’s what it takes…”

  He pulled her tight against him and kissed her with more passion than was wise. Was he testing her or testing himself? She sighed her consent as their lips parted. A moment later, however, her tone was no breathy whisper when she added, “We need to get one thing straight.”

  “And that is?” He ran his knuckles down the sides of her ribcage before resting his hands on her waist and was pleased when he felt her tremble.

  Her voice remained steady and strong when she said, “We share the decision-making. Okay?”

  As he lowered his mouth to hers for the second time, he whispered, “I’ve got no problem with that.”

  Atlanta was still in bed when Angelo called the following morning.

  And the morning after that.

  And the morning after that.

  It became their habit to spend the better part of the day tog
ether and then share the evening meal. In addition to eating in, they’d dined at nearly every place in Monta Correnti. Except for Rosa and Sorella, of course.

  Afterward, they talked, kissed and bade one another goodnight. It was unexpected and sweet. What was happening between them was neither friendship nor a fling. An exact definition failed her, but she knew one thing: it was becoming an exquisite kind of torture.

  On this morning, Angelo’s deep voice reached through the phone like a caress.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  She’d barely slept at all. Again. Between Angelo’s increasingly bold kisses and her barely restrained responses to those kisses, she’d passed the better part of another night tossing and turning. While her legs had become tangled in the sheets, her mind had been free to roam. Time and again it strayed to sex…with Angelo. If the skill he’d shown with his mouth was any indication, the ultimate act would be good. Very good. At least from her perspective. But how would he rate the experience? Old insecurities bubbled back.

  Zeke had been critical of her lovemaking.

  “It’s a good thing your male fans aren’t privy to how inept you are in the sack, love. Ticket sales would tank.”

  The memory had her stammering as she tried to speak to Angelo now.

  “I…I…”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  His voice held humor, but it wasn’t directed at her. She pulled the lapels of her silk pajamas together, gathered her wits and struggled to a sitting position.

  “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “Do you really have to ask? I think you know what I’d like to do today. It’s the same thing I wanted to do last night and the night before and the night before.”

  Atlanta levered the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her staggered breathing. Angelo broke the silence with a chuckle.

  “Okay, I won’t go there.” Laughter rumbled again before he lowered his voice. In a silken whisper he added, “Yet. The day’s young. There’s plenty of time to revisit my original answer later on.”

  “Sightseeing!” she all but shouted.

  “Sightseeing?”

  In a less zealous tone, she told him, “The woman who owns the villa I’m renting said some medieval fortress ruins are located not that far away. We’d have to drive some and then walk a ways since they are on a remote hilltop, but I’m up for some exercise.”

  “So am I,” he quipped. “Or at least I can be at a moment’s notice.”

  Despite her popping hormones, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’m talking about walking, Angelo.”

  “There are other, more stimulating ways to increase your heart rate, you know.”

  “Yes. A simple conversation with you is one of them.” She waited for his comeback, something cocky and off-color, but the phone line remained silent. “Angelo?”

  “You shouldn’t tell a guy something like that,” he said at last, sounding much too serious.

  “Why?”

  “It might give him ideas.”

  “From what I can tell, you have plenty of ideas already.” Feeling emboldened, she took the initiative to flirt. “What are you wearing?”

  “You want to know what I’m wearing?” It was apparent in his tone that her boldness took him aback.

  She laughed. “I’m wearing a cotton sheet and a smile. So, what about you?”

  “Apparently one article of clothing too many. But that’s easy enough to remedy,” he assured her. “Hang on a minute, okay?”

  “Angelo?” She got no response. Had he put down the receiver? She heard a creaking noise. Were those…bedsprings? Surely not. Even so, her grip tightened on the lapels of her pajama top and she had to pull it out from her chest a few times to cool her suddenly heated skin.

  Angelo came back on the line then. “Do you want to know what I’m wearing now, Atlanta?”

  His words held a dare. She nearly backed down. Basta. She’d had enough of meekness.

  “I think I can guess,” she told him. “Hmm. Let’s see. A smile?”

  “That’s a given. What else?”

  The seductive voice that replied was one she barely recognized as her own. Even while filming a love scene on the set, she’d never sounded like this, nor had she ever felt this way around a man. Confident. Powerful. Sexy and in control.

  You’re worthless, Jane. Worthless. You can’t do anything right. Just like your mother.

  Body of a centerfold and no clue how to use it. Good thing your fans can’t see into our bedroom.

  She banished the ugly memories and embraced the moment instead. “You do know that that sheet is optional, right?”

  “Same goes.”

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “You’re not wearing a sheet.”

  “I’m not.” She fingered the fabric-covered button between her breasts. Before she could fathom what she was doing, she’d fished it one-handed through its hole. A second one followed before she asked, “Does this constitute phone sex?”

  “No. It’s more like phone foreplay. For the record, I prefer to do both in person. I can be at your villa in fifteen minutes if I don’t bother with stop signs and get lucky on those hairpin turns.”

  “A tempting offer.” She meant it. Should she say yes? She wanted to. But the power she’d felt just a moment earlier proved fleeting. Her hand stilled on the third button. “You can take your time getting here, though. The ruins aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Sure?”

  She chose to be obtuse. “They haven’t in half a dozen centuries or so.”

  “Your next movie should be a comedy,” he grumbled. She heard him exhale then and thought he might have cursed. “Let’s say an hour. That will give me enough time to take a long shower of the cold variety.”

  They were playing with fire, Angelo decided as he hung up the phone and reached for the boxer shorts he’d just tugged off and tossed over the side of the bed. Even so, being burned was low on his list of concerns. Need held the top stop. He’d never met a woman who had tied him in such knots, and in so short a time. He was desperate to have her. More damning, he was desperate just to be with her.

  It was crazy, outrageous. They’d known each other mere days, had only shared a handful of kisses and some sexy banter.

  He dropped back on the mattress. No, he reminded himself. They’d shared much more than that. He’d shared his life story, laid out all of the ugly details for her inspection. She’d listened. More, she’d accepted and understood. She’d encouraged him to quit avoiding his father, to look beyond career.

  What was her life story? He knew some of it from their conversations and he’d guessed a little more. To his surprise, he wanted to know it all, to return the favor of being a good sounding board. Professionally and personally, she was at the same crossroads as he. Despite his relationship with his twin, Angelo had always been a bit of a loner. He preferred it that way. I’m scared. At the time he’d made that confession, he’d been referring to his career. Now, it was the unprecedented press of emotions he felt where Atlanta was concerned that left him shaken.

  He took his time getting to her villa, arriving an hour later than he’d planned. She was sitting at the wrought-iron table in the courtyard. She had what appeared to be a script folded open in front of her. The fingers of her right hand were curled around a tiny porcelain cup. She wore sunglasses, her lips were slicked with a sheer gloss and she’d pulled her hair back into a simple ponytail. She looked every bit as lovely as she did done up to the nines for the red carpet.

  His heart knocked unsteadily, and the disturbing mix of emotions he’d spent the better part of an hour relegating to the background surged to the fore again. He took the seat opposite hers and pretended not to have a care in the world.

  “Tell me that’s espresso you’re drinking and that there’s more where it came from.”

  “Yes to both of your questions.” She smiled. “I take it you want some.”

  “I do.”


  She set the script aside and started to rise, but Angelo stopped her by reaching for her demitasse cup and finishing off its contents.

  “I couldn’t resist.” He set the cup back on its saucer and stretched out his legs, resting his size eleven sneakers on either side of her dainty navy-and-white skimmers. Keep it light, he ordered himself. Keep it casual. “I’ve got an espresso machine at home. It’s this big, expensive thing that was imported from Italy. But the stuff I make doesn’t come out tasting anything like yours. Maybe you should move in with me and every cup would be perfect.”

  Her expression dimmed. “I thought we agreed to be real with one another? That sure sounded like an old Angelo come-on line to me.”

  “It was. Habit.” One that ensured a certain measure of emotional distance. He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” She accepted his apology with a nod. “And for the record, I moved in with a man once before for all the wrong reasons. I don’t plan to make that mistake again.”

  His gut clenched at the thought of her setting up housekeeping with someone else. Jealousy? He didn’t want to think so. Curiosity was more like it. And so he asked, “Why did you move in with Zeke?”

  “In part, because I thought he needed me. He did, too. Not as a life partner, not as a partner of any sort.”

  “But as someone to control,” he finished for her.

  “Yes.” Her smile was sad. “That lump of clay you once referenced.”

  “You didn’t appreciate my saying so, as I recall.”

  Was that really mere days ago?

  “No. Despite everything, I guess I wasn’t ready to hear it, especially from someone else. The fact I allowed him to mold me is as much my fault as his.”

  “I disagree, but you know that. Did…did you love him?”

  “Maybe. I wanted to.” She swallowed and her gaze left Angelo’s to focus instead on something behind him. “Even more, I wanted to be loved. That probably sounds so pathetic.”

  Not so pathetic, Angelo thought as realization dawned.

  “I wanted to be loved, too,” he began. “You and I just went about it differently.”