“Sarika…”
His beseeching tone whispered over her skin and tugged at her heart. She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and burrow into his side. But he didn’t love her. Wasn’t capable of loving her. She needed to expect more for herself, or she’d never receive it.
And she wanted it all. Deserved it all.
Injecting her spine with a healthy dose of resilience, she pulled her hand from his and stepped onto the pavement. The door slammed shut behind her with a heartbreaking thud.
Head down, lips pressed together to stop their trembling, she moved to the sidewalk and proceeded toward the hospital’s entrance as the limo, with Rafe inside, pulled away.
At first, she didn’t notice Santo walking beside her. When she did, she sighed. She didn’t want another bodyguard, but it was the one thing she’d agreed upon before leaving to attend Wellesley seven years ago. The Fabrizios were beyond wealthy, and although she might not have been born into it, Ana Lisa had made it clear Sarika was part of the family and must be protected.
She should be used to the constant shadow by now. Usually Santo stayed with Rafe, and she wondered why he’d followed her this time. To keep her in line? His team must have been ticked when she’d ditched the last guard in New York a few days ago. It had been childish, but she hadn’t wanted Rafe to know her destination. Of course, it hadn’t take him long to find her at the lake.
The heels of her sandals clicked across the white tile entryway. Her eyes widened in appreciation as she glanced around. The new wing of the hospital, built with Fabrizio money, was light and airy with warm, engaging colors. Most importantly, it didn’t smell like a hospital. The smell she’d come to dread when her mother was dying.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly at the memory. She still carried the sadness and fear from those dark, lonely days. Thank God Ana Lisa had been there for her. She’d brought Sarika back to live with her in Santa Barbara after the funeral.
At only nine years old, Sarika had missed her home and friends. Her school. Then Rafe had come to Big Bear to stay with them over the summer. He’d been an endless source of support and joy for her, spending time with her, teasing her, teaching her to swear in Italian and play soccer – or rather how to guard the net while Rafe tried to shoot the ball past her.
He and Ana Lisa had slowly made everything good again.
Sarika had to remember that. Things may be messed up between them now, but at one point in her life, Rafe had saved her. She cherished those memories and wouldn’t let the present circumstances tarnish all he’d done for her.
Santo’s touch on her elbow brought her back to the bustling hospital, and she followed him toward Ana Lisa’s private room. Knocking quietly, she opened the door to find her Godmother asleep on her bed, covered by a soft, pink quilt. Flowers and cards sat on a table under a large, bright window.
Moving forward to rest on the edge of the bed, Sarika gently took Ana Lisa’s hand in her own. The skin beneath her finger tips was paper-thin, causing her throat to tighten. Had Ana Lisa’s hand felt that way the last time Sarika had seen her? She searched her Godmother’s face, so frail against the pristine sheets, white hair falling loose across the pillow. The dear woman had always seemed infallible, with her big heart, firm voice, and strong opinions. All in a tiny, perfectly-groomed package.
Blinking back tears, Sarika pasted a smile on her face as Ana Lisa’s eyelids fluttered open. Kind, brown eyes crinkled with happiness. “Piccolo mio, I’m so happy they found you at last. Where have you been?” The familiar voice, still heavy with an Italian accent despite having lived in America for over fifty years, warmed Sarika.
“I was here, Zia, at the chalet. You must have fallen sick the day I left New York. I wanted some time to myself before coming to Santa Barbara. I intended to call you today and let you know I was back, but Rafe found me last night and told me you’d been ill.”
Ana Lisa cupped Sarika’s cheek, causing the tears to well again. She embraced her Godmother who made soothing noises and rubbed her hair. It should be the other way around. She should be the one soothing Ana Lisa.
With an exasperated sigh, Sarika pulled back and wiped her cheeks. “Rafe tells me the prognosis is good.”
“Si, but I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about you. When are you coming home for good?”
“I already have. I packed all my belongings and made arrangements for them to be shipped here. It took me a while to figure out where I belong, but I finally know it’s with you in Santa Barbara. I promise I won’t leave again.”
“This isn’t because of my little spell?”
“No. It’s been on my mind for a while. And what do you mean your little spell? It’s more than that and you know it. You have to do exactly as the doctor says, so you’ll be around for a long time yet. I want you to be Zia to my children, too.”
Ana Lisa nodded, a happy smile curving her lips. “But they’ll call me Nonna.”
“Yes, they will.” Sarika raised Ana Lisa’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “You’ve been so good to me. It was a lucky day when my mom met you all those years ago.”
Ana Lisa laughed. “Your mamma and I, so different and yet so similar. Italian and American. Me, a young mother. Her, a career girl, which was unexpected in those days. And then to have you so late in her life. It was a great shock, but your mother couldn’t have been happier.”
Ana Lisa’s smile changed as she studied Sarika,. “What about you, bambina. I sense a great sadness in you.”
Her chest tightened. Of course her Godmother would feel her pain.
“Is this about a man?” Ana Lisa asked. “Have you finally let someone in, and he’s hurt you?”
She dropped her head and nodded. “He left.” She suddenly felt like a child again. “Why do they always leave?”
“Ah, you speak of your father, the free-spirit Gypsy. Your mother loved him deeply, and I believe he loved her, but it was doomed to fail. He wasn’t a man to be pinned down.”
When Sarika had turned eighteen, she’d asked Rafe to locate her father. He’d protested at first, but Ana Lisa had intervened, knowing how important it was for Sarika to meet the Gypsy her mother had met and briefly married when she’d been working in Europe.
They discovered he’d died in Romania not long after her mother had died. Rafe had flown Sarika to his gravesite and held her while she’d cried.
Now, Ana Lisa looked heavenward and said, “Maybe they found peace together at last, God rest their souls.” She made the sign of the cross, kissing her fingertips at the end.
The familiar gesture comforted Sarika.
Ana Lisa patted her cheek. “Not all men are alike, bambina. My husband and father were good men. You will find someone worthy of you.”
“I know.” She shook off her gloomy thoughts. “In the meantime I have a new business I want to start with my friend Elena. That will keep me busy.”
“Not too busy, I hope.”
“I’ll always have time for you.”
After spending the next hour discussing Sarika’s plans and catching up on each other’s lives, Ana Lisa’s eyelids grew heavy.
Sarika rose from the bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her Godmother yawned. “Bring Rafael with you. He works too hard. Convince him to go to a film afterward or a walk down the pier. My grandson needs to find a woman and settle down, too.”
Sarika stiffened and glanced up, wondering if Ana Lisa was playing match-maker, but her Godmother had already fallen asleep.
Heading to the door, she was about to leave when Ana Lisa called out. “I forgot to tell you Adreana Casale is having a party tonight. I knew Rafael would find you in time, and I told her you would attend. Wear something pretty.”
The last thing she wanted to do was attend a party, but it meant a lot to Ana Lisa that someone from her family made an appearance. It was the least Sarika could do.
It wasn’t until she was halfway down the hall it
occurred to her Rafe might also be going.
But would he be going alone?
* * *
Rafe stared at the wafer thin laptop on his wide, exquisitely detailed, ebony desk. A report on the latest acquisition of the Fabrizio Group stared at him, waiting to be read, but he couldn’t get past the first sentence. He squeezed the gold pen he held, wishing it was a pencil so he could snap it in half. Instead he hurled it across the room until it smashed against the ivory-colored wall just inches from a priceless painting.
Damn it!
He shoved back his chair, uncaring that it had been painstakingly restored from its original eighteenth century construction, and stalked across the marble floor to the arched windows along the wall. The view displayed Santa Barbara in all its glory, past the red tile roofs, over the soaring palm trees, all the way to the mountains, the ocean, and the Channel Islands beyond.
He barely saw any of it.
His mind and heart tumbled with chaotic words and images of his botched proposal to Sarika this morning. Tumbled with feelings, too. Lots of feelings. Anger, fear, frustration. She would marry someone else. If not Berrucci, then another man. Anyone but Rafe because he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
Which was what? Love? What the hell was love, anyway? He loved Ana Lisa, he cared enough about Sarika to marry her, he would love their children. What more did she want?
Him, splayed out on a platter as she dissected every emotion, pulling and twisting until he was a bloody, chaotic mess. Like his father. A man who’d lost himself to his lover’s kiss.
That was love. That was what giving a woman everything did to a man. It ruined him.
And was Sarika worthy of that sacrifice? A woman who gave ultimatums, who’d turned to someone else when she didn’t get her own way, who refused to admit it? She was far from the virgin he’d taken to his bed almost two years ago, farther still from the sweet girl he’d met at the lake that summer.
She was just a woman he once knew and used to care about. His grandmother’s Goddaughter.
The sleek, black phone on his desk rang. His personal line. He walked toward it, afraid it was Sarika. When the final ring pealed, he cursed and grabbed the handset.
“Hello?”
“Buongiorno, mio nipote.” Ana Lisa’s voice rang down the line, sounding distressed.
Rafe’s hand tightened on the receiver. “Nonna, what’s wrong? Has the doctor said something? Are the test results back?” He looked at his watch, wondering how quickly he could get to the hospital during rush hour traffic.
“No, everything’s fine. I just woke from a nap. Sarika was here to visit earlier. Thank you for finding her.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How was she when you saw her?”
His stomach curdled at the question, and he took a deep, silent breath before answering. “She seemed fine. A little tired, maybe, and worried about you, of course.”
“Well, she’s not fine. She’s hurting inside. I can see it in her face and hear it in her voice. There was some man back in New York. He left her, Rafael.”
Rafe sank into his chair and pressed his fingers to his brow. What a mess. He could hear the outrage in his grandmother’s tone. Knew she took it as a personal offense that someone had hurt her beloved Goddaughter. Well what about her grandson? Sarika had hurt him, too. With her demands and sleeping with Berrucci.
Refusing his proposal.
What would Ana Lisa say about that? He sighed and leaned back in his chair. No matter what he’d said to Sarika this morning, he wasn’t about to find out.
“She’s not a child anymore, Nonna, you can’t heal every wound. She’ll forget this man, get married and have a family. It’s what she wants.” He forced the words past his constricted throat, fought for them to sound normal.
“Move into the villa with her, Rafael, so she’s not alone. Just until I come home.”
He sat forward. “Nonna, I don’t think that’s—”
“You will do this for me. It is not a request.”
The steel in Ana Lisa’s voice almost made him smile. Almost. It was a sign her strength returned, but it also felt like a primed guillotine. Live with Sarika? After everything that had happened between them? See her every morning knowing she’d turned him down flat and was looking for another man to marry?
It was out of the question.
“Rafael…”
He knew that tone of voice and sighed. “I’ll do it.”
“My sweet nipote. I’m so sorry your father and mother aren’t alive to see the fine man you’ve become. The accident took them far too early.”
Rafe pressed his fingers to his eyes as his jaw firmed. He chose a neutral response. “It’s been ten years.”
“I do miss my Antonio. And your mother, of course. I kept hoping she would release him at the end and grant him a divorce. They both would have been better off. Your father found happiness with that other woman; maybe your mother could have found someone, too.”
“Maybe.” The single word grated across his tongue.
A silence ensued, then he heard her sigh.
“You are upset with me. You do not like to speak of that difficult time in your life, but you need to, Rafael. You must let go of the past. Forgive your father, understand he loved that woman in a way he never did your mother. It was beyond his control.”
The words were like a match to kindling, and Rafe barely kept his temper in check. ‘Beyond his control’. That about said it all.
“Nonna, there is someone here. I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
“No, don’t come by tonight. I need you to take Sarika to the Casale’s tonight. The invitation is on the tray in the library. Until tomorrow, mio nipote.”
She hung up, and Rafe stared at the receiver. How had she done that? Pushed him into staying at the villa with Sarika and escorting her to the party, like he was still a teenager wearing his school uniform rather than a man of thirty. Old enough to know better. Old enough to say ‘no’.
And how in hell would he convince Sarika?
He wouldn’t. He’d just tell her. There was nothing either one of them could do about it.
Rising from the desk, he placed his laptop in its leather carrying case and strode across the marble floor toward the door. He’d head over to his grandmother’s villa and get it over with. Let Sarika get used to the idea before the party.
A confusing mix of dread and excitement fizzled in his stomach. He was halfway down the hall when a thought occurred to him and the fizzle soured. Maybe she already had plans for the party.
Maybe she wasn’t going alone.
Chapter Five
Rafe stepped out of his car onto the circular driveway in front of the Casale home in an area known as Hope Ranch. The scent of nearby lemon trees and roses engulfed him as he tossed the black, classic Ferrari keys to the valet. The young man’s eyes sparkled with excitement at the vintage car, but Rafe couldn’t respond in kind. First he’d have to unclench his jaw, and by now, the forbidding line of his mouth felt as if it were permanently etched.
As he made his way up the steps, the car’s engine throttled angrily behind him. He could relate. His mood had darkened as time had ticked by and Sarika hadn’t returned to Ana Lisa’s villa before the party. Finally, he’d contacted Santo who’d told him she was at Berrucci’s getting ready. Rafe had hung up, then contemplated calling the police and having the bastard arrested for theft.
Sarika belonged to him.
Knowing the thought was ludicrous, he’d resorted to pounding his fist on his desk like a six-year-old boy. He wished he’d been born in an earlier time so he could have just gutted Berrucci.
So much for getting over her.
Soft music, bursts of laughter, and the clink of glasses brought him back to the present as he entered the old, Spanish style home through an intricately carved wooden door. The restored, early twentieth century casa was stunning, a throwback to grander times with antique furniture, arched ceiling
s, and breathtaking artwork along the smooth plaster walls – plus all the conveniences of modern life.
A magnificent, crystal chandelier hung in the foyer as he walked across the mosaic tile to one of the ballrooms. The sight of expensive jewels, black tuxedos, and colorful dresses in an array of fabrics and styles greeted him. Most of the faces were familiar: old money, new money, politicians and designers, film stars and musicians.
He nodded and spoke briefly to people as he circled the crowd – like a shark, never stopping, looking for prey. For one woman in particular and her escort. He didn’t know what he would do when he found them, maybe brand himself a fool in front of Santa Barbara’s esteemed society.
Or he could turn and walk away. He’d done it before, at Ana Lisa’s birthday party last year – refused to look back at Sarika and Berrucci together. And where had that landed him?
In Hell.
Unable to sleep or think about anything but long black hair and wild green eyes. Wishing the phone would ring, dreading the phone would ring. Listening for her voice, her laugh.
Out of control.
His eyes sharpened, and he stopped abruptly as he saw Berrucci in a corner talking to someone. Rafe couldn’t see who it was, but from Berrucci’s intimate posture, protective and possessive like a great cat wanting to pounce, it was obviously a woman. A delicate hand lifted to rest on his forearm.
Sarika’s?
Rafe tried to head back the way he’d come, but his muscles had locked in place. Burning heat rose through his body, causing his hands to fist so tightly he thought his fingers might snap. Deep in his chest, a roar built and rumbled up his throat as he stepped forward.
Then Sarika and another woman came into view on the other side of the ballroom.
Rafe stopped in shocked surprise as they approached Berrucci, who moved back, revealing the woman he’d been talking to. She was tall and willowy with a sweeping brown bob. Nothing like the women Berrucci usually dated; women like Sarika who were dazzling in their appearance. No, this woman possessed a soft beauty that grew on you.
The Fabrizio Bride Page 4
