Can't Stop Loving You

by Miranda Liasson

  Roman cleared his throat. “Mr. D’Angelo, I’m here to run my grandfather’s farm. I hope we can be neighborly to one another.” He came forward, hand extended. But the old man didn’t budge.

  Instead, Vito made an unpleasant sound. A grunt.

  “Pop, he was helping me with the dog.” Bella walked over to her brother. “Let’s go home.”

  Vito shifted his weight and addressed Roman. “Your grandparents were good people and good neighbors. I respected them, no matter what happened between you and my daughter. But I will not conduct my business next to you.”

  Roman didn’t care about the old man. He focused on Bella, who had hesitated before entering the woods. They’d had enough ugliness twelve years ago. Somehow, he had to prevent this from getting out of control. For her sake.

  “Pop, come on.” She was pleading with him. Roman hated to see it.

  “Leave me to my business, Bella,” Vito said.

  Bella looked at Roman. He saw the apology in her eyes even before she mouthed, I’m so sorry. To her father, she said, “I can’t be a part of this. I’m going back home. Come on, Joe.”

  Joe took the leash from his sister and followed, not saying anything. He didn’t even look at Roman.

  “Vito, stop!” They all turned to see a tiny powerhouse of a woman stalking over in her black skirt and Doc Martens. Roman’s mother, who clearly hadn’t left when she was supposed to. “You haven’t changed in all these years, have you?” she said, stopping in front of Vito. “Not one bit.”

  Vito rolled his eyes. “Marjorie, don’t you have something better to do? Like run your peace talks someplace else.”

  Unintimidated, Marjorie got in Vito’s face. “Give these kids a break. What harm does it do to be neighborly?”

  “I understand these things,” Vito said. “Once you are addicted to a drug, you can’t stop. Why put the temptation next door?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Dad,” Bella said. She frowned at Roman, clearly not liking the idea that he could be her crack or something. Despite the tension, he almost laughed.

  “They’re adults, Vito,” Marjorie said. “Leave them be.”

  “I will not. Look what happened the first time.”

  “Give them some credit. The condom broke.”

  “Mom! TMI there,” Roman called, looking over at Joe, who was biting back a chuckle.

  “Look,” Marjorie said, “I appreciate all that you did for my parents. Now I’m asking you to extend the same courtesy to my son.”

  “I can’t do that, Marjorie, I’m sorry. I liked your parents. They were good people. But this—this is too much.” He turned to Roman. “I can’t stop you from what you’re doing, but I’m not going to make it easy for you. I respected your grandfather, but not you. I control the pond for irrigation. And from now on, it’s off limits. I catch you stealing my water, and I’ll report you to the police. You hear that?”

  “Vito, no,” Francesca said.

  “I’m going back to my lunch,” he said and stalked off.

  Despite the fact that the old man was trying to ruin him and his grandfather’s orchard, Roman found himself smiling a little. Because Bella looked so mortified. Because he wanted her to know that her father no longer had any power over him. He didn’t, really. And he certainly didn’t care to expend the energy to maintain an old vendetta that was best left behind them. He just wanted very badly to make her feel better.

  She caught his gaze and gave him a quick, succinct nod. One that said, He is the way he is, but he’s not me. Her aunt patted Bella on the shoulder as they all entered the path in the woods, the dog leading the way.

  Roman put his arm around his mother. “Maybe you should’ve worked for the UN or something.”

  Marjorie rolled her eyes. “He acts like an old man, and he’s only fifty. I just don’t get that.”

  “Maybe he’ll chill out with time.” He doubted it, but he wanted his mom to feel better, too. They began to walk up the sloping hill back to the house. “Out of curiosity, what exactly did Vito ever do for Gram and Gramps?”

  She sighed. “He’s a good cook, did you know that? He’d bring over food. And home-grown vegetables. And when Gram’s dementia got bad, she started wandering over there for a while, and he always helped her back home. He’s not a bad man. He’s just very protective of his daughter.”

  Roman saw his mom off, then went inside to change out of his wet clothes. And thought about Bella. He’d forgotten how she could do spontaneous things and take him along for the ride. Today he’d seen a glimpse of the fun-loving, spunky girl she’d been. Not the cool, guarded, serious woman from the other night.

  But he had to be careful. He couldn’t allow the thought of her to take him over, as it had once upon a time. As she still might be capable of doing, as it seemed every nerve in his body had the tendency to go haywire in her presence. Maybe there was something to that crack idea, after all.

  No, their past was said and done. It would be ridiculous to get to know her again, let alone start something. Especially with a stubborn Italian man next door who hated his guts.

  There were plenty of nice women in Mirror Lake, and he was certain he could run into a few on a late-summer’s night when the air was just starting to get a chill. In fact, that could be just the remedy for his ails.

  And he had to stop trying to be a nice guy. That was one of his problems. An overly developed sense of responsibility. Rescuing people who didn’t need or want rescuing. He had to fight it. He would just do his business on his own property and stay clear of Vito D’Angelo and his sassy daughter.

  Bella’s and his past was more twisted than a soft pretzel. Too much water had passed under that bridge. Too much hurt—no, devastation. He’d be a fool not to realize that no matter how much his body lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree in her presence still, after all these years, some hurts were far too deep to ever be forgotten.

  CHAPTER 6

  Twelve Years Earlier

  “Do you always study?” Roman asked one morning as he sat in the library next to Bella, sharing her copy of The Scarlet Letter. He’d forgotten his . . . on purpose, and he was enjoying smelling her freshly shampooed hair and watching her concentrate intently on the page they were discussing from a closer vantage point than usual.

  She looked up, surprised. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, what else do you do, Ms. Smarty-Pants?”

  “I work. At the garden center.”

  “I mean, what do you do for fun?”

  “What do you do for fun?” she countered, a little irritated. He waggled his eyebrows, and her face reddened. “Why do you date Reagan? She’s no good for you.”

  “Why do you care?” he asked, still smiling. Actually, he’d just broken up with Reagan. How many times had Roman heard that kids raised in homes where both parents were alcoholics often gravitated toward relationships that were the equivalent of emotional roller coasters? And they sought people they could “fix.”

  He wasn’t sure any of that was really the case with Reagan. He’d started talking to her because she was pretty and friendly and had a great rack. Okay, so he was shallow, but, hey, he was an eighteen-year-old healthy male.

  But if girls were photographs, Bella was Technicolor, and Reagan was a washed-out, sepia-toned version. There was no comparison.

  “Why do you want to be with someone who thrives on creating drama?” Bella continued. “Life brings its own drama. Relationships should be—peaceful.”

  He laughed. Maybe because this eighteen-year-old girl sounded like his old psychologist. “Peaceful?” Not the first word he’d choose. Wild, hot, crazy—now those were more along his lines. “That sounds a little geriatric.”

  “Yeah, well, my aunt has an expression. ‘Choose your friends. Don’t let your friends choose you.’”

  He reached up and fingered a curl that had dropped out of her bun. It sprang back from his light tug. “You have amazing hair,” he said. He felt his own cheeks
redden. This girl made him act like an idiot. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the book in front of them. “Do you always give guys you like advice?” he teased.

  “Who says I like you?” she asked. But when she glanced up at him, their eyes locked. Her breath hitched. His own breathing was stiff and labored, an iron lung in his chest. This girl was doing things to him, making him feel out of control, a feeling he hated. Yet he was completely hooked.

  “Do you like me, Bella?” he asked quietly.

  She blushed, but she didn’t look away. It was he who finally broke the spell, pretending to study the book on the library table between them.

  He wanted to tell Bella he’d broken up with Reagan, but Reagan hadn’t taken it very well. He just didn’t want her to do anything stupid. Not that he expected her to direct her wrath toward Bella, but he wouldn’t put such a thing past her. He knew enough about the darker side of life to understand that was possible.

  He just had to hurry up if he was going to ask Bella to homecoming. Time was getting short. All the guys had already let him know Bella never went out with anyone, but that didn’t scare him off. Somehow, he felt it in his bones that she’d say yes to him. He figured he had until the end of the week. Judging by how much everyone liked her, every day he worried someone else was going to get to her first.

  Frankly, Bella was right. The drama with Reagan was ballbusting. She was easily offended at some remark her silly friends made, and that usually blew up into a massive fight, where she wouldn’t talk to certain friends or others for days. Or she was constantly trying to corral them around her like she was a queen and they were her court.

  “Anyway,” Bella said, flipping through the book. “Back to the ending. What did you think of it?”

  “They’re buried under the same tombstone. How melodramatic.” He rolled his eyes. He liked science and math. He didn’t like being touchy-feely about books.

  She shut the book. “It’s not melodramatic. Dimmesdale made his confession publicly and claimed his kid as his own and then he fell dead, with a big A emblazoned on his chest.” She traced a giant A on her upper chest with her finger.

  “Which he inflicted upon himself.”

  “No. The guilt burned it from the inside out.”

  “What?”

  “It gnawed on him from the inside out.”

  “You are crazy, woman.”

  “He confessed. He made it right. And they’re buried together under the same tombstone. That proves that even after death, their love continues.”

  He shut his notebook. Forget Hawthorne. She was mesmerizing. All sparkling eyes and lush, full lips, and he wanted to kiss her. Now.

  “It’s a tale of human frailty, Roman. Of undying love. Of forgiveness. Of good over evil. There are endless things to talk about. Surely you can write a three-paragraph essay.” She was so . . . passionate . . . And her belief was contagious. Maybe somewhere, love did last. I mean, it hadn’t so far in his life. He and his four brothers were taken away from their parents and each other when he was only eight. Maybe it was possible for love to survive the roller-coaster ride of life and for people to love each other in a way that didn’t kill them. But damned if he knew.

  “Maybe you should be trying out for the play,” he said, grinning.

  She looked up from studying the book. Most girls didn’t exactly play up their intellectual assets, especially in front of guys they were trying to impress. She wasn’t embarrassed to say she loved The Scarlet Letter, even though most of the kids in the class, including him, didn’t really get it. He was impressed that she was who she was. Nothing phony about her.

  She turned red and flipped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, not me. I just love feeling the story. Reading a book is even better for me than seeing it acted out.” She looked at him carefully. “I heard about your audition yesterday.”

  He shrugged. Everyone was talking about his accidental audition for Grease, where he sang a duet with Reagan to help her try out for the part of Sandy, which of course she got. “I did it as a favor.”

  “Well, you did a great job. You’re a perfect Danny.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “If they offer me the part, I’m not taking it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not into being in the spotlight.” His brother Lukas, who was a few years older, had loved to sing and dance and ham it up, but not him. He had nothing against those things, but not in front of a theater full of people.

  “What, are you kidding? You in jeans and a white T-shirt, your hair slicked back . . . every girl in the school will want to date you, and every guy will wish he were you. You’ll have insta-fame. You can’t pass that up.”

  “That’s not important to me. Actually, I was wondering . . .”

  Just then, Ethan Cohen came up to them. They were on the basketball team together and they’d started hanging out a little. Roman knew he was a longtime friend of Bella’s.

  “Hi, Bells,” Ethan said. He glanced tentatively at Roman, then back to Bella. “What’s going on?”

  “Ethan, this is my—” She hesitated. He suddenly realized he’d given her no reason to call him anything else but a friend, and that was just the wrong label, period. Because from the moment he saw her, he’d wanted more. And somehow, he wanted Ethan to know it, too, as soon as possible. “This is Roman. Spikonos,” Bella continued. “He transferred from Mirror Lake High.”

  “Yeah, for basketball,” Ethan said. “We met in conditioning.” He eyed Roman, not in an unfriendly way, but it wasn’t his usual warm, happy-go-lucky Ethan way, either. Like maybe he’d suddenly perceived a threat.

  Nah, Roman’s imagination was just kicking into high gear. Ethan had been nothing but friendly to him since he’d arrived. Roman had transferred because Our Lady of the Lake had the best team in the state. It gave him the best shot at a basketball scholarship to the school of his dreams, UC Davis, where he wanted to study business. And something sort of unique. Brewing science. They had one of the best programs in the country, and if he could get a scholarship, he’d go in a heartbeat. He wasn’t meant to be a farmer, and if he stayed here, his grandfather would make sure he became one.

  Some of the guys on the team had resented a hotshot transfer, but Ethan had been welcoming from the start. Roman was hoping they could be friends. Except there might be something standing between them. Five foot five inches of pretty girl something.

  Ethan turned back to Bella. “I have something important to ask you. Do you have a minute?”

  Roman thought Ethan looked nervous, a little pale. Like he was getting his courage up. Or maybe he’d just spent too many hours working in the animal shelter after school. But when he wiped sweat off his forehead, Roman’s heart sank.

  “Now?” Bella moved to get up, told Roman she’d be right back. He pretended to be struggling through the remaining homework questions, but they may as well have been written in ancient Greek for all he comprehended.

  Bella stood with Ethan just outside the library while Roman tapped his pencil eraser on the table. Shook his foot. Finally he scrawled something quickly on the bottom of a page in his notebook. Bella, will you go to homecoming with me? Please. R. Then he ripped it out.

  As he passed Bella, he bumped against her, not failing to notice the flowery smell of her hair and how soft her skin was. He put his hands on her shoulders to make sure she was okay . . . and because he couldn’t resist the chance to touch her. “Excuse me,” he said, tucking the square of paper into her palm. “Headed to the restroom. Be right back.”

  Lame, he knew. But what else could he do?

  When he got back after wandering the halls for a few minutes, Bella was still talking with Ethan. Roman’s gut was seized up and churning, and his palms were clammy. The room looked a little unfocused. He’d never had this reaction with a girl before. Ever. This didn’t feel like a crush; it felt like death. And he didn’t like it at all.

  She probably hadn’t even read the note. He’d
waited too long, blown his chance. He didn’t even bother sitting down, just began gathering up his stuff, getting ready for the day to start.

  “Bella was just telling me you two are going to homecoming,” Ethan said. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked troubled. Guarded. “That’s . . . great news.” Then he picked up his book bag, said, “See you guys around,” and walked away.

  “Did Ethan just ask you to homecoming?” Roman asked.

  “Yes, but it was only because he had an argument with Barb Hannity. They’ll probably make up and he’ll ask her after all.”

  “Does Ethan . . . like you?” He suddenly felt guilty. Maybe he should have let Ethan ask her. But he and Bella were just friends, right?

  “Ethan? We’ve known each other since we were babies. Our mothers were best friends. They even did a photo album of the two of us together when we were toddlers. I think they imagined one day we might end up together, but it’s not like that.”

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with Reagan?”

  “I’m sure,” he said, reaching for her hand on the table. It was small and smooth. And it fit perfectly in his. Just touching her sent tingles up his arm and drove every unpleasant thought out of his mind. “So will you go with me?”

  “Yes, I’ll go with you,” she said, flashing him a smile. “There’s just one condition.”

  “What’s that?” he asked. Anything. He’d do anything.

  “We don’t discuss old books.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if we should take that topic off the table. They’re growing on me.” So was she. A lot. In fact, he’d talk about the entire literary canon with her if it meant they could spend more time together.

  “You’re such a liar,” she said, squeezing his hand and getting up to go to class.

  And just like that, he was in love.