“It’s a lunch thing. It’s eleven already.”
Chiara rolled her eyes but followed her sister out.
When they pulled up to the sprawling deep sky blue two story ranch house on a quiet tree lined street, she turned to Isabella.
“Who am I meeting here?”
“Faith, she’s the new mom, and her husband Brad Little, daughter Ava. I haven’t met the rest, but I assume his parents will be here too.”
“Whose house?”
“Her parents, Ray and Carlotta Buffone.”
Chiara gripped the armrest. “Buffone?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m not feeling well. My stomach hurts.”
“You seemed fine before. I have some Tums in my purse.” Chiara shook her head and glanced at the house. Cars lined the driveway and the street. “Come on, you did lots while you had morning sickness with Max. Please, So, this is really important to me.”
She looked at her sister. She never could resist her sweet little face, though she knew the steely, crafty spirit beneath. “Your plan better work,” Chiara said. Isabella smiled and they walked together to the house.
The door stood open, propped with an old blue glass electrical cap. Voices echoed throughout, several different conversations happening at once, even the hall was bright with sunlight from the many windows, all with sheer curtains. Their shoes were muffled by the plush area rugs. Someone had been cooking: the smells of pungent tomato sauce and meats mingled with the mouth-watering yeasty aroma of bread and pastries. People in their good church clothes, skirts and dresses, suits and sport coats, lounged or stood talking and laughing in the open living and dining rooms; in the distance the kitchen glowed warm and even more crowded.
“Isabella, hi, glad you could make it,” a slender blond greeted them. Isabella introduced her to Faith Little and her husband.
“Where’s the baby?”
“Making the rounds,” Faith said, gesturing over her shoulder. An older couple cooed over a blanket wrapped bundle. Chiara clasped her hands. “Let me introduce you around.” Faith quickly pointed out everyone in the room, family friends, her husband’s parents, some other colleagues, before she led them into the kitchen.
Chiara froze in the doorway. His back was to her, a backside she could recognize too well. Faith introduced her parents and older brother, Ray Junior, and his wife. Chiara kept her eyes on each one, relaxing her back an inch in the glow of their eyes and smiles.
“Rocco, didn’t you go to high school with a Vitale?” his mother asked.
Chiara gripped her purse to her stomach and gave all her attention to Mrs. Buffone.
“Yes, Santo Vitale. Nice to meet you both,” he said. Isabella shook his hand, so she had to. Strong, warm, think of something else…he released her hand. Chiara fingered her palm. Just moist heat, no blisters as she half expected.
“I remember your mother, we served on several committees together. We should have you all over soon,” Mrs. Buffone said.
“I’m sure she’d like that,” Isabella said. She gave Chiara a brief sideways nod.
“Yes,” Chiara said. She sounded like a frog.
“Rocco, you take care of these lovely young women,” Mrs. Buffone said. Why? We’re due for an earthquake, now would be good. Faith excused herself and the others went back to their conversations and tasks.
“Would--” Rocco began.
“May I help with anything, Mrs. Buffone?” Chiara said.
“No thank you, dear, but you’re kind to offer.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Perhaps you’ll help my son put those plates out? Then we can eat.”
Chiara agreed, though she now wished she hadn’t offered. Mrs. Buffone thanked her and smiled, as did Isabella. She’d get even with Isabella later. Chiara picked up a stack of plates and followed him down the hall, averting her eyes to the family pictures lining the walls.
Rocco set the plates on the far side of the dining room table, where food already filled the space. Chiara did the same, appreciating the ordered stacks of napkins and silverware. Stepping to the side, her body lifted as Rocco brushed past her.
“Pretty dress,” he said. A small smile parted his lips as he gave her a quick up and down survey.
“Thanks,” she said. She spotted Isabella and scooted away before he could say anything more.
“Lunch,” Mrs. Buffone said as she breezed into the room.
Other guests began lining up where Chiara had just stood with Rocco. She grabbed Isabella’s arm and urged her into line with her. A distraction was needed, especially when Rocco appeared a few people behind them.
“Rocco’s been checking you out,” Isabella whispered as they walked with their plates of salad and baked breaded lemon chicken to the back porch, where some of the other guests sat. Chiara tightened her hold on the edges of her plate and shook her head.
“Don’t shake your head at me. I know that look. He doesn’t know you’re married.”
“Because you didn’t tell anyone my last name,” Chiara hissed.
Isabella giggled. “Stop being so proper.”
Chiara slunk into a wicker chair and perched her plate on her lap so she could unfold her napkin. Isabella plopped down on the stair by her feet.
“Mind if I sit here?” Rocco asked. She minded. He sat next to Isabella, his muscles shifted with the movement. Chiara twisted in her seat, almost dropping her plate. He glanced back at her when she muffled an exclamation.
“Hey Dad,” a young man said from behind them. He had a kind face and patted Rocco on the back before he sat next to him. Rocco returned the gesture. Chiara watched them while she ate, the grassy lawn encircled with vegetables, fruit trees, roses, nasturtiums, and herbs taunting her with their brightness and fragrance. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her thighs as Rocco and his son chit chatted and laughed with Isabella.
Why was she here? She was being punished, that was it, wasn’t it. Seeing everything she wanted but couldn’t have. Her bites became smaller and smaller as chewing and swallowing took too much effort. She sipped her water, but that didn’t help. She had to get out of there. She could barely hear anymore, their voices muted by the whirlwind in her ears. Without a word, she rose and took her plate to the kitchen, cursing that sunny June day she first saw Rocco Buffone.
Chapter Four
Rocco glanced back, hoping for a glimpse of Chiara’s tanned, shapely legs, her pretty little feet in those sexy strappy heels. Just the brown wicker chair legs. Where was she?
“Hi, Daddy,” his daughter said as he turned to the view of the back yard, green from his father’s careful watering. He rose and hugged his girl before he introduced her to Chiara’s sister, who then looked around for her sister.
“I’ll find her,” he offered when Isabella stood up to look for Chiara.
His kids sat with Isabella, all three ate and talked as he walked into the house. He put his plate in the sink, where his sister in law started the dishes.
“Have you seen Chiara?”
“Who?”
“She came with her sister, she’s wearing dark pink,” he said.
“Oh, she came in with her plate a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” he said before he made a round of the downstairs rooms. He knocked on the bathroom door.
“Sorry, I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Chiara?” he said at the door. Water pattered in the sink then stopped. He stood a few moments before the door opened as if she expected to find something sinister waiting on the other side. Shit, she’d been crying, her eyes hadn’t been at all red earlier. He swallowed and backed up. “Your sister’s looking for you.”
“Will you tell her I had to go?” she whispered. She choked on her words, even in such a hushed voice.
“Isn’t there someone you could talk to? I know what it’s like…” he trailed off.
She covered her mouth with her hand but that didn’t stop the tears from falling, dropping down her cheeks an
d fingers. His stomach knotted. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, her bare, smooth shoulders, and she leaned into him. He led her into the garage and shut the door. Huddled together, she faced him, her hair by his chin, her smooth, shiny, fruity scented hair. He tilted his head back and exhaled before he hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, buried her cheek into his chest, and sobbed.
He had her where he wanted her, but not how he wanted her. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that only three light layers of fabric separated him from her soft, full breasts which brushed against him. He caressed the small of her back. His hand fit in its gentle sway with the ease and comfort of the custom-made baseball glove Ray’d given him for Christmas years ago. After too short a time, she drew in a shaky breath and quieted.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She pushed away and turned.
“Do you want to talk?”
She shook her head. “I should freshen up again.”
He opened the door for her and watched as she went back into the bathroom. He clicked shut the door and strode outside.
His three nephews pounced on him the minute he stepped onto the porch.
“Come on, Uncle Roc, you promised us a game,” the oldest said while his brothers nodded and pulled his arms.
He recruited his son, daughter, and older brother Ray and they threw around the ball before the boys took turns at bat. He missed this, the grass springy underfoot, positioned in the outfield, watching and waiting for the next ball to come his way, the rush when you threw to catch a man out. A pop of bright pink caught his eye and he changed his sightline slightly. The yard wasn’t very large, so he could see her clearly as she held his baby niece in her arms. She smiled and focused her eyes on Ava, bouncing almost imperceptibly while she spoke, maybe singing softly. Beautiful, she was beautiful.
He took his hands off his knees and crossed his arms. He felt like a roving outfielder who suddenly feels called to be a catcher, behind home plate in a steady partnership with the pitcher. Then again, the pitchers changed every game, or more. He’d always liked variety. He shook his head and completely missed the ball which thudded on the ground near him.
“Gotta keep your mind in the game,” Ray said as he bent to retrieve the ball. Rocco shrugged and jogged toward the porch, all the while with one eye on Chiara, who laughed. Dammit, why couldn’t she have seen him play back in the day?
“Your turn,” Faith called as he walked up the steps. He stood next to Chiara. A deep calm settled in him, quickly displaced by sharp yearning when she brushed against his arms as she passed him the baby. Ava grasped his finger and he smiled at her.
“She looks just like you,” he said to Faith. He glanced at Chiara, who frowned and bit her lip when she caught him looking at her.
“You’d know,” Faith said.
“He’d know? What about me?” his mother said.
“Of course, Mom,” his sister said.
“Time to go to Daddy, lil’ girl,” he said as the odor of new baby poop made itself known. Brad took her and laughed. “I can take a hint,” he said.
“Don’t change diapers?” Chiara asked Rocco. Her mouth set, arms crossed--she riled him.
“I’ve changed more than my share, actually. Probably more than you.”
“Do you have children?” his mom asked her.
“Yes, two boys, five and six.”
“I think Chiara’s got you beat,” Isabella said. “Phil wouldn’t change a diaper if he could avoid it, which he did.” She laughed while Chiara’s frown seemed etched into her face. He looked away.
“Phil?”
“My husband.”
“Oh,” his mom said. He thought so. She’d had plans, now ruined. So were his. “How long have you been married?”
“Eight years.”
“My poor sister, married to a neatnik and germaphobe. And she used to be called dirty girl.” Chiara shot her sister a look that made him want to either walk away or see what fantastic fight would result. Isabella’s laughter stopped.
“He’s not that bad,” Chiara said. “He’s a good father.”
“Why were you called dirty girl?” he asked before anyone else could speak.
“My brother Santo called me that because I liked to play in the garden or tag along after him and Tomaso to the park or ball field.”
“And you didn’t take a bath for a week when we went to Italy that time,” Isabella said.
“I was only ten.”
“And when we were teenagers--”
“I think everyone’s heard enough about me. We should be going. Phil and the boys will be back soon. Thank you very much for inviting us,” she said as she shook everyone’s hands. He wanted to hear more. Maybe he could find out sometime. Get a few glasses of wine in Isabella and she was talkative. Faith walked them into the house. He blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Are you okay, Dad?” his daughter asked.
“Fine, sweetheart.” He wished for a hot tub about now except his muscles only tightened further, like a tension wire at its breaking point, imagining Chiara in the bubbling, steaming pool with him.
“Why can’t you find a nice woman like Chiara?” she said. He raised an eyebrow at her. His mom laughed and hugged her around the waist.
“That’s my girl. I couldn’t agree more. Isabella’s nice too, and a doctor.”
“She has a boyfriend,” Sabrina said.
“She’s not my type,” he said.
“What about Chiara?” He crossed his arms and gave her his best disapproving fatherly look. She giggled. “I’m going away to school and you’ll be forty soon. You need someone--”
“My love life is no one’s business but mine and don’t forget it. I have enough women in my life, don’t I?”
“Can’t have too much of a good thing.”
“Another daughter like you, okay.”
“You can’t get one without…” He gave her the look again. “A baby sister would be sweet. Then I can get a baby fix without having one myself.” She grinned.
“I know you better than that. Besides, your mother has been dating what’s his name--”
“John.”
“Right, for a while. Let her have another one.”
“She’s forty, Dad. And John has two kids as well. Mom doesn’t want five.”
“You’ve got Ava for a baby fix.”
“Never mind him, Sabrina. If he wants to end up like his uncle, that’s his choice.”
“Thanks,” he said. “That won’t work either, Mom. Uncle Rob’s happy.”
“Nonsense. Come on, there’s no talking to him now.” The two went inside.
He turned to the yard, where Ray and the boys helped his dad set up a mesh net over the pear tree to keep the birds from eating the future fruit. He leaned against the pillar and shook his head. What was wrong with him? The sky was cloudless and clear, the yard green with grass and the harvest of summer, tomatoes, eggplant, beans, and herbs, a satisfying meal filled his stomach, his family were all healthy and happy, the scent of the lemon tree drifted over…Chiara. He had to get his mind off her. Not a day had gone by since he’d first noticed her a week ago that he didn’t think about her. She wasn’t the most beautiful women he’d ever met, or the sexiest, but when she looked at him with her deep brown flashing eyes, or sashayed by, or brushed back her hair, he believed she was both, and more.
“Dad,” his son said as the screen door twanged shut. “You’ve been quiet today.”
“Do I usually talk that much?”
“You do like to shoot the shit.”
“You’re lucky your grandma didn’t hear that.”
“She and Sabrina are plotting in the living room.”
“What now?”
“You, again.”
“I’d hoped we’d settled that.”
“Not until you settle.”
Rocco grimaced. “I thought my buying
a house nearby would satisfy.”
“No, all the more reason for them. When do you move in?”
“Next weekend.”
“Need help?” Shawn said.
“Yeah.” More help than anyone could give.
“Maybe Grandma and Sabrina are right.”
“Not you too.”
“You haven’t been yourself lately.” Had he been that obvious? He really did need to do something, more like someone.
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 3
