Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book)

by Juliano, Celia

  “My turn,” she said.

  She undid his belt and button, shaky with excitement. Her hand slid under, not even waiting for the other hand to get his zipper down. His hairs tickled her fingers and his heat made her smile.

  The door to the house opened, letting in a shaft of light and Shawn. Chiara froze and pressed herself into Rocco, unable to watch the shock and dismay unfold on the young man’s face. Rocco straightened and moved his hands before he took hers. She still trembled and she blinked in frustration. Turning slightly, he fastened his button and belt. Chiara let her hands lie on his chest as he faced his son.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rocco swallowed. Of all people, Shawn. Could have been worse, but not much. He wanted to close his eyes and only feel Chiara. He forced himself to look at his son’s face, a patchwork of hurt, disappointment, anger, and disgust.

  “We’re about to have cake,” Shawn said, his voice an echo of his expression.

  “You won’t--” He didn’t want Chiara hurt, which she would be if Shawn told anyone what he saw.

  “Not a word,” Shawn said. And he was gone.

  “Shit,” Rocco whispered. He should have apologized, tried to explain. But he couldn’t even explain this to himself. He turned his back on Chiara. She put her hand there, her warm, arousing hand. He exhaled.

  “He won’t say anything.” Her voice sounded sure, calm.

  “Maybe.” Or maybe he meant he didn’t want to hear another word from him. “Won’t stop him from thinking.”

  “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “No. You don’t…he has every reason to think the worst about me. Years of trying to prove myself blown by one mistake.”

  Chiara dropped her hand. “It’s my fault, I--”

  “Why did you come here? I told you to bring…” He couldn’t say it. In their kisses, in touching her, he believed she was his, no one else’s. It was a lie. “Where are they?”

  “Phil took the boys to swim at Suzy’s. Her nephew--”

  He faced her and laughed, a quick, derisive chuckle. Chiara rubbed her arms, her brow creased. He was a fool. “Your parents were right. You are dirty. A filthy, vengeful--”

  “Don’t or I’ll--”

  Hit him? Rip his heart out? Already done. He went to the door. “Fuck you.” The knob was cold.

  “You wish.” She stood, one hand on her hip, her expression almost fierce.

  “You don’t get it,” he said. Did she even care? Had she used him like he’d done to so many women before?

  “’Right you are, Don Sutton.’”

  He grimaced. An obscure baseball announcer reference to top it all off. She was perfect for him.

  Perfection was an illusion.

  He opened the door, blinked in the light, and strode down the hall. The door clack-clicked shut with the finality of the reverberating crack of a fly ball off the bat, the last out of the last game of the season.

  Making a quick stop in the bathroom, he washed his hands. Images of Chiara, willing and wet, pressed against him, her scent making his head throb, beat in his brain. His hand trembled, the hand that felt her strong contractions when she came for him. He splashed cold water on his face and went into the kitchen. He coughed, his throat gone dry.

  “About time,” Ray said. “We’re going to do cake now. No sneaking off again.”

  Rocco wanted a drink, but his brother squeezed his shoulder and walked him into the dining room. Chiara stood in the far corner, almost hidden behind several other guests. Her eyes, deep pools of hurt and confusion, sliced through him. He could take her upstairs so they could talk. Maybe she was going to tell him it was over with her husband. Maybe what he’d felt when he held her wasn’t a lie. He took a step toward her but she looked away.

  He frowned and focused on his mom. She smiled, as did his Sabrina. Shawn glared at him before they sang “Happy Birthday.” Rocco couldn’t eat any cake. Neither did Chiara, though her mom chided her. As soon as he could, he grabbed some empty plates and cups and went back to the kitchen.

  “Come on,” a low female voice urged. His son had been steadily bringing in plates for the last ten minutes. Rocco tried to let the hot water and suds cleanse his mind or at least help him zone out, but it didn’t work. He glanced over, already knowing Chiara was in the room. A tiny hint of her scent had made him stand taller.

  Her sister leaned on the counter next to him, her hand gripped around Chiara’s wrist. “This one won’t tell me squat, so I’m asking you.” She studied him. He began washing again. “Well, Chiara, should I call my lawyer friend for you? I may be your sister and I may not like Phil, but I can’t stand by for this.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Chiara whispered. So she wasn’t done with the husband. He scrubbed the same plate over and over.

  “Yeah, right. Well, big man, what’s up? Are you some kind of user? Why were you flirting with me if you’ve got something going with my sister? I wouldn’t have thought you as low as all that.”

  “Will you stop,” Chiara said her voice low and harsh. She pulled herself free. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” Her eyes met his, again hurt, maybe angry. He stopped and dried his hands. “I’ll be outside.” She walked out and the back door squeaked open and shut.

  “I’m waiting,” Isabella said.

  “I don’t need to answer you. You’re not my sister. I have enough interfering women in my life, thanks.”

  “No need to be an asshole, unless that’s just how you roll.”

  Shawn walked in. Great. “He giving you trouble?”

  “Just not answering my questions,” she said.

  “I have a few of my own,” Shawn said.

  “Why don’t you ask him what’s going on with my--”

  “I already know,” Shawn said. How was that possible? Rocco didn’t even know.

  “Care to enlighten me?” she said.

  “I need to talk to him first,” Shawn said with a sideways nod at Rocco.

  “I’ll be in the living room,” she said.

  Shawn set a few more plates by the sink. Rocco leaned against the counter. A half empty wine bottle sat on the table in front of the window. Just a small glass would take the edge off. Shawn opened the fridge and Rocco took the chance. As he lifted the bottle to his lips, he stopped.

  “What the fuck?” Shawn said. The bottle tapped onto the table and Rocco placed his hands on either side of it. “Have you stopped going to meetings? Have you been drinking?”

  “No, I haven’t. But, yes, no meetings in a while. I’m fine, sober four years. I just--”

  “Save it. That’s why we’re called ‘recovering’ not ‘recovered.’ It’s the rest of your life. What’s going on? Suddenly got a conscience? Or have you lost it again?”

  Rocco blew out a breath and faced his son. “I don’t know. It’s not what you think.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Shawn seemed to have all the answers.

  “I see you kissing Chiara, who seems like a nice woman, a married woman, you with your hands all over her. I think you’re back to your old ways.”

  “This,” Ray said as he walked over, “is a really bad conversation to be having in the middle of the kitchen at mom’s birthday party.”

  “I agree,” Rocco said.

  “Shawn, why don’t you get back out there? You’ll be leaving for school in a couple months, let me deal with this,” Ray said. Shawn nodded but not before he pointed to the wine bottle. Ray shook his head as Shawn strode out. “Outside, little brother.”

  There was no dealing with Ray when he decided to pull rank. “I think Chiara’s out there.”

  “So? Maybe she needs to hear this.”

  He trudged out behind Ray. Chiara paced on the porch, her hand fluttering wildly as her other held her cell to her ear. When he saw her eyes, his stomach dropped.

  “Is he okay? Phil, don’t hang up! Yes, I’ll be right there.” She stopped and saw them. He stepped
toward her and smoothed her arm with his hand. She searched his eyes, hers sparkled with tears.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “My son Max…I need to go. Where’s Isabella?” Her voice shook as she tried to hold together.

  “I’ll get her,” Ray said and he went in the house.

  Chiara pressed herself into his chest. He held her, whispered in her hair. “It’ll be okay. I’ll go with you if you want.”

  “I shouldn’t have been here,” she whispered.

  The door burst open. “So, honey, what happened,” Isabella asked. He released Chiara, who stood, wobbly.

  “Max, he almost drowned, they’re at the hospital. Valley.”

  “Let’s go,” Isabella said. She led Chiara in. Concerned voices trailed out from the open door.

  Rocco folded himself onto the stoop. He put his head in his hands. He should be in the car with her, holding her, comforting her. To take her pain away, he knew in that moment he would do anything for her, even if it killed him. Ray plopped next to him.

  “I bet Faith will go too. She’ll call and let us know.”

  Rocco nodded. “Go ahead, lay into me.” He sounded like shit. What a shocker.

  “I would, but it looks like you’re beat up enough. What’s going on? Are you drinking again?”

  “No. Nothing’s going on.”

  “I heard Shawn. Mom really likes the Vitales, but surely you’ve had enough trouble with them to last a lifetime. I don’t get how this happened.”

  “I don’t either.” He exhaled and looked out at the yard. Still the same as it had been a few weeks ago, but he wasn’t.

  “You gonna get yourself to a meeting soon?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “What about Chiara?”

  “I won’t see her, that’s all. We haven’t…I didn’t mean to see her again. She came here.” He gestured around with his hands, hands that had touched her soft skin, her delicate… “Shit,” he whispered.

  “Daddy,” Sabrina said, her voice quavering like the door she opened. “Isn’t it terrible? Aunt Faith’s going to call the minute she knows something. She went too, she knows more people at the hospital than Isabella.”

  “Good,” Ray said.

  Sabrina sat next to Rocco. “You okay?” she said. “You’re remembering, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He still stared at the yard, but he didn’t see anything.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He knew what Chiara felt. How she should have been with her son, not here. Maybe then she could have prevented the bad. “We still on for San Diego next month? Maddy coming too?” he said. He wouldn’t play on his daughter’s sympathy.He’d done that enough.

  “Yeah, we’re excited. You sure you don’t want to invite someone? Maybe Isabella?”

  He glanced at her. Her grin made him smile.

  “Absolutely not. First, I warned you about that stuff. Second, what kind of crap father would take a woman along on a trip with his daughter? Third, she’s not my type.”

  “Really? You seemed to be getting along fine today. And she could have her own room.”

  His daughter had the Buffone persistence. “Again, no.”

  “You’re going to be bored when Maddy and I go off and do our thing.”

  “Within limits and how bored can I get in a couple days?”

  “When are you going?” Ray asked.

  “The weekend before my birthday,” Rocco said.

  “You’ll be back before?” Ray said. “Can’t wait to give you some of what you gave me when I turned forty.”

  “Go easy. I’ll have just spent the weekend with two teenage girls.”

  “So what? I have three boys at home. And Carlo was still a toddler in diapers then.”

  “He was almost three.”

  Ray raised an eyebrow and Rocco put up his hands.

  “See, Dad, if you would have listened to Grandma and me, you could have a baby and trump Uncle Ray.”

  Rocco chuckled. “I’ll save besting him for other areas, thanks.”

  “Aren’t you on clean up?” Sabrina asked him.

  He nodded and they wended into the house.

  An hour later, most of the guests had gone. Rocco, his kids, parents, Brad and Ava, and Ray and his family sat around the living room. Rocco hadn’t spoken except to answer a question. His leg bounced, almost of its own accord, and he couldn’t stop imagining Chiara and what horror she might be experiencing. A few times, he rose and peeked out the front window, wondering if he could bolt to his car and get over to the hospital. But he knew he couldn’t. His heart had already frozen once, just seeing her husband and boys. He couldn’t do it again, and it would be wrong to intrude. So much for playing dirty. The phone rang. His dad picked up.

  “It’s Faith,” he said in an aside after saying hello. “Oh good. Okay. Brad,” he said as he handed the phone to Brad. Sabrina held Ava, feeding her a tiny bottle.

  “He’s okay, they’re taking him home. Isabella’s going to drive Faith back here. Apparently they were horsing around in the pool, the three boys, and he went under. His dad jumped in and pulled him out and the woman whose house it was revived him.” They all sat in silence for a minute.

  “I think I’ll go,” Rocco said. He didn’t need to be here when Isabella returned. “Happy Birthday, Mom.” He kissed her cheek and made his goodbyes to everyone else. His nephews glanced up from their video games while his son rose to walk him out.

  “Okay, Shawn, let’s have it,” he said as he opened the truck door.

  “Do you want to come to my meeting Thursday night?”

  “There’s one near here on Wednesday. I’ll go.”

  “Fine. Are you…I mean, why?”

  Rocco shook his head.

  “Have the last four years been a lie? Have you been doing all that stuff and hiding it?”

  “No, I told you, I haven’t been drinking and I haven’t been screwing around with married women. Single ones, yes, but I’ve tried to be…upfront with them. Know what I mean?”

  “Are you that hard up you needed to fool with Chiara? I don’t get it.”

  “A man doesn’t need to be hard up to want her, huh? And don’t go thinking anything bad about her. She’s not like that. She’s…” he said. Shawn studied him with a curious gaze. He realized he sounded…like a man in love. Dammit.

  “I don’t. We were talking about you. I’ll let you go before Isabella gets back and gives you a ration of shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shawn gave him a quick hug. “I’m okay, Dad. And you’re not responsible for how I’ve behaved, just for your own actions.”

  Rocco nodded, knowing if he spoke he might break down. His son was a man, a good man. He waved and jumped in his truck. A tiny glow of pride lit his way home.

  Any light feeling he had disappeared as he entered his empty, dark house and got ready for bed. He watched “Sports Center” then lay in his bed. If he could just have a few drinks, maybe his body would dull enough to not feel the acute need for Chiara. Maybe he could forget long enough to fall asleep. But he wasn’t desperate enough to drag himself from bed and make a run to the store--not yet.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Can’t sleep?” Isabella said from her prone position on the couch in the living room. She’d offered to stay the night to ease Chiara’s mind.

  “It’s a tight squeeze in the bed tonight.” The boys had both climbed in with her and Phil. Those three were sleeping soundly while Chiara had scrunched on the edge, her eyes focused on the inch of window letting in the lights from Rocco’s block.

  Isabella scooted up and patted the spot in front of her feet. Chiara plopped down and pulled her knees to her chin. “So, are you going to tell me?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Cut the crap. You haven’t pulled my hair like that since I came onto that guy you dated when you moved back home for a few months after college.”

  “And Mom and Dad called me the
dirty one. You were up to way more at sixteen than I was.”

  “I’m the youngest.” Isabella wore a smug smile.

  Chiara rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I may be attracted to him, but that’s all. It hasn’t gone far.”

  “How far? Are we talking Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton?”