Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book)

by Juliano, Celia

  “With adults, I mean.”

  “I’ve been doing fine.”

  “Ha. You’re not fine and you haven’t been. You’re so screwed up around adults, look how you handled that Rocco thing. And Phil. I thought you had more sense.”

  “Thanks a lot! Go away.”

  “Fine. See you.” Isabella’s footsteps clopped down the hall.

  Chiara pulled the covers back over her head, like she used to when she was a little girl, pretending to be in a far away land where the light was filtered and muted, the colors soft and warm. Only Jen had known that when Chiara said to go away, she meant she needed that person to stay, but she didn’t want to need it. She shivered. Her mind told her people were being considerate to listen to her requests, but her heart shattered into tiny fragments because their leaving proved she was too difficult and volatile to live with, to truly love.

  She imagined her heart was a hundred puzzle pieces that needed to be put together. Chiara wasn’t good at puzzles. When Rocco left last Monday, a few pieces had broken off. Now it was completely disassembled. That he would pull such a stupid stunt only proved to her he was untrustworthy. Before Phil, all the guys she’d fallen in love with had cheated on her, lied to her, broken her heart. Phil was different. She convinced herself to love him--it hadn’t just happened. Yet that hadn’t worked out either.

  Jen would want her to let go, be the crazy dirty girl Rocco brought out in her. But she was different now. She was a mother with two young sons. She had started to build up another identity, as a writer, but that had fallen apart too, when her life crashed. Besides, what did Jen know? Jen, who had an affair with Santo, a married man. Jen, who gave up and died instead of fighting.

  Chiara knew that was unfair. It was tiring always fighting her own feelings, telling herself she was wrong to feel how she did. Part of Chiara wanted to feel and not censor herself, but that was scary. She curled up into a ball. Better to feel scared than nothing. Because most of all, she was tired of the emptiness.

  While she was in the kitchen a couple hours later after eating some toast, her phone rang. Since it was her uncle Max, she answered. They chit-chatted for a few minutes before he cleared his throat, always a prelude to more serious matters.

  “Now then, niece of my heart,” he said. Chiara smiled at the old endearment. “I don’t like what your mom’s been telling me. I think it’s time for me to find my mom and tell her what’s been happening.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to bother her.”

  “You’re scared she’ll be disappointed, but you should know your grandma Leonora better than that. You know she’s the only one who can crack your dad into shape.”

  “I don’t want any more family drama, okay? I’m trying to be there for the boys, find a job, and figure out what I want to do. Thanks though. Where is she, anyway?”

  “Last I heard, she was on her way from Paris to a Buddhist retreat, Plum Village.”

  Chiara smiled. Grandma Leonora was full of surprises. “All the more reason not to bother her.”

  “You know you can always come up to the city for a bit. Your uncle Carlo and Aunt Sophia said they’d be glad to have you there. Always great fun at their Sunday dinners.”

  “I remember,” she said. She hadn’t been to a D’Angelo family gathering since she was a girl, but she still recalled the warmth and noise of it. “How is everyone?”

  “Good. And let’s face it, we D’Angelos are more understanding, huh? We’ve been through it all with our family--divorce, affairs, death, birth, illness--but we stick together. Your dad needs lessons, but those Vitales are a stubborn bunch. We’ve broken down other families, though, we’ll get to him eventually.”

  Chiara laughed. “You D’Angelos think you know best.”

  “It’s not a thought, it’s a fact. Ask any of us.”

  “I love you, favorite uncle,” Chiara said.

  “I’m more likeable than my older brothers,” he said with a laugh.

  “I love them too. Handcuff a few baddies for me,” she said. Chiara had always been fascinated with handcuffs and maybe a little with the guys who wore them. Both sent shivers through her.

  “Will do. I love you too,” he said. Warmth encircled her as she hung up. Maybe she should get up there for a few days. The change of scene might help her feel better, might help her get some distance from Rocco.

  But life interfered. The boys got the usual fall colds and ear infections, so she spent the week taking them to the doctor and getting prescriptions and making chicken noodle soup and weak tea. She had no job anyway and no more interviews. She’d tried every retail place she could and no one would hire her. The first employers she’d applied with thought her overqualified or not experienced enough. For office jobs, she didn’t type fast enough or have the right computer skills. In the last few weeks, she’d been unable to pretend to be a team player or even put on a happy front. She realized if she’d been hiring, she wouldn’t hire herself either.

  By the weekend, Phil had caught a cold too and she offered to come over and take care of the three of them. It took all she had. Phil was such a baby when he caught even a sniffle. He lay in bed as if he had the most debilitating flu, blowing his nose and sucking on Ricolas. But Chiara made them meals and gave medicine with a smile, thankful not to be at Isabella’s alone, thinking of Rocco.

  Another Sunday night alone in bed. Phil had dismissed her, though at least he’d thanked her. Now she lay in bed, possibly more tired than she’d been the Sunday before. And missing Rocco even more. Santo was right, she never saw past her hormones when it came to men. She got caught up in the surge, in the excitement of new feelings, new love, and built dreams and vast storerooms to house the new relationship, the new lover. It hadn’t happened too many times, since with two protective older brothers, a strict father, and a guilty conscience, she wouldn’t always let it happen, but the destruction had occurred enough times she didn’t want to go through it again.

  But the rooms were already up, like Rocco had added the new room here. She rolled over and pressed her head onto her hands to keep from reaching for her phone to call him. He was with Shawn in L.A. anyway. Maybe she could call, since he wasn’t close enough to drive over and break down her resistance. She shoved her hands under her pillow. She couldn’t let him near her, not even his voice. He was too good with a sledgehammer.

  On Monday morning, Chiara leaned on the kitchen counter aimlessly stirring her coffee. Isabella had left for work, knocking on Chiara’s door before going. They hadn’t seen each other for days. The phone rang and Chiara waited as the machine answered. Mrs. Buffone’s calm, cheerful voice greeted her. Chiara ran and picked up, saying hello almost breathlessly. She couldn’t let herself talk to Rocco, but it was okay to speak to his mom.

  “How are you?” Mrs. Buffone said. “We missed you at Sunday dinner last week.”

  “Fine, thanks, and you?”

  “Well, but needing a favor.”

  Chiara stood taller. She had an irrational thought that she’d even commit a crime for her, but she almost laughed, knowing Mrs. Buffone was the last person to do something illegal. “I’ll do what I can,” she said.

  “Our secretary quit a couple months ago. We didn’t hire anyone else, hoping she might come back after having her baby, but she’s decided to stay home. Of course, we’re happy for her, but the job is more than I want to handle anymore. Isabella and your mom mentioned you haven’t found anything yet. I hoped we’d be lucky enough to scoop you up.”

  Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do anything. Though maybe Rocco didn’t go into the office very often. “I don’t have much secretarial experience and none in construction.”

  “I know. Your mom told me, but it sounds like you have other valuable experience and I’m sure you’re a fast learner. Most importantly, we all get along and you’re trustworthy.”

  Chiara’s stomach rolled. “Did my mom mention, I mean…” Knowing her mom, she probably said something about the scene with Rocc
o in July.

  “My wayward son? I know all about him. He doesn’t come to the office much. Besides, my husband and I own the company and we run the office. You’d be our employee, same as Rocco. Now, the job doesn’t pay a lot, but it should be enough to set you on your way and when we have down time, I don’t mind if you write, as long as your work is done.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your mom mentioned you’ve been writing novels. It would be exciting to have a bestseller composed at Buffone Construction.” Mrs. Buffone laughed good-naturedly. “Will you give it a try?”

  “Thanks, yes. When do you want me to start?”

  “Tomorrow at eight? We can talk about a firm schedule later, and I know you may need flexibility with your sons’ schedules, which could work.”

  Chiara bounced a little as she wrote down the address and phone numbers. Max would be excited if she worked at a construction company. Danny and Phil, not so much. But it could possibly enable her to pay for her lawyer and eventually afford an apartment, though rents were really inflated, more so with all the foreclosures of the last year or two. She didn’t have the luxury of turning down such a generous offer and she didn’t know why she would want to. Except she was so petrified to give herself to Rocco she wouldn’t even listen to the voicemails he’d left her.

  “Well, Chiara,” Mrs. Buffone said at four the next afternoon, “I think we made a good start today.”

  “Thank you. Are you sure I did all right?” It would take Chiara awhile to learn the filing system and all the forms, as well as becoming familiar with their clients and the right things to say. She’d learned a good phone manner working at the book store, but construction was different.

  “Wonderfully. Would you stay a bit longer? Ray and I have a few things to discuss.”

  It still threw Chiara, the two Rays, but she called the elder Mr. Buffone anyway.

  “In a meeting?” Chiara said. It was what she should say and then take a message.

  Chiara sat at the desk as Mrs. Buffone went into the back office. It was a tiny place, just the outer office and Mr. Buffone’s larger space, as well as a storage closet and bathroom. But it was clean, neat, and air conditioned, which would be good during the hot months, which often included September and October. Chiara read her notes from the day and went over some of the computerized files.

  The front door creaked open. Rocco strode into the room. Her notebook slipped to the floor as his sexy strong presence made her weak. He stopped mid stride as if he just realized it was her. Breaking eye contact, she fumbled for her notebook remembering too late she shouldn’t bend over like that in her blouse, giving all lookers a free show. She placed the notebook on the desk and crossed an arm over her chest. One corner of his mouth turned up. She stood and willed her cheeks to stop burning.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “Nice to see you too,” she said. “Didn’t you get your mom’s messages?”

  “I stopped checking them,” he said.

  “Then it’s your own fault.”

  “You’re one to talk,” he said. They faced each other, glaring, eyes sparking. The room whirred with their pent-up electricity.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.

  “Answer me first.” Demanding. She wanted to smack him.

  “Your mom and dad hired me.”

  “That’s just great,” he said. His sarcasm made her clench her hands.

  “What, you think I’m not qualified? What’s your problem?”

  “Maybe if you bothered to check your messages, you’d know.”

  “How do you know I didn’t?” Damn, and she’d deleted them all.

  “No wonder you couldn’t find a job if this is how you talk to your employers,” he almost shouted.

  “Then I quit!”

  “Rocco Buffone,” his mom said as she and her husband walked out of their office, “you apologize to Chiara now. You know she doesn’t work for you and I won’t have you speak to her like that.”

  Chiara crossed her arms and waited, but Rocco turned from her and kissed his mom’s cheek. “Dad, you had some papers for me to sign?”

  “I do, but you heard your mother.”

  “So sorry, Mrs. Kirkwood,” he said with no sincerity.

  She’d pushed too far and now he’d had enough. She’d expected as much, but it didn’t stop the hurt, the tears from stinging the back of her eyes. Wanting to speak, she tried, but as she opened her mouth, she knew if she said anything, she’d cry. She shut her mouth and pressed her lips together. He shook his head and walked away with his dad.

  “Don’t mind him,” Mrs. Buffone said. “He’s just missing Shawn and Sabrina. You’ll still come to Sunday dinner, won’t you?”

  Chiara forced a smile and nodded. What the hell had she been thinking accepting that invitation? Something about Mrs. Buffone’s smile and the way she asked made Chiara forget all her reasons for staying away from that family. She would regret it, no doubt, but she’d feel worse hurting Mrs. Buffone’s feelings.

  “See you tomorrow,” Mrs. Buffone said as Chiara gathered her things. She nodded again and walked to her car.

  Rocco didn’t come into the office again that week, so she didn’t see him until she and Isabella entered the Buffones’ house on Sunday evening. He stood, his booty calling her, in the corner of the living room talking to his brother Ray. Everyone welcomed them as if they were part of the family, which in Isabella’s case, seemed to be true, for as much time as she spent with them.

  Chiara smoothed her dress, a little concerned the figure hugging bright turquoise number would show too much the fact that she hadn’t been working out lately. At least her appetite was down, so she hadn’t gained weight. The dress, with its slightly ruffled hem, reminded her of the swimsuit she wore the day she and Rocco first made love. She really needed to stop thinking of it that way. It was just sex. Really hot, fantastic sex. She needed to stop thinking about it all together.

  “Isabella, Chiara,” Mr. Buffone’s brother, Rob, said before taking both their hands. “You two look lovely.” His loud voice reverberated and Rocco turned, which she noticed because she couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away from his backside. A slow burn crept from her manicured toes up every inch of her from Rocco’s intent study. No smile lit his face, but his eyes were bright and wide. “And who is this vision?” Uncle Rob said in a low voice. They turned to the striking older woman who floated in.

  “Grandma!” Chiara and Isabella said at once. They ran and hugged her. She still smelled like lemons and mint and her laugh rang out like a sonorous bell.

  “My girls, let me see you,” she said. She held them out at arms’ length and made them turn around. When she pulled them in for another hug, she whispered to Chiara “Divorce agrees with you.”

  Chiara flushed. It wasn’t the divorce, but a certain man who she felt walking close by, his scent putting her on alert.

  “Uncle Max,” Chiara said when she spotted him as her grandma Leonora made the rounds, escorted by Uncle Rob. Uncle Max hugged her. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “Wow,” Isabella said as she hurried over. “How long has it been?”

  “Since Max’s christening,” Chiara said. Grandma had been making a grand tour of Europe for the last six years.

  “Lucky the woman who sublet her flat moved out a couple months ago, so she has her place back,” Uncle Max said. He lived in the flat above Grandma’s in San Francisco.

  “Is she staying?” Chiara asked.

  “Don’t know. She just arrived last night.”

  They talked, one of the many conversations humming in the house. At dinner, Grandma regaled them with tales of her travels. She had a rapt audience, especially Uncle Rob, who Chiara surmised wasn’t usually so quiet. Grandma had that effect on people, men especially. It must have been hard on Chiara’s mom.

  After dessert, Rocco and his brother went in the kitchen, on clean up duty, Chiara guessed. She watched him walk out an
d blushed when her grandma caught her doing it. Grandma slid her arm under Chiara’s and ambled out to the back porch. The sky darkened, stars began to blink out, like those on the ceiling of Rocco’s bedroom. They sat on a glider in the far corner, near the garage. It squeaked, and crickets responded.

  “How are you, my girl?” Grandma said, holding Chiara’s hand. Aside from some hugs tonight, no one had touched her in days. At least before, she had the boys to hug, kiss, and snuggle with every day. Not that she was much for snuggling with adults, but she discovered touch in some form really mattered.

  “Okay,” Chiara said.

  “No you’re not. You miss your boys, your family hasn’t supported you, Phil’s acting like a jerk, and you miss Jen. And you need a new man.”

  Chiara blew out a shaky breath and leaned into Grandma’s shoulder. “You find me one.”