Beauty & the Blue Angel

by Maureen Child

  “You’re on the wrong track already,” Daisy said, wincing a little from the dismissive way Rita had said the word waiter. After all, she was a waitress. And a darned good one. Actually, with her maternity leave almost up, she’d be heading back to Antonio’s soon. Still, even the best waitress probably wouldn’t make much of an impression on the Barone family. Single mother, working waitress… Oh yeah, Daisy was sure the Barones would consider her prime “wife” material for Alex.

  Wife?

  Where had that come from?

  But she couldn’t lie to herself, could she?

  Not when she knew all about the idle fantasies and daydreams she sometimes entertained. Like the one where Alex was her husband and Angel’s daddy, and they lived happily ever after in a sweet little cottage with a real English garden in the yard? But as that daydream swam to the surface of her mind, it splintered in the too-bright light of reality.

  Daisy reached for her water glass and reminded herself that she wasn’t silly enough to believe fairy tales were real or that dreams could come true.

  “See, I don’t think I am,” Rita said softly. “I think my big brother’s in love with you.”

  Rule number one, Daisy told herself later, never be taking a drink of water when someone says something foolish.

  As she choked and gagged and fought for air, Rita jumped out of her chair, ran around the table and gave her a couple of whopping big slaps on the back. When the pain of that equaled the panic of not being able to breathe, Daisy raised one hand in surrender. At last, though, the choking eased, and after she took a long, unsteady breath, she looked at the other woman and said, “You’re nuts.”

  “Funny,” Rita murmured as she sat down again and draped her napkin across her lap. “That’s just what Alex said.”

  “You told him your suspicions?”

  “It’s not like he doesn’t know already.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Flustered, torn between wanting to believe and wanting to forget this whole conversation had ever happened, Daisy snapped, “He’s just being nice. He doesn’t love me.”

  “Honey,” Rita said softly, with a small shake of her head, “nobody’s that nice. There’s more to it than that. Alex loves you.”

  “He’s fond of the baby, that’s all,” she argued, shooting one quick glance at her sleeping daughter.

  “Oh, sure he is. He’s crazy about Angel. But he’s also in love with her mother. And I didn’t think he’d ever love anyone again.”

  Whatever she’d been about to say completely slipped Daisy’s mind as she focused on one word. “Again?”

  A busboy brought their drinks, and Rita smiled her thanks and waited until he’d left again before continuing. “He was engaged. A couple of years ago.”

  “Engaged.”

  Rita shuddered. “Awful woman.”

  “Engaged.” One part of Daisy’s mind knew she sounded like a parrot, but she just couldn’t seem to help it. He’d been engaged to marry someone. He’d loved another woman enough to ask her to marry him. And Daisy was willing to bet he hadn’t settled for telling her that he “wanted” her.

  “She broke their engagement just a week or so before the wedding.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I know. Alex was hurt. And rightly so. But also,” Rita said thoughtfully, “I think it burned him. Turned him off love. I honestly never thought he’d fall again.”

  “He hasn’t.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Really.”

  Rita just smiled, and Daisy thought she’d never noticed before how annoying a smile could be.

  “I know my brother,” Rita said. “And whatever he thinks, he’s in love.”

  “Are all of you Barones mind readers?”

  “What?”

  Really shaken now, all Daisy could think was to get away. To get far away to somewhere quiet so she could think. Tiny ripples of panic surged and receded in the pit of her stomach. She’d like to believe Rita, but she just couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not with Angel to think about. She’d believed in Jeff, trusted him. And she’d ended up alone and pregnant.

  She wasn’t about to set herself up for heartbreak again.

  Heck, everyone made mistakes. But the least a person could do was to try to make some new ones.

  “Daisy, don’t go—”

  “I’m sorry, I—” Standing up, she came face-to-face with the surly waiter, who’d finally deigned to appear with their lunches.

  “Are you leaving?” he demanded, smacking her plate down onto the table with enough carelessness that some of the fresh fruit tumbled off the plate onto the tabletop and from there to the ground.

  “Yes, I am,” Daisy said. Then, before she could stop herself, she went on. “And you know, you should put more enthusiasm into your job or simply quit. People don’t want to be served by someone who’s glowering at them.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  “Good manners don’t cost a thing, and you might actually see an increase in your tips if you tried using a few.” Then she nodded at Rita, grabbed the stroller handle and pushed her daughter off down the street.

  She never heard the smattering of applause from the other patrons, and missed completely the smile Rita sent after her.

  “Who does she think she is?” the waiter grumbled.

  “A very smart woman,” Rita snapped, and tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the table before she left. She had a phone call to make.

  Eleven

  The next day Alex stood on Huntington Avenue, staring up at the five-story chrome-and-glass building that was the headquarters of Baronessa Gelati. In front of the impressive building were well-tended gardens, with every kind of flower imaginable bursting with scent and color. Several trees shaded the sidewalk and the entryway to the building, giving the whole place a casual, welcoming air.

  But there was nothing at all casual about Baronessa Gelati. His family had built a solid reputation by being the best. And being the best required work. Lots of it.

  He’d done his share of that work growing up. All of his brothers and sisters had served their time in the gelateria in the North End or running errands here at the headquarters. And most of them had decided to join the family business.

  But Alex had known from the time he was a kid that a nine-to-five life just wasn’t for him. He’d wanted adventure. He’d wanted to travel the world. To do something important with his life.

  And in the military, he’d found his place.

  Still, he was Barone enough to feel a quick surge of pride as he looked at what his family had accomplished. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he started up the walkway and entered the building as the automatic doors swished open in silent welcome.

  The heels of his worn, brown leather boots clicked noisily against the marble floor as he crossed the foyer. He barely glanced at the framed photos, awards and plaques dotting the walls. He didn’t have to. He’d helped hang most of them. It was a picture gallery explaining the history of Baronessa, and as a Barone, he already knew the story inside out. He waved one hand at the man sitting behind the reception desk and headed for the elevators.

  When a door opened, he stepped inside and punched the button for the fifth floor. Then he leaned back against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and watched the light dance across the floor numbers as the elevator rose.

  And in those few minutes, a thousand thoughts catapulted through his mind. Most of them were just rehashing what he’d been thinking about since talking to Mike the day before.

  Hell.

  What he’d been thinking about since walking into Antonio’s for dinner six weeks ago.

  Daisy.

  She haunted his dreams at night and dominated his thoughts during the day. She’d somehow become such a part of his world, he couldn’t imagine that world without her in it.

  Which was why he’d come here today. Before talking to Daisy, he wanted to tell his family what was going on, what h
e was feeling. Hell, maybe he was looking for a little encouragement. Someone to tell him that being in love didn’t necessarily forebode disaster.

  Alex snorted and unfolded himself from his slouched position as the elevator chimed and the door opened. Yeah, he was in great shape. A navy pilot, trusted with a gazillion-dollar jet, counted on to defend his country, and here he stood, wanting someone to tell him that love didn’t have to hurt.

  A quiet hum of efficiency greeted him as he stalked down the long, carpeted hall toward his father’s office. Secretaries and assistants hustled along the corridors, phones rang and some kind of soft, Italian Muzak filtered through the discretely placed wall speakers.

  Alex nodded at his father’s secretary, who smiled and waved him in. Pushing through the door, Alex paused on the threshold to admire the huge, elegantly appointed office. An antique desk stood directly in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that displayed an awesome view of the city. A hand-carved bar, crowded with dozens of crystal decanters, took up most of one wall, and along another was a cluster of cushy sofas facing each other in a tight circle, as if inviting intimate conversations or friendly business deals.

  Two straight-back chairs faced his father’s desk and behind it sat the man himself, in a deep-maroon leather chair. Carlo Barone held a phone to his ear, muttered something into the receiver and smiled a greeting to Alex. Motioning him inside, he gave his attention back to the person on the other end of the line, giving Alex a chance to study his father.

  At sixty-five, Carlo was still a vigorous, no-nonsense man, from his military-style brush cut to the tips of his gleaming black wingtip shoes. The gray at his temples didn’t fool anyone who knew him into thinking he’d slowed down in any way.

  While Alex waited, he walked around the room, studying the framed family photos that covered much of the wall space. His brothers and sisters, frozen in time, stared back at him, grinning their childhood smiles and bringing a few wistful smiles from Alex in response.

  “Honey,” a familiar voice said from the doorway, “I didn’t know you were coming into the office today.”

  He turned to grin at his mother. Moira Reardon Barone was already crossing the room, arms open for a hug. She was a tall, elegant woman, with her Irish red hair styled to perfection. At the moment her beautiful green eyes were practically dancing with pleasure.

  “Hi, Mom.” Alex grabbed her in a tight hug and just for the hell of it lifted her off her feet, until she slapped at his shoulders and giggled like a girl.

  “Put me down, you hooligan.”

  He did, setting her on her feet just as his father hung up the phone and came around his desk to greet him. “Alex! Glad you came by. We’ve got a little excitement planned for today. The winner of the contest will be announced shortly.”

  “I can’t stay,” he said quickly, knowing that every time he came by the office, his father hoped to convince him to resign his commission and join the family firm.

  Carlo’s bushy black eyebrows drew together briefly in a frown of disappointment, but just as quickly relaxed again. “Well, then, what’s up?”

  “I think I know,” Moira said, staring up at her son with a thoughtful smile on her face. “Rita called me yesterday.”

  Carlo snorted and moved to the bar. “You talk to all of the kids every day. What’s so special about this one phone call?”

  Moira sighed and shook her head at her husband. “I tried to tell you last night, but you were too busy on the phone to listen.”

  Carlo handed her a glass of white wine, his son a cold beer and then, as he led the way to the conversation area, paused long enough to give his wife a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. “I was busy lining up western distributors.”

  She smiled at him fondly, sent Alex a speculative look and said, “There are some things more important than business, Carlo.”

  Alex frowned, but sat down opposite his parents. Naturally, the two older Barones took their usual positions—side by side. As they had throughout all the years of their marriage, they presented a united front. They’d managed eight children and a growing business by drawing together and holding on tight.

  It was the kind of relationship every Barone child had always wanted for his or her own.

  “So—” Carlo nodded at his son while he took a sip of Scotch “—do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  “No, but—”

  His mother interrupted him. “My guess is he’s here to talk about the new woman in his life.”

  Carlo brightened. The man was a romantic at heart. But then, most Italian men were, Alex thought.

  “Who is she? When do we meet her?” Carlo turned and looked at his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I tried, remember? Western distributors?” Moira shifted a glance toward her son and tried to read his expression. But Alex had never been an easy one to figure out. He kept his feelings to himself, while most of her children wore their emotions on their sleeves. And because he buried his hurts and his triumphs deep inside, Alex was the one who was most easily hurt—and the least likely to look for help.

  Knowing how badly the breakup of his engagement had torn at him made Moira all the more determined to see that he was more careful in love this time around. It didn’t matter to her that Rita had sung Daisy’s praises. All that counted here was her son.

  “Look,” Alex said, setting his beer down on the low, cherry wood cocktail table in front of him. “I just came by to tell you that…well, yeah. About Daisy.” Apparently though, he didn’t have to tell them about her. Rita had already stepped in and told them everything.

  “Daisy, is it?” Carlo practically beamed. “Is she Italian?”

  “No. Her last name’s Cusak.”

  “She’s a waitress at Antonio’s,” Moira added.

  “Antonio’s?” The elder Barone stiffened slightly, then relaxed again. “Doesn’t matter.” He waved a hand, then frowned when the phone on his desk rang shrilly. He stood up and moved toward it, calling back over his shoulder, “As long as you love her, that’s good enough for me.”

  But he hadn’t said he loved her, Alex thought. He hadn’t even thought it. Oh, he’d admitted to himself that he cared about Daisy. And God knew, he wanted her so badly he’d been walking around in pain for weeks now. But love? He didn’t know. Reaching for his beer again, he studied the label as though it contained the answers to every one of the questions rushing through his brain. But there were no answers there. Hell, he was in deep trouble.

  “Alex,” his mother said softly, reaching across the table to lay one hand on his arm.

  He looked up into the green eyes that he’d trusted all of his life and found concern written there. Not surprising. Moira Reardon Barone had always been able to connect with her children, to know which of them needed a hug or a swift kick in the rear.

  “Rita told me all about you and Daisy. And the baby, as well.”

  “Rita should keep her nose out of it.”

  “She loves you.”

  “She’s a buttinsky.”

  “True,” his mother allowed with a smile. “But she does love you. As do I.”

  “I know that.”

  “And if you love Daisy, I’m happy for you.”

  “I—”

  “But,” Moira said, cutting him off before he could say anything more, “I want you to think about something, too.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, blew it out in a rush and asked, “What?”

  “I know how attached you’ve become to Daisy’s baby—”

  “Rita really shot her mouth off, didn’t she?”

  His mother smiled, that patient, understanding smile that had always told him she saw far too much for him to try to get away with anything.

  “Yes, she did. But you told us about the baby that first night, remember? How you and the girls had helped Daisy deliver?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “That kind of emotional connection is a very strong one. It can co
lor your emotions, cloud the issues.”

  He ground his teeth together. “This isn’t just about the baby, Mom.”

  “I’m sure it’s not. But what I want you to think about now,” his mother said, “is just this. Is it Daisy you love? Or is it the idea of having a family of your own that’s drawing you?” She pulled her hand back and shook her head. “Don’t get that stubborn look on your face. It’s an honest question. And one you have to consider carefully. For both your own sake and Daisy’s. Not to mention the child’s.”

  Alex jumped to his feet and looked down at her. Moira wasn’t deterred. She’d been dealing with Italian tempers for a long time now. And coming from a family of Irishmen every bit as stubborn as the Barones, she’d long ago learned to stand her ground.

  “If what you’re feeling isn’t really love, Alex, you’ll not only be cheating yourself, but cheating Daisy out of what everyone has a right to expect.”

  He scraped one hand across his face. Reasonable. Her argument was perfectly reasonable. There was just one problem. “And how am I supposed to know if it’s love? I thought I was in love the last time. But when she left me, I got over it.”

  Moira shook her head, stood up and gave her son a brief, hard hug before stepping back with a smile. “There’s no signpost, Alex. No bolt of lightning. No fireworks. There’s just a knowing, deep inside you. In your heart. Your soul. If it’s love, you’ll know it’s there.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then that’s your answer, isn’t it?”

  “I…care for her, Mom.” A weak word, care. It didn’t come close to describing what he felt for Daisy. For Angel. It didn’t explain the wild fantasies and the silly daydreams that had become a part of his life over the last several weeks.

  “I’m sure you do,” Moira said softly. “But the question is, how much do you care?”

  Before he could answer, his father hung up the phone and called out, “Moira! We’ve got our contest winner! It’s a young woman named…” He checked his notes “…Holly Fitzgerald.”

  Moira grinned at her husband. “Up the Irish.”