Roman Reunion (Destination: Desire)

by Crystal Jordan

  Curling into the recliner in her living room, Karen grinned. “It was him offering you carte blanche on the expensive dress that convinced you, wasn’t it?”

  Valentina laughed. “It’s entirely possible.”

  “He knows you so well,” Karen murmured. She’d always liked Gio. He was every bit as passionate as Valentina, though with slightly less drama. Valentina was two handfuls, but he was stubborn enough to have hung on. Once he’d decided she was the one he wanted, that was the end of the discussion.

  Karen hated to make comparisons between Gio and Tate on that score, but it was hard. Especially when she listened to her friend gush while she was sitting alone in an apartment because Tate had wanted everything else more than he’d wanted to keep her. For Gio, Valentina had always been the priority.

  Karen shoved away the petty jealousy that wanted to consume her. No. What kind of friend would she be if she couldn’t get past her own issues to be thrilled for two people who had always been genuinely kind to her? Gio and Valentina had come to visit several times over the years. Gio’s investment firm had a branch in San Francisco, and he’d been sent on business trips which the couple had turned into vacations.

  Valentina hesitated. “I know…things haven’t been going so well for you lately.” A graceful side step from mentioning the divorce. “But I had to share my happiness with someone who was there at the very beginning.”

  “I am happy for you. Both of you.” And she was. Her own situation had nothing to do with theirs. “This is such good news.”

  Another small pause, and then Valentina’s normal exuberance burst out. “Can you come? You must come. Please say you’ll come.”

  Karen looked around her apartment, imagining how two weeks of sitting here by herself would feel. Like the walls were closing in on her. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford the trip. She hadn’t spent a dime of her librarian salary in eight years, and even modest earnings added up after that much time. They’d lived off of Tate’s income except the chunk of his trust fund they’d used to buy their house.

  Besides, when was the last time she’d gone anywhere? Tate had always been too busy to go on vacation and she hadn’t felt like going without him. So, she had two weeks off and a damn good reason to get out of town. She took a breath. “I’ll come.”

  “Really?” The delight and disbelief that came through the line made Karen grin. She heard Valentina clap her hands. “Magnifico! Let me know when you’ll arrive and I’ll have Giovanni pick you up from the airport.”

  “I will. Thanks for thinking of me, Valentina.”

  “Of course, of course!”

  Once they were off the phone, Karen punched the speed dial to connect to Anne.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Need me to come over?”

  “No, and I don’t want your porn collection either.” Karen propped her feet on the ottoman in front of her chair. “What I need is a ride to SFO.”

  God, he was exhausted. Tate couldn’t remember ever being so bone-tired in his entire life. His eyes were gritty and burned as he pulled into the driveway of his house. The windows were dark, a harsh reminder that no one was there waiting for him. Empty. A perfect echo of how he felt. Empty, cold, numb. He sat there and stared for a long time before he shifted the car into park, grabbed his briefcase and got out to walk toward that barren cavern of a house.

  It felt like a million-pound iceberg pressed down on his chest. A cold, relentless weight he’d carried since that last horrible fight where Karen had finally walked away.

  He swallowed, fetched the mail from the mailbox and forced himself to go inside and turn on the lights. The place was spotless, mostly because he was never there. Even less so now that he had no one to come home to.

  Setting his briefcase on the kitchen island, he glanced around. Everywhere he looked reminded him of Karen. The round table she’d tucked under the window, the pale yellow she’d painted the walls, the symphony schedule she’d stuck on the refrigerator. Hell, he didn’t remember the last time he’d managed to make it to the symphony.

  Which had been her point when she’d left. He couldn’t even argue with her—he just didn’t know how to fix the situation.

  Too late now.

  When it came to his work and his marriage, he’d been crushed between the proverbial rock and hard place for years. Something had had to give, and there’d been times he thought it might be his sanity. He shoved a hand through his hair and went to grab a beer from the fridge. He hadn’t found time to eat dinner, but it was after 9pm and he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  He popped the bottle’s top and took a deep swig. The cold bitter brew washed down his parched throat. Sighing, he tried not to notice the silence in the house. He’d brought this on himself, so he had no right to complain. He clung to the numbness inside, knowing the alternative would be far worse. In this case, he didn’t want to feel anything, didn’t want to think too hard or examine his life too deeply. Only then might he hold the crippling agony at bay.

  Everyone had their coping mechanisms.

  The phone in his pocket rang and he pulled it out. The screen read Giovanni and the first smile of the day touched Tate’s lips. The movement almost felt stiff and awkward, as if he hadn’t smiled in a hundred years. “Hello?”

  “Tate, mio amico!”

  The grin grew a little bigger. It had been a while since anyone had been enthused to talk to him. “Hey, Gio. How’s it going?”

  “Buono.” A chuckle came through the phone. “Valentina has finally agreed to be my wife.”

  “She made you work for it,” Tate commented. In his experience, Valentina De Rossi was ten pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag. The fun kind of crazy, but still. She was dizzying in her mood changes and effusive in her charm. Tate had always preferred Karen’s more understated appeal. Not that he’d made sure she knew it lately, but that hardly mattered now. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back.

  Gio made a dismissive sound. “My Valentina, she was worth the wait.”

  Tate’s phone beeped and he held it away from his ear to see it was his father trying to get through to him. He ignored the call. Not that it would stop his dad—he’d just call back. Likely it was something he wanted for the office, some case he wanted to discuss, some issue that had just occurred to him. Tate loved his work, but his father could be on the obsessive side. Dad lived for his work and expected Tate to be the same way. Most of the time, he didn’t mind, but today it felt like harassment. It was the third call since his father had left the office at 7:30pm. And it was Saturday.

  Tapping the button to ignore the other call, he refocused on Giovanni. “So, when’s the big day?”

  “One week from today.” There was a pause. “Oh, it’s Sunday here. Still Saturday there, yes?”

  “For a few more hours.” Tate scooped up the mail and took it and his beer into his office. One of the few rooms that didn’t remind him of his erstwhile wife.

  “I want you to come,” Gio insisted. “I know it’s short notice. I know, you’re busy. Always so busy, but it’s my wedding! You introduced me to my Valentina. I want you there.”

  “Well, I—”

  But a response really wasn’t needed because Gio launched into a one-sided argument about all the reasons Tate needed to come to Italy.

  Dropping the pile of mail on his desk, Tate pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he could sort through the stack. Bill, bill, junk mail, junk mail, bill, and then a heavy letter with a law firm he recognized on the return address. He frowned. Why would this be delivered here? Legal mail went to his work. After sliding his finger under the flap, he opened the envelope and pulled out the thick sheaf of papers to read.

  Gio kept rambling in his ear about the wedding while Tate slowly sank into his chair, the breath wheezing out of him as if he’d been gut-punched.

  Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

  He was a lawyer—he’d seen divorce papers many times in his career. But this petit
ion had his name on it. His and Karen’s. That was something he’d never thought he’d see, never wanted to see.

  He needed to read these, sign them and get them back to her lawyer.

  The line beeped again, and he didn’t even have to look to know it was his father. Wanting something, expecting something. Never slowing down or easing up for a single fucking second of the day. And never satisfied unless Tate was giving a thousand percent of his time and energy.

  Suddenly it was all too much. The final straw. Every single thing in his life was more than he could take. It was as if a switch had flipped in his head and all he wanted was out.

  Without thinking, he stood, went upstairs to his room and pulled out a suitcase. “You know what, Gio? I wouldn’t miss your wedding for anything. I’ll be there tomorrow. Let me email you the details once I’ve booked my ticket.”

  And so, for at least a little while, he’d avoid having to deal with the reality of his life and his marriage—or rather, his divorce.

  Chapter Two

  She’d forgotten how vibrant the city was, especially the narrow, sloping alleys that made up the Trastevere rione where she’d gone to college and where Valentina and Gio still lived. Karen had always loved it here. The rush of cars at a breakneck speed they’d never dare in America, the mass of people from all over the world who’d come to visit, the historic architecture, museums and monuments. She dragged in a breath…and the tantalizing aroma of Italian food hit her nose. There was a restaurant on the bottom floor of Gio and Valentina’s building. Karen’s mouth watered, her stomach growled and she was forcefully reminded that it would be breakfast time if she were in California. A nine-hour time difference could really mess a body up.

  Her old friends lived on the top floor, so Karen had stepped outside on the balcony to escape the wedding preparation madness. She was fairly certain every single female relative of Valentina’s had managed to cram themselves into the apartment. And they were loud and boisterous and happy. But mostly loud. Propping her elbows on the railing, Karen looked out over the skyline. A thousand different levels of rooflines, a few cathedral duomos, and she could just see the Vatican peeking between some of the buildings. So different from what she was used to.

  A wave of laughter spilled out of the apartment, and she glanced back with a grin. They were a nice family—one who’d welcomed her for every holiday during the year she’d spent in Rome. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was well past time when she could check into her hotel.

  It took her another half an hour to say goodbye to everyone because they all insisted on a hug and a kiss from her, told her how beautiful she was, how much they liked her new hairstyle, insisted she come back and join them for dinner. Finally, Valentina laughed, grabbed Karen’s elbow and thrust her out the door or she might never have escaped. She was still grinning when she hit the bottom of the staircase and entered the lobby.

  And slammed into someone trying to go up the stairs. She stumbled back, an apology on her lips, but it never formed as her gaze collided with her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s.

  “Tate,” she said faintly, falling back another step. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  The flash of utter shock on his face told her he’d had no idea they would both be in Rome either. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “The same thing you are, I’d imagine. Attending an old friend’s wedding.”

  There was no way he’d had any more notice on the invitation than she’d had, which meant he’d done something spontaneous for the first time in years. She crossed her arms. “You dropped everything, just like that? You?”

  He snorted. “Got one too many calls from Dad the night Gio invited me, so I ran away from home.”

  The mere glimmer of a smile crossed her lips. “About time.”

  Shaking his head, he huffed out a laugh. His gaze flitted over her. “You changed your hair.”

  “Yes.” She flicked the tips with her fingers. “A new look to start my new life. I like it.”

  He winced. She tried not to cringe because, really, she hadn’t meant to rub his face in it. It was just the standard response she’d come up with every time someone asked why she’d cut it.

  Then there was an awkward moment where she had no idea what to say. She hadn’t expected to see him, didn’t have a list of banal conversational topics ready to save her from uncomfortable silences. “Uh…okay.” She glanced aside. “I need to go check in to my hotel. I, um, guess I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

  “Yes.” He let her get halfway across the lobby before he called out. “Out of curiosity, which hotel are you staying at?”

  “The Gianicolo.”

  “Me too.” An ironic smile tilted up one corner of his mouth. “Giovanni recommended it to you too, huh?”

  She pressed the tips of her fingers against her temple and rubbed at the building pain. “I may have to murder him.”

  “Not if I beat you to it.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he waved her off. “See you at dinner.”

  “Bye.”

  Then they went their separate ways. As usual.

  She looked so damn beautiful, she took his breath away. Tate stood there and watched Karen exit the lobby, his gaze moving over every familiar curve of her figure. A searing, awful sensation opened in the pit of his stomach and he wanted to bend over and howl at the pain that shredded his insides. There went the ice that had encased his heart, shattered, until nothing but the agony remained. It rushed up to consume him.

  His marriage was over. Because he’d turned into his father. Something he’d always promised himself he’d never do. He’d managed to lie to himself, to cling to some sense of denial until right this very second.

  But like his father, he’d become a man so obsessed with his career that he never noticed—or maybe never cared—that his marriage had crumbled. Only his mother hadn’t left. No, she spent her afternoons with whatever tennis instructor or masseuse or pool boy had caught her eye. Why not enjoy herself when her husband so clearly didn’t want her for anything other than the occasional soiree to wine and dine clients? And Tate was damn sure his father was banging one of their first-year law associates. Just like he’d taken his pick of the litter last year and the year before.

  Grasping the handrail on the stairs for balance, Tate sat down heavily on the third step. He swallowed hard. He’d told himself when he joined the family law firm—a firm started by his great-grandfather—that Karen and he wouldn’t end up like his parents. He’d never once considered touching another woman in all the years they were married, and Karen knew it. And he knew she wouldn’t stray either. But fidelity wasn’t enough, was it? He’d never heard his parents fight the way he had with Karen. Maybe because his mother didn’t fight to save her marriage the way Karen had.

  He winced at the thought, but it was the painful truth.

  Maybe his parents had started out faithful and loving, though he had difficulty picturing it. They’d been distant strangers living in the same house for as far back as his memory would stretch. All he’d known was that he didn’t want that.

  But he’d come so fucking close to turning his marriage into that, hadn’t he? If Karen hadn’t walked away, if she’d stayed another five or ten years, would they have turned into indifferent acquaintances who happened to be married?

  Probably.

  “Tate.” Giovanni’s voice pulled him back to the present. “What are you doing sitting here? Are you all right?”

  The other man crouched before Tate, a concerned expression on his face. Tate’s jaw worked, his hands balling into fists on his thighs. When he spoke, his tone was low and controlled. “I could kill you.”

  Gio leaned back a little. “Ah. So you’ve seen Karen.”

  “Ran into her. Literally.”

  “And it knocked you on your ass?” A knowing smirk curled his lips.

  “You know we’re divorcing. You had no right to do this to her. Or me.” Tate could feel a muscle twitch in his cheek. “We deserved the courtesy of a
warning so we could decide if we didn’t want to come if our ex-spouse was here.”

  “Not ex yet.” Gio pushed to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are still married.”

  “A technicality. She left me. And she was right to do it.” Tate swallowed hard, looked his friend in the eye and admitted what he’d refused to ever acknowledge during all the arguments with Karen. “I fucked up our marriage. I made everything except her a priority because I assumed she’d always be there when I needed her. But I wasn’t there when she needed me. I took her for granted and so I lost her. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  The Italian shrugged. “So fix it.”

  A laugh strangled out of Tate, and he felt the humiliating burn of moisture at the back of his eyes. “You can’t undo eight years of stupidity and neglect overnight, Gio. And if she has any sense of self-preservation at all—which she does, trust me—she wouldn’t even consider giving me a second chance.”

  “Have you asked her?” Gio’s brow rose, daring Tate to give him an answer.

  “I don’t deserve it,” he replied quietly. “And you shouldn’t have arranged for this meeting without consulting us.” He blew out a breath. “I probably shouldn’t stay.”

  An utterly offended expression crossed his friend’s face. “You cannot leave now. You’d break Valentina’s heart. You’d make Karen have to answer questions from the whole family. And Italian women, they don’t let things go. Karen will have to spend the next week—no, ten days—talking about you. If you stay, she can ignore you or not as she chooses.”

  “Yes, and there won’t be any questions then, I’m sure.” Tate arched an eyebrow. “That’s some backwards logic and you know it.”

  “I want you here, my friend. Valentina wants Karen here. It is important to both of us that the people who brought us together celebrate our marriage.” Gio’s hands lifted and dropped. “Don’t leave.”

  Tate rubbed his forehead. He shouldn’t stay. He wanted to. Damn, but he wanted to be anywhere Karen was. A sentiment that was far too little and far too late. He should leave her alone. She wouldn’t want to spend ten whole days with him around. And there was a certain irony in them both deciding to stay a few days past the wedding. They might even be on the same flight home. He sighed. “I’ll stay for the wedding, but no matchmaker stuff. No purposefully throwing us together.”