“I still have drawers of Mariabella’s clothes up in her bedroom. Mariabella’s my daughter. She’s Roberto’s mother. She wouldn’t mind at all if you stayed.” Nonno smiled coaxingly. “I’ll make the bed and Roberto will go down to the corner for a toothbrush.”
Brandi was delighted to see Roberto look truly pained. “Oh, man. Nonno, it’s cold out there!”
“Wimp.” With a single word Nonno dismissed his grandson.
“You’ve got a driver!” Brandi said.
“I’m not calling Newby to drive me a block.” Roberto finished his meal.
She smiled. This would teach him to make her walk all over Chicago in this weather. “Revenge is sweet.”
“So you’ll stay,” Nonno said.
She really didn’t want to. But her bed in her apartment was a new mattress paid for by the apartment manager. She wanted to go home—but not back to that place. She didn’t want to smell the new paint and know the hateful message hidden beneath it, and see the couch with the cushions gone, and feel the damp carpet and hope the cleaners got every horrible thing out. Even with Roberto in the house, she would remember.
As she hesitated, Nonno sighed hugely. “I’m a lonely old man. So lonely. I would enjoy the company. Of course, you young people probably don’t want to hang around with a feeble old man like me. . . .”
“Nonno, you’re pulling my chain,” she said.
“Why, yes.” His eyes twinkled. “Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing.”
She couldn’t resist him. “I’d be delighted to stay.”
Looking resigned, Roberto stood up and went to get his coat.
“Just for tonight!” she said.
“Of course, little Brandi.” Nonno patted her hand. “Roberto, while you’re at the store, pick up some eggs for the morning.”
“Yes, Nonno.” Roberto pulled on his leather gloves. “Anything else?”
“Milk,” Nonno said. “And maybe some Bisquick.”
“Yes, Nonno.” He took a dark knit hat and pulled it over his ears. He should have looked nerdy.
Instead he looked boyish and sexy, and Brandi wanted to wrap his scarf around his neck, give him a kiss, and tell him to hurry. So she said, “About the toothbrush—soft bristles, compact head.”
He looked at her. Just looked at her. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were fond, as if seeing her sit with his grandfather satisfied something within him. “Soft bristles, compact head,” he repeated, and headed for the door.
It opened and shut, leaving the two at the table smiling at each other.
“He’s a nice boy. But he’s spoiled.” Nonno nodded wisely.
“He sure is.” Spoiled and breathtaking. When he gazed at her like that, she forgot all his crimes and remembered only his charms.
“It’s girls like you who spoil him. It’s not good for you two to spend the night alone together.” Nonno shook his head. “Things happen.”
Things happen? They sure did, especially around Roberto.
“I know. I know. You young people are always sleeping with each other back and forth and you think old guys like me are out-of-date, but I’m telling you, my own daughter learned the hard way that men are louses who take their pleasure without a thought to the consequences!” Nonno’s voice rose and his dark eyes sparkled with fury. “I had to send Mariabella to Italy to have her baby.”
“Roberto?” Brandi had thought he was the son of a count.
“Yes, Roberto. He was born on the wrong side of the blankets. Then she married the count and he made all things right.”
“Oh.” She was confused and irritated. She needed to know more about Roberto. “But the count is his father?”
“In every way,” Nonno assured her. “You stay here and drink a little more wine. I’ll make up the beds.”
“Actually, Nonno, do you have a computer I can use?” she asked impulsively.
“Of course. Roberto bought me a brand-new computer for my birthday. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Roberto walked down the dark street, his head bent against the wind, as cold and uncomfortable as Brandi obviously hoped. The porch lights provided spots of light; the stars were far away and brittle-looking in the blackness of space.
Yet he smiled—she’d been so wickedly thrilled at the idea of sending him out into the cold.
She was not a woman with whom a man trifled. She was intelligent, she was quick-witted, she was passionate—and so, of course, she was vindictive. The last trait was not a permanent part of her character, but when a woman had offered a riches of femininity such as she had offered to her fool of a fiancé and had them rejected, she would seek revenge on the whole gender.
Roberto understood. He only hoped she understood that, when the time was right, he would take her to his bed again.
Come to think of it . . . he hoped she didn’t. She was a strong-willed woman, and if she realized his intentions, her resistance would strengthen. He liked leading her on, giving her support in her new job while kindling the fires of her body. When their current situation was resolved, he would sate himself—and her.
His fists clenched in his pockets.
Yet waiting was proving more difficult than he anticipated. Seeing her asleep on his nonno’s couch, sweet and defenseless, had touched a tender chord within him and a fierce chord within him. He didn’t understand this need to possess a woman with whom he’d indulged himself only a day ago.
Yet he would control that need. After all, Nonno was right: Roberto had always been the sober, responsible one in the family, and—
Behind him, someone coughed. Coughed as if he didn’t want to, but couldn’t hold it back.
Roberto’s steps didn’t slow. Nothing about him indicated that he’d heard. Instead he waited until he reached the darkest spot on the street and slid into the shadows beside the garbage cans.
The guy following him bumbled along, coughing up a lung.
The guy was really sick.
When Roberto knocked him off his feet he was careful not to kill him.
The boy struggled, punching wildly.
Roberto sat on his chest, pressing him into the icy concrete. “What are you doing? Why are you following me?”
The guy wheezed. “Not.”
“Yes, you are. You and that other guy. What did you do, divide up the duties?”
“Had to.” The kid started coughing again.
Roberto would have bet the FBI had put a tail on him, but the FBI didn’t put their agents into the field with pneumonia. “You’re with the Fosseras.”
“Not!” The guy struggled frantically.
Roberto leaned close. “Bullshit.” Per Diana! He wanted to put his hands around the guy’s throat and interrogate him, but the kid was literally gasping for breath. Roberto would be lucky if he didn’t die while he sat on him. Standing, he fumbled for his phone. “I’m going to call you an ambulance.”
“No!” The guy stumbled to his feet and stood swaying. Then he took off down the street, weaving as he ran.
Shaking his head, Roberto watched him go. He was no threat. He would be lucky to live through the night.
Who the hell would send this loser to trail Roberto? Not Mossimo. Not the FBI.
So who?
17
Brandi sat at Nonno’s tiny desk in his bedroom and stared in disbelief at the photo of a distinguished-looking Roberto on the nineteen-inch computer screen.
Roberto Bartolini, CEO of Bartolini Importers, speaks at the stockholders’ meeting to report profits are up seven percent. . . . The acquisition of Washington State’s prizewinning Squirrel Run Winery is expected to add value to an already innovative company. . . .
She flipped away from the business news and to another page.
Count Roberto Bartolini, respected Italian-American businessman and heir to the ancient Bartolini estates in Tuscany, escorts Nobel Prize winner Nina Johnsten to the ball in her honor. . . .
Looking proud and happy, he stood back and allowed Nina Johnsten to t
ake her bows, and he showed so much pride she might have been a supermodel instead of a woman about ninety years old and half his height.
Brandi shoved her hair off her forehead and went looking for the dirt.
Count Roberto Bartolini, known for his high-profile affairs as well as his discreet refusal to discuss his women, adds another notch to his belt with Chinese-American actress Sara Wong. . . .
“Wow.” Brandi stared at the photo of Roberto with the tall, golden-skinned, dark-haired Asian woman. They were the most beautiful couple she’d ever seen . . . except for the picture of Roberto with English heiress Brownie Burbank. They were also the most beautiful couple she’d ever seen. And Roberto with German opera singer Leah Camberg. He had a way of making every woman more beautiful than she could be by herself.
Brandi looked down at her wrinkled suit. Except probably for her. Somehow she thought that, after today, she was the worse for wear.
But as much as she wanted to, she didn’t dare linger over the photos of his various lovers. Nonno was making her bed, then coming back for her, and she needed to find out at what turn Roberto’s life had gone wrong.
She found the stats in the most recent articles.
Count Roberto Bartolini, respected international businessman, has been accused of stealing his lover’s jewelry. . . . Mrs. Gloria Vandermere claims he took her eight-carat diamond after spending the night in her mansion. . . . “He’s good, but not eight-carat-diamond’s worth of good,” she is quoted as saying. When asked, Count Bartolini shrugged and said, “I’m a businessman, not a gigolo,” but the still-discreet Italian nobleman refused to address the matter of whether he slept with Mrs. Vandermere. Count Bartolini is a descendant of American Italians on his mother’s side, and his grandfather Sergio Contini was allegedly the head of a ring of jewel thieves in Chicago, but no whisper of dishonesty has ever before tainted his name. . . .
Brandi erased the browser’s history, turned off the computer, and sat loose-fisted in the ergonomic desk chair. If anything, her investigation had confused her more.
Roberto had never before been accused of a crime. He was rich, he was respected, he was a businessman, he was a lover. . . . Had he hidden his hobby from the press until the moment when he took one chance too many? Was this an aberration in character? Or was Mrs. Vandermere nothing but a disgruntled former lover?
Nonno tapped on the door. “All right, little Brandi, your room is ready.”
At once she was on her feet and moving toward Nonno. She couldn’t think of this right now. She now knew what the world knew about Roberto, and she was more confused than ever.
Nonno led her down the hall and opened the door to Mariabella’s bedroom. “Here you are. The heat is on, but it’s a little chilly still.” He waved at the maple dresser. “Mariabella’s pajamas are in there. She left a robe in the closet. Don’t be shy; use what you need. Mariabella is a sweet girl. She’d want to share.”
“Thank you, Nonno.”
“The bath’s at the end of the hall. You can spend as much time in there as you want—Mariabella always did. Hours and hours.” He cackled as if he were telling an old family joke.
Driven by impulse, Brandi kissed his cheek.
He patted hers. “I’ve enjoyed having a beautiful young woman visit, even if she is with my rascal of a grandson.”
Downstairs, the door opened and closed.
“He’s returned at last.” Nonno headed back down the stairs. “I’ll get your toothbrush.”
“Thank you, Nonno.” Brandi stepped inside the bedroom and felt as if she’d stepped back into the seventies. The carpet was lavender. The wallpaper and the bedspread were sprinkled with lavender flowers. A yellowing poster of Genesis featuring a young Phil Collins with hair that was a little longer but still thin was pinned on the ceiling. The heat register creaked and rumbled. Despite the chill, the room welcomed her with the generous warmth of a daughter of Nonno’s, a mother of Roberto’s. Brandi didn’t hesitate to search the drawers for sleepwear. She found pajamas first and grimaced. Not surprisingly, Mariabella was shorter than Brandi—shorter by at least six inches. Of course, Nonno wouldn’t think of that, and Brandi wouldn’t hurt him by mentioning it. Instead she dug deeper to find a flannel nightgown. She pulled it over her head. It hit her at midshin.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her arms stuck out. Her ankles stuck out. She looked like a gangly giraffe, and she felt sort of like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole. All her perceptions were twisting, stretching, shrinking, and she didn’t know which way was up.
She took out her PDA and opened it to her master list of qualities required in a man. She read them through. Honest, dependable, goal-oriented, sober . . .
Roberto was none of those.
It didn’t matter. Or rather it shouldn’t matter, because she didn’t have Roberto. Shouldn’t want to have him.
But . . . her stylus hovered over ERASE ALL.
Her cell phone rang. It was Kim, and with relief, Brandi put away her PDA and answered the phone.
“What are you up to?” Her half sister’s voice blared in Brandi’s ear. “Your mother keeps calling trying to pry information out of me. I’m pretending I know nothing—and you know how good I am at acting. Lucky for me, I can’t figure out what you are doing. When I called earlier, that guy answered the phone.”
“Did you think it was Alan?” Brandi buttoned the flowered nightgown.
“No, I did not think it was Alan. He didn’t sound like a wimp who got spooked talking to a lesbian, so I knew it was the new guy. The new guy! The one you were supposed to leave after one night. Then after the weekend. What’s going on?” Kim’s voice got louder and louder. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m not crazy.” Brandi moved to the window and squinted up at the night sky, trying to see the moon or the stars . . . or God. She had a few words she’d like to say to God. “But someone out there has it in for me.”
“Whiner.”
“Bitch,” Brandi answered absently. “My apartment was vandalized.”
“What? When?” One thing Brandi could always depend on—Kim responded fiercely to a threat to her younger sister.
“Last night. Then I went to my first day of work and my Italian lover was the defendant in my first case.”
“The guy on the phone?”
“The very one.” Brandi took the pins out of her hair. “Then the judge remanded him into my custody. Now I’m at his grandfather’s, where I’ll spend the night, and we’re arguing about where we’re going to spend the rest of the nights until the court case is over.”
“He wants to spend them all in your bed, huh?”
“Nooo.” Brandi got her brush out of her purse.
“C’mon! He’d have to be blind and an idiot not to be interested!” Kim sounded absolutely incredulous.
“Alan was neither blind nor an idiot, and he wasn’t interested.” Brandi brushed hard enough to pull her hair out by the roots.
“No, he was a self-absorbed son of a bitch who wanted all the guys to envy him for the babe he was dating, but hated that you were taller than him, smarter than him, and infinitely more interesting.”
“Hey, thanks!” Kim was a gruff woman not given to compliments, and Brandi treasured this one.
“He was an abuser,” Kim said flatly.
“He never hit me!” Brandi tossed the brush aside.
“He didn’t have to. He made you feel bad about yourself. Now you’ve got another one who got what he wanted from you and is ready to toss you aside.”
Brandi thought about the way Roberto looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. “Not . . . exactly.”
“Aha!” Kim sounded triumphant. “I knew it. I knew you were kidding me. The guy who answered the phone has the voice of a lover.”
Amused, Brandi asked, “What, my dear lesbian sister, do you know about the voice of a man who is a lover?”
“You’re not the only one who had an adventure this weekend.” Ben
eath Kim’s prim tone, Brandi heard suppressed excitement.
“Wait a minute. Wait. Wait. Wait.” Brandi wanted to get this straight. “Are you saying you’ve found someone?”
“It’s not impossible!”
“It is when someone’s as picky as you are,” Brandi retorted.
Kim laughed, a deep, satisfied laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s special.”
“What’s her name?”
“We were talking about you.”
“What’s her name?”
“So this guy is interested in you?”
“I’ll tell you when you tell me her name.” Brandi grinned into the resulting silence. Kim could be stubborn. But not as stubborn as Brandi.
“Her name is Sarah.”
“The vice principal you thought hated you?”
“I answered your question; now you answer mine.” But Kim was laughing.
She sounded so happy, Brandi’s heart warmed. Heck, if not for Kim, the events of the past fourteen years would have prostrated Brandi, but Kim faced the prejudices against lesbians and their father’s scathing complaints to become a successful coach, and with an example like that before her, Brandi had to achieve her goals. She owed Kim a lot. “What was the question?”
“You going to be okay?” Kim asked gruffly.
“Sure. What else can happen?”
“Well . . .”
At that single word, Brandi’s antennae quivered with suspicion. “What? Kim, what?”
“I just want you to know . . . I might have said too much to your mother.”
“What?” Oh, no. “What do you mean, too much?”
“She was questioning me. She confused me. I didn’t know what to say, so she started guessing stuff and—Hey, I gotta go. The pool tournament is tonight and it’s my turn.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me! Kim! Don’t you dare!” But the connection was dead. “Shit!” Now she had to call Tiffany. “Shit.” But this time she was considerably less heated.
She should have called sooner. She knew it. There was no use blaming Kim because she’d tried to cover for Brandi and failed. It was just that this had gotten so complicated, much more than a simple jilting, and Tiffany would be so distressed—distressed because Brandi had been hurt, and more distressed that Brandi hadn’t run to her mother for comfort.