Bella Rosa Proposals: Star-Crossed Sweethearts. Barbara McMahon
Luca.”
“Only because that’s the way he wanted it,” he shot back. “From what Alex has told me, the restaurant isn’t doing as well as it could be these days. Money is tight.”
Her face had paled. “That is true. He insists on using local produce and labor, and sometimes that has cost him more than if he’d outsourced.”
The anger that had been simmering for the better part of three decades rolled to a boil. “So, call in the millionaire stepbrother to help save the day.”
Isabella’s cheeks flamed red now and she shot to her feet. She shouted something in Italian before she collected herself and, in a more moderated tone, replied in English, “I will apologize if that is the way it seems, but what you are saying is not true. Money is not why I sought out either you or Alex and asked you to come to Monta Correnti.”
He wanted to believe her. Even so, he challenged, “Then why? Why now?”
“I only recently learned of your existence, Angelo.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “That makes two of us. Again, Luca’s choice. Or, should I say, his fault?”
He had her there and she knew it. But Isabella raised that small chin that was so similar to his.
“My motives for asking you to come here are very simple. I have two older brothers whom I wished to meet and a rift in our family that I wish to see mended. These are the reasons I sought Luca’s permission to contact you and Alex in America.” She unknotted her fingers from the cloth napkin she held and set it on the table. “If all I needed was money to save Rosa, Angelo, my husband would be happy to provide it. It is not beyond his means, and he has generously offered to do so on more than one occasion.”
“But you’ve turned him down.”
“Yes. Family is more important than the restaurant, but family is what it will take to save it.”
She needn’t have stressed the word. It would have struck him like a prizefighter’s blow anyway. He’d never viewed family as the sort of savior she was implying it could be. Before he could respond, she was going on.
“We have a plan in mind. Our cousins and I. We want to combine our families’ restaurants. They are joined by a courtyard. It is time they were joined in other ways.”
“How does Luca feel about that?”
“He knows nothing of the plan. We want to surprise him. We want everyone who is descended from our grandmother, Rosa Firenzi, to come together. As I said, it will take all of us to make it happen.”
He didn’t question whether she was referring to funding now. He knew better.
Isabella rose to her feet. “I will leave you now to finish your meal and to settle in. I have things I must see to.”
“At the restaurant?” It was a low blow and he knew it. Shame stirred, making him wish it were possible to snatch back the words and start over.
Instead of answering his question, Isabella said, “If you want for anything, I wrote my number next to the telephone in the front parlor.”
With that, his sister disappeared out the door. Angelo stood so abruptly that his chair tipped backward, clattering noisily on the tiled floor. He wanted to call her back so he could apologize. He felt horrible, putting her on the defensive, especially when she’d gone to such trouble to make his first day in Monta Correnti pleasant.
Besides, this wasn’t her fault. None of it was. Luca was the one responsible for the rift in their family. Their father was the one who had screwed up all of their lives with his selfishness and single-minded pursuits.
Oh, Alex had tried to palm off some of the blame on Lisa Firenzi, Luca’s older sister and the owner of the restaurant with which Isabella wanted to join Rosa. According to Angelo, if only their aunt had given Luca the loan he’d sought when the boys were toddlers, they could have remained in Italy rather than being sent to live with Cindy. Angelo wasn’t buying it. Ultimately, the choice had been Luca’s.
Angelo didn’t go after his sister. Instead, he uncorked the bottle of wine and filled his glass to the rim. Then, without bothering to change into the swim trunks that were packed in the luggage the driver had toted upstairs, he went outside and lowered himself fully clothed into the hot tub.
It would be several hours yet before the sun set, but, lost as he was in bitter memories of his fractured childhood, he really didn’t give a damn about either his pricey clothes or the million-dollar view.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANGELO woke early the next morning with a pounding headache that was the result of jet lag, regrets and too much wine. He’d finished off the bottle the evening before. In fact, he’d sat in the hot tub drinking it. Now, not quite dawn, he was in his bed. His head was throbbing more than his shoulder, but not quite as much as his conscience.
He owed Isabella an apology.
Women. This made two who’d gotten under his skin in short order in ways that he hadn’t thought possible.
Last night, after a second glass of wine and half an hour of bubbling hot water had mellowed his mood, he’d considered going to see Atlanta. He’d poured himself more vino and brooded instead. He’d never pursued a woman in the past. He’d never needed to. Yet he found himself practically chasing Atlanta and eager to see her even though she’d made it clear she wanted solitude. And that she didn’t want him. He didn’t care for the fact he was acting like some lovesick teen.
As for Isabella, his sister had welcomed him to Monta Correnti with a feast suitable for a returning prodigal son, which in a way he guessed he was. They were strangers, yet they also were siblings. Half, whole or otherwise, she hadn’t felt the need to sever their kinship. She’d made it clear all she wanted was a chance to get to know her long-lost brother. A chance to right a wrong and mend a rift. In return, all she asked of Angelo was for him to keep an open mind when it came to their father and the rest of the family.
He’d blown that deal before they’d finished eating the pasta she’d no doubt spent hours preparing. God, he was a heel. He had to make amends. He waited until it was a reasonable hour and called the number she’d left, only to find out she wasn’t home.
The man who answered the phone told Angelo in heavily accented English that she was in the village running errands and he didn’t expect her back for a couple hours.
“This is Angelo, no?” the man asked gruffly.
Guilty as charged, he thought. “Yes.”
“I am Max, Isabella’s husband.”
Not sure what else to say, Angelo replied, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Max didn’t bother with inane pleasantries. “Isabella was upset when she returned to our home last night.”
“That would be my fault.”
“Sì. She told me as much. You made her very angry.” Max’s voice softened when he added, “My Isabella is especially pretty when her temper flares.”
Angelo had heard that tone before. His brother used it whenever the subject of his intended came up.
Max was saying, “As much as it was my pleasure to take her mind off family matters, it is my duty to look out for her well-being. I do not wish to see her distraught again.”
Under other circumstances, the man’s subtle threat might have irritated Angelo. In this case, he figured he deserved it. Besides, he’d already managed to get off on a bad foot with relatives. No sense making matters worse by getting into a verbal boxing match with Max.
So, he said, “Neither do I. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. I’d hoped to apologize to her. I knew even before she left that I was way out of line.”
“Good.” Max sounded pleased.