Romeo, Romeo Page 19

  “I'm supposed to go to my parents' for supper. You know, the weekly torture. I could get out of it.”

  “Is that what you want?” Nick passed her a plate, sat down, and cut his bagel.

  “I don't know. It's not like I'm going to be able to avoid my father forever. I might as well face him sooner rather than later. Things like this tend to get more and more ominous the longer they're avoided.”

  “It sounds as if you're trying to talk yourself into going.”

  “I guess I am. I don't know how I'm going to sit across from him and act as if I hadn't caught him playing tonsil hockey with the puttana”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Nick heard himself ask the question, but it took a second to register that he actually had. The look on Rosalie's face took away any doubt. She couldn't have been any more shocked than he was.

  “What, are you nuts? No, I don't want you to come with me! That's all I need. They'd take one look at you, and my dad's screwing around would be the least of my worries.”

  Nick called himself every name in the book. He should have been relieved that he didn't have to do the “meet the parents” thing. But did the thought of him meeting her family have to horrify her so? It wasn't as if he hadn't already met her mother, though he'd been angry, and he was sure he hadn't shown her his best side. Hell, who was he kidding? He'd thrown her out of the apartment.

  Rosalie went on fixing her bagel as if she hadn't insulted him. He watched as her comment registered, and she thought about what she'd said. She looked up from her plate guilty as hell.

  “Gosh, Nick, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's my family, they're… well, if you don't want them to start planning a wedding, you'll stay clear. Besides, they already think I'm some kind of puttana. God, it's like a cosmic joke, isn't it? Bringing you home with me will only make matters worse.”

  “Stop already. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking.” He got up and drained his juice in one gulp. “I'm going for a run.”

  He went into the bedroom to put on his socks. Ignoring her, he passed the table on his way to the door and stepped into his running shoes. He bent down to tie them.

  Rosalie came up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Nick?”

  He stood and took his Polar fleece jacket off the hook next to Dave's leash. “It's fine, Lee. Forget about it. I'll be back in awhile.”

  Running had always been like therapy for Nick. An escape. Only now, he didn't do it to escape arrest; he escaped his world and all its problems. He concentrated on breathing, the slap of his shoes against the pavement, and the feeling of freedom when he hit the zone.

  Somehow, running had a way of making things clearer. After many a run, he'd found that somewhere beneath all the everyday problems and trials that kept him occupied, he'd already made the important decision he'd been mulling over. He just hadn't recognized it. Today was different. The only thing he saw was how close he'd come to getting his ass caught in the string of lies he'd so neatly woven. The string was beginning to resemble a noose.

  If Rosalie had taken him up on his offer, what was the chance that someone wouldn't have recognized him? They'd either see him as Rich's ex-con friend who, in their eyes, led their son down the path to military school. Or they'd recognize him as Dominick Romeo of Romeo's Auto Mall, et al. Add the name of a car company to the end of Romeo's, and it would name at least one of his dealerships.

  Hell, he was lucky Gina hadn't recognized him. Of course, most people were used to seeing him in a power suit, not bare-assed naked and covered only by a thin sheet.

  He considered coming clean and telling Rosalie the truth about everything. His history with her brother, and his interest in taking over Premier Motors. But what good would it do—other than to clear his guilty conscience? Rosalie would find out the truth in her own time and then it would be over. She'd kick him to the curb, and who could blame her? He'd do the same if he were in her shoes.

  Nick jogged in place as he waited for a break in traffic. He ran across the street, but his thoughts followed him. It wasn't as if he wanted to be with Rosalie forever, but taking his best guess as to when the noose would tighten, he wouldn't have the time he needed. He wanted more. He couldn't afford to do anything that might risk what little time he had left.

  No matter how he envisioned the end of this thing with Rosalie, he was always the one who got screwed—the one who hadn't had enough. Enough what? Enough time? Enough fun? Aw, hell, enough of Rosalie? The only variable was when he'd get screwed. Not if, or how, but when.

  He picked up his pace as he hit the park. There was nothing to stop him—no streetlights or old ladies pulling their grocery carts, no mothers with kids in strollers or women with little yappy dogs. No one he couldn't run around.

  He'd told Gina he wouldn't hurt Rosalie. Another lie. He'd gladly deal with Gina and her rusty nail clippers to avoid the look of betrayal he knew he'd eventually see on Rosalie's face. He imagined her expression wouldn't be much different than the one he'd seen the other night when she'd caught her father cheating on her mother. Christ, how did he ever get to be such a total asshole?

  “Dominick!”

  Nick heard his name and slowed when he spotted his mother and grandmother walking toward him on the path. Nick bent over and rested with his hands on his knees, cooling down and waiting for them. He pulled his T-shirt from beneath his Polar fleece jacket and wiped his face with it. So much for his run.

  “Mama, Nana, hi.” He bent down for his kiss. His mother first and then Nana, who kissed both cheeks and gave him a pat for good measure. At least she'd given up pinching. Nick's grandmother—all five foot, two inches and a hundred and nineteen pounds of her—was tough as nails. Back when he was a kid and Park Slope was one of the toughest neighborhoods in New York, he'd seen her take down men three times her size with just a look. She bragged about her weight as often as possible—it was the same her whole adult life, except for when she was pregnant—and the fact she still had great legs—something she mentioned more often than any grandson wanted to hear. Nick might not have liked it, but he had to admit that for a woman pushing eighty, she looked damn good. She took great pride in the fact that she still caught old men's eyes. Nick even heard that Father Francis had been caught checking out his grandmother, which was yet another thing he could have lived a long and happy life without knowing. Nick shook his head. He didn't have a large family, but the few family members he had were colorful.

  She held his face close to hers. “What? You forget how to shave? And your hair, it's too long.”

  “Nana, I'll shave and shower after I get home.”

  “And you'll go to the barbershop Monday?”

  “Soon. I promise.”

  Short hair was a big thing for his grandmother; Nick's grandfather had been a barber. There were pictures of a kind, white-haired man giving Nick his first haircut, and every one after that until the day his grandfather died. Nick had memories of going to the barbershop his grandfather owned with Uncle Giovanni and watching his grandfather cut hair, shave men with straight-blade razors, and sing along with the opera playing on an old plastic art deco radio.

  Nana let go of his face, and with a frown on hers, crossed herself and patted the black shawl she still wore bobby pinned to her head. “You going to church?”

  Nick's mother gave him a thorough once over before taking her mother's arm. “Not today, Mama. Remember, I told you that Nick is taking care of a sick friend? That's why he couldn't take you to church this morning.”

  Nick kicked the dirt. Another lie. If his mother knew how he was taking care of Rosalie, she wouldn't be quite so understanding. He wondered if his mother knew more than she was letting on. She inexplicably knew more than she should be capable of finding out, something that wigged him out on a regular basis.

  Even after working two or three jobs at a time for most of her life, she was still a beautiful woman. When she was younger, she was a dead ringer for Gina Lollobrigida, which was why Ni
ck's father married her. Even now, she was stunning—her dark brunette hair had been replaced by silver, but that did nothing to dim her beauty. Nick knew that every strand of silver was due to him. Before he'd gotten into trouble, her hair was the deepest brunette with just a touch of gray. When he came out of Juvie, her hair was pure silver; there wasn't a strand of brown to be found. Nick didn't think it was a coincidence. He'd never forget the hell he put her through when he was a kid, and all she'd done to try to get him out of the trouble he'd run headlong toward. Nick owed her the world and now he was lying to her.

  “Is your girlfriend feeling better?” “Yeah, Mama. She is. Thanks for asking.” “Good, so you'll bring her over to the house for dinner then.”

  “Mama, we're friends. We don't take each other to meet our family… we're not serious.”

  His mother raised her eyebrow but didn't say what she was thinking. The lecture he had coming to him was written all over her face.

  “It's complicated, Mama.”

  “Fine, you come over and tell me all about it. It's been too long since we had a talk. Now that your friend is feeling better, you having a meal with your family won't be a problem, will it?”

  “No, it's no problem.” Nick took his grandmother's arm. “Come on, it's getting cold. Let me walk you home.”

  Nick walked, holding his grandmother's arm and slowing his steps to match hers, and caught his mother's eye over his grandmother's head.

  “Mona tells me your girlfriend Rosalie was very nice when you brought her to the restaurant.”

  “Of course, Lee's nice. Why would I go out with a girl who's not nice?”

  “I don't know, Dominick. It seems to me you've gone out with a lot of girls who weren't nice. Mona said your Rosalie is different from the rest.”

  “Yeah, she's different, all right.”

  Nick was never so happy in his life to see the brownstone he'd bought for his mother and grandmother. He took his mother's key, unlocked the door, and helped his grandmother in. The smell he'd always considered the smell of home assaulted his senses, and he waited for that feeling of comfort and belonging to waft over him. It didn't. All it did was make him miss Rosalie's place. The sound of Dave running up to greet him, the smile Rosalie shot him before she caught herself, the smell of Rosalie that permeated everything in the apartment.

  “'Bye, Mama.” He kissed his mother and gave her a hug. “I'll call you soon about dinner.” Nick turned to his grandmother. “'Bye, Nana. Save me some of whatever it is you got in the oven.”

  “Ricotta pie. You come back and have some with me tomorrow, no?”

  “I'll try, Nana. Ti amoT Nick kissed her cheek, winked at his mother, and took off for home. Running the whole way.

  How far can one man run? It'd been an hour, and Nick still wasn't back. Why had she opened her big fat mouth? Damn, it wasn't that she didn't appreciate his offer, but what the hell was he thinking? Did he think no one would recognize him? He was a freaking genius when it came to business, but as a liar, he sucked. Being a lousy liar wasn't abad thing, but it sure made keeping him thinking his little secret was still a secret a pain in the ass. Why did she bother? Maybe she should bring him home and let Annabelle squeal with delight. Annabelle was, Rosalie was sure, the founding member of the Dominick Romeo Fan Club.

  Rosalie knew she shouldn't be the one feeling guilty; she hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd made the mess to begin with. If he'd only come clean…

  The door swung open, and Nick walked in. She wasn't even going to think about the feeling of utter relief that washed over her when she saw him. She also chose to ignore the urge to run to him and wrap her arms around his unbelievably sexy, albeit sweaty, body. He pulled off the Polar fleece jacket, revealing a wet T-shirt clinging to his chest. To think she used to drool over the pond scene in Pride & Prejudice. Even Colin Firth, with his soulful eyes, sexy voice, and to die for English accent, had nothing on a sweaty Nick.

  He walked into the kitchen and pulled a water out of the fridge. He held her gaze but said nothing as he twisted the cap off, and without breaking eye contact, drank the whole thing. He tossed the bottle in the recycling bin, walked toward her, and lifted her off her feet.

  She found herself clinging to him as he walked backward to the bathroom, all the while kissing her in a way that made all thought impossible. Well, not all thought, just all thought that wasn't explicitly sexual.

  “Nick, I need my car.” Rosalie checked her watch. Shit, she was already late.

  Nick rolled over in bed looking so damn appealing, she was tempted to call her mother and tell her she'd had a relapse.

  “No, you don't. Take mine.”

  “I can't take yours.”

  “Why not? Don't you know how to drive a stick?” “I know how to drive a stick; that's not the issue. The problem is that it's your car.”

  “Yeah, I think we've established that.” “What if you need it?” “Why would I need it? I'm not going anywhere.” “You're not?”

  “Not unless you want me to.”

  Oh, no, she wasn't going to touch that one with a hockey stick and protective gear.

  She fluffed her wet hair. If she were any later, she would risk a slew of questions. She had to leave right that minute.

  “Where are your keys?”

  “In my jacket pocket—the one you had on this morning. It's in the closet.”

  “I didn't put it in the closet.”

  “I know.” He climbed out of bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Drive safe. Call me if you have any problems or need anything.”

  “Right. Um, okay. 'Bye.” She didn't know what came over her, but she kissed him good-bye, an honest to goodness “See you later, honey” kiss. Now, a different person would be fine with that, but neither of them were into domestic scenes. Still, it wasn't as if he hadn't kissed her, too.

  Focusing on the kiss the whole way to her parents' house helped her keep from overanalyzing the symbolism of driving his car. She knew he probably had a lot of cars, literally parking lots full, but still, she'd never dated a guy who let her drive his car.

  She parked on the street two houses down from her parents' and took a deep breath before climbing the steps. The door opened before she hit the top.

  “Where did you get that car? It's hot. Is it the rebound guy's car?”

  “Hi, Annabelle. I'm fine. How are you?”

  “You know, busy. I'm making wedding plans and trying to spend time with Johnny, but he's been working a lot. This is his busy season.”

  Rosalie pictured Johnny rubbing his hands together with one of his smarmy grins on his face. It was not pretty. The man was so pale that he looked like a corpse. Actually, now that she thought about it, he kind of looked like a cross between Count Dracula and Danny Aiello— only heavier and with bad teeth. “I didn't realize morticians had busy seasons.”

  “Oh, yeah. I swear, they practically pray for a flu epidemic. It's kinda sick when you think about it.”

  “Now there's an understatement.”

  “Anyway, he says he'll get them all in the end. Everybody dies.”

  “And on that happy note, where are Mama and Papa?”

  Rosalie set her purse on the table by the door and checked out the hair situation, hoping it had dried on the way over. She'd had the heat blasting. Damn! She looked like the recipient of a botched home permanent or a poodle way overdo for a trip to the groomer. She had a feeling the day would head downhill from there, which was a scary thought.

  “Ma and Aunt Rose are in the kitchen. Johnny and Papa are watching TV.”

  “Hockey?” She hung her coat on the hall tree.

  “No, synchronized swimming. Of course, hockey. They're watching the pregame stuff; you know, the male version of Oprah.”

  They walked through the empty living room and into the dining room. Rosalie gave herself a mental head slap. She should have asked Nick to tape the game for her. “Yeah, I like the part where Dr. Phil discusses their
feelings about the fight in last night's game. Stay tuned for a very special Sports Talk—The Cause of Unnecessary Roughness.”

  They passed the dining table. There was no food out, but at least it was set.

  “Rosalie, is that you?” She heard her mother call from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Ma,” she answered and whispered to Annabelle, “Are you helping Mama?”

  “As little as possible. She's in a mood.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  “She and Aunt Rose have their heads together, and you know what a nightmare it is when the two of them are in cahoots.”

  “Yeah, if only they'd use all that power for good instead of evil.”

  Her mother yelled again. “Rosalie? Come in here. What? I have to do everything myself? I didn't spend eighteen years teaching you to run a house for no reason.” She rushed into the dining room, set the antipasti down, wiped her hands on her apron, and gave Rosalie the once-over. “You've still got bags under your eyes. You need more sleep. And for Pete's sake, do something with that mop.”

  “What does it matter what my hair looks like?”

  “What? You need a special occasion to look presentable?”

  Rosalie had a bad feeling. Whenever her mother brought up her appearance, there was a reason—one having to do with her lack of a wedding date, a marriage partner, or interest in either. “Ma? What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I did nothing.”

  “You tell me what you did, or I'm leaving right now.”

  Mama turned and went back into the kitchen. Rosalie followed, with Annabelle on her heels. God forbid Annabelle should miss the show.

  Mama checked the roast in the oven. “Come. Time to eat If we don't sit down, my roast is going to be overcooked.”

  “I'm not moving until you tell me what is going on.”

  Mama did the breast-pounding thing again and said a prayer to the Virgin Mother under her breath. Aunt Rose arrived carrying an empty beer bottle. She must have been upstairs in the den telling Papa and Johnny to come down.

  She looked at Mama, then at Rosalie. “What happened? Someone die?”