Chapter 29
Gemma
Six months later.
I nudged my fork into my pasta, the spaghetti a reflection of my tangled thoughts.
What a hectic day. Chloe and I had our work cut out for us—a nasty virus worked its way around the neighborhood.
Like usual, the preschoolers caught it first. We had four unhappy children come down with fevers before lunchtime.
“Not enjoying your meal, Gemma?” Larry, the server asked, his frown deepened at my untouched plate.
“The meal’s lovely, like usual. I think I’m too tired to eat.
” I forked a few more bites before I gave Giorgio—the chef who owned this restaurant across from my apartment block—a reason to storm out of the kitchen and scold me for picking at my meal.
The restaurant buzzed. Typical for Monday night Happy Hour to attract a frenzy of couples and families. In the far corner, a lone figure sat, all in black, like the first time I’d seen him. Wineglass in hand, his green gaze fixed on me.
I sighed at my plate. Bad enough I obsessed about him. Now I was seeing things.
The chair opposite me scraped back. Enzo plunked into the seat, making me jump. I darted a glance toward the corner. Empty. Then back to him. My hallucination had grown flesh and bones. “Enzo?”
“Hello, Gemma,” he said, voice low, rougher than I remembered, a desperate edge beneath the familiar tone.
His gaze held mine a beat too long, the intensity making my skin prickle. I shoved my plate away, no longer trusting what I ate. He’d laced my meal again, hadn’t he? I wouldn’t put it past him. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.” His hand brushed over mine, sending a jolt through me.
Too real. Too solid to be a mere mirage.
I ripped my hand from under his, the sharp withdrawal made him wince. The memory of the last six months—a raw, aching brand. “What now? Are you and your crazy mother still not done playing with my life?”
His jaw tightened at the mention of his mother.
Rougher than before, hair a mess, he scrubbed a hand over his dark stubble, the rasp of his palm loud against the hum of the restaurant.
His gaze skittered around the joint—not hunting for someone, but as if grappling to orient himself in an unfamiliar place.
“I know I hurt you. Gemma, I messed up. I’m here to ask for your forgiveness…
” His voice was hard, sure. “I… I want you back.”
I slumped back in my chair. Six months. Six months he dumped me from his life and now wanted me back? “You’re kidding, right?”
His gaze bore into mine, pleading.
“Where’s the new wife?” I spat, the words laced with a bitterness that surprised even me.
His gaze narrowed. “There is no wife. I swear.”
“You lied,” I bit out. Again .
“I would have married Bianca De Luca to stop my mother from killing you. A marriage clause had been established to initiate a truce between the two families…” He held his hands up in surrender. “Thank God Lucio stepped in.”
So the war between his mother’s family and the De Lucas settled once and for all…
on a marriage deal no less. Anger, a beast rising within, threatened to overwhelm me.
I slammed my hand on the table, so hard the silverware jumped.
“Someone like you wouldn’t fall for someone like me. Your words, not mine. So what changed?”
His hand shot out, then hesitated, hovering inches from mine as if remembering he didn’t have the right to touch me, and I wanted to scream. “My mother,” he said, his voice grated and urgent, “she threatened your life! I was protecting you.”
Trust Carina to intimidate Enzo with my life. Another reason to reject him. Besides, as if I could ever trust him not to hurt me again.
He clamped the edge of the table. “Believe me, Gemma. I’m still just as crazy about you as the day I met you.”
“You have the crazy part right, at least,” I uttered under my breath, then collected my handbag.
As if the truth mattered anymore. Standing from the table, I dropped a few bills to cover my meal.
“Thank you for your honesty, Enzo.” I fastened the leather strap across my shoulder.
“You want forgiveness? Consider yourself forgiven. As for another chance… I can’t.
I’m sorry you wasted the trip out here.” I didn’t make it more than a step outside when his hand clamped my arm.
“Gemma, don’t…”
My breath caught. Approaching us were Dorothy and Madeline, two familiar, prim figures from my old church circle.
Their eyes widened almost simultaneously as they took in his grip on me, the obvious tension.
Dorothy let out a tiny, audible gasp, quickly masked by a cough, while Madeline’s lips thinned into a line of disapproval.
They exchanged urgent, low whispers, pointedly averting their gazes as they gave us a wide berth and hurried on their way. A wave of mortification washed over me.
“What are they saying about you?” He frowned from them back to me, his green eyes narrowed.
I yanked free and sneered. “I’m the woman who left her fiance days before the wedding to marry another man, only to wound up divorced. They’re going to be talking about me forever in this town.”
He motioned toward the direction Dorothy and Madeline headed. “Is this how people have treated you since you’ve been back?”
My chin trembled, and I clenched my jaw. “All thanks to you.”
The green drained from his face, leaving him ashen. Understanding dawned in his eyes, the full weight of what his actions had wrought. “Gemma…” he whispered my name, a broken plea.
I closed the space between us, keeping my tone low. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To break me.” My voice trembled. I struggled to breathe. “Well, I’m broken… my dignity, my reputation in this town. Don’t you dare think you can come here and fix the hell you’ve created.”
Ignoring his sudden paleness and the moisture pooling in his eyes, I turned and ran. I wouldn’t look back. I wouldn’t! I braced for the tears, but nothing came. My eyes had been bone-dry for months. Good. I refuse to waste one more tear on Psycho, anyway.
◆◆◆
I assumed my little run-in with Enzo sent him packing on his jet back to Italy.
I was wrong. The next day, while reading a picture book to my class, a gentle tap on the door stole my attention.
Chloe set up the fingerpaint table in the yard, leaving me to finish story time.
I glanced over my shoulder, and my heart fluttered at the sight of him behind the glass panel.
He hadn’t gotten the message at the restaurant, and from the rapid pulsing at my neck, neither had my traitorous heart.
A good thing we’d bumped into Dorothy and Madeline.
Their whispers ignited a fresh resentment toward Enzo.
He held up a bouquet of red roses, like some lovesick teenager. He waggled his eyebrows, waiting for a reaction.
He was going to get one, all right. “Listen up, kiddos,” I raised my voice… a little too loud. “Remember what we talked about? About people we don’t know?”
A few heads bobbed. Little Thomas, who’d been chewing on his own shoelace, peered up with a wide, innocent gaze.
I closed the book in my lap, the thin paperback clenched tight in my grip. “Does anyone know the man at the door or is he…?” I gasped in mock horror, holding a hand over my mouth. “A stranger?”
Every head swiveled toward the door. A few kids started whispering, pointing at Enzo.
Thomas, bless his little heart, jumped up, grabbed a foam block, and pegged it at the glass.
“Stranger! Stranger!” he shrieked, jumping up and down.
As if prompting the others, the rest of them jumped to their feet and joined Thomas in his chanting.
Enzo whitened and stumbled backward. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. He hightailed it out of there so fast. I bet not even the De Lucas scared him as much as my little mob.
Later in the evening, I found the same bouquet on my doorstep.
I didn’t hesitate. I stomped on those roses with every ounce of pent-up anger and frustration, grinding the petals into the rug until they were a pulpy, unrecognizable mess.
I imagined it was Enzo’s heart I crushed, and a rush of satisfaction flooded my veins as I dumped the bouquet in the garbage bins out front.
He hid somewhere outside my apartment. I just knew it.
Let him watch. For extra sting, I dusted my hands after disposing of the mangled remains.
Hopefully, he witnessed my opinion of his gesture.
The next evening, I was at the community center for Bible study with my fellowship group. Our small group gathered in a circle, each with a cup of tea and plate of biscuits at our feet. Glen, our leader, opened in prayer, and for a moment, I felt at peace. I should have known it wouldn’t last.
“Hey everyone,” Glen beamed, his gaze trained behind us. “We have a new face with us tonight. This is Enzo.”
I grappled for my Bible as it almost slipped off my lap. No way, absolutely no way! Not here. Not him . Not after everything I’d done to rebuild my life.
“Is this seat free?” His masculine timbre echoed above my head.
I stiffened. He stood beside me, his mere presence sending a shiver of unwanted attraction down my spine.
I risked a glance. The way his navy chinos hugged his thighs, the way his white shirt strained across his chest…
Why did he have to be so handsome all the time?
The rekindled warmth of his body against my own when we’d kissed in front of my father’s place saturated my mind.
I shook my head, banishing the memory of his lips, hot and demanding on mine, the feel of his arms pulling me closer, tighter.
Tucked in his other hand was the marriage devotional, the one I’d left in Italy, the one that had accompanied so many tear-stained nights. Had he forgotten to pack it the day he shipped me off, or kept it for himself?