Tropical Getaway
In one swift move, he was in front of her, his arms trapping her. “I hate that you have that sound in your voice. That pain. I hate it.” He squeezed her, pulling her closer so that every inch of his body touched every inch of hers. “I never, ever wanted to hurt you.” His lips crushed hers, the kiss frantic and solid and demanding. With a will of its own, her body responded.
When he pulled away, his voice was hoarse, solemn. “Listen to me.” He put his finger on her lips and looked straight into her eyes. “I love you, Ava Rose Santori. I love you.”
The words stunned her. They shot through her like a poison arrow, breaking her heart in a million pieces never to be repaired.
“I love you too, Dane Erikson,” she whispered. “And I know I’ll love you forever.”
She could see the tears in his eyes. “I don’t know how to promise that.”
She longed to teach him. To be part of his family, his life, his world. She could teach him all about forever, but it was fruitless. He didn’t want to learn.
“That’s a shame,” she whispered as she touched his cheek. “That’s a loss.”
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him again. Pulling him toward the bed, she tumbled onto him. Wordlessly, breathlessly, they undressed and began to make love. Not the possessed and impassioned explorations of each other that they usually enjoyed. This time they made love face-to-face, heart to heart, body to body. As she rocked with a climax, her legs wrapped around him until she thought they would break, Ava cried out his name over and over, kissing him and letting the tears mingle between their mouths. She knew she’d never love like this again.
He couldn’t get out of bed. He heard her showering but didn’t go in the bathroom and join her, like he used to. He tried to ignore the sounds she made in the kitchen, the soft murmur of her voice on the phone, making arrangements with the airlines, calling Cassie and Marco to say good-bye and promising to see them in Boston in just a few weeks, for Christmas.
He had no plan, no strategy, no scheme. Just a helpless, hopeless ache because the inevitable had arrived. The rogue wave had swallowed him whole and left him drowning in its foam.
She came into the room, dressed in a crisp white blouse and pressed blue jeans. Her hair was pulled off her face in a gold clip, all neat and refined. Back to Boston. Back to the hundred years of Santori’s Ristorante in the North End. He had such a strong mental image of the place, he could easily imagine her there. Among the brown bricks and cobblestones. In the snow, now that it was early December.
He leaned up on his elbows, staring at her while she slipped on her watch. What words could he use to convince her to stay? What promises could he make that would get her to unclip that hair and unbutton that blouse and come back to bed and forget everything but this moment?
None. No promises. Nothing he could be sure of keeping, anyway.
“I’m taking an eleven-o’clock flight to San Juan. It’s got a long layover, but there’s a direct connection to Logan that will get me home tonight.”
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Two hours. He had two hours. He threw back the sheet and saw her gaze travel over his naked body. Then she turned back to the dresser and busied herself with earrings.
“I’ll take you to the airport,” he said quietly.
After he showered and dressed, he found her on the veranda, looking out at the mountains of St. Martin.
She didn’t turn at the sound of his footsteps.
“Tell everyone I said good-bye,” she finally said. “Especially Marj. And Claire. And all the cooks. Your whole…family.”
He heard her voice break on the last word and felt his heart dance with a little hope. He came up behind her and slowly wrapped his arms around her stomach, feeling her instantly tighten. He tucked her head under his chin, where she fit so perfectly, and gazed out at the sea. The breeze lifted a curl that had escaped her clip, tickling his face.
“The northern wind,” he whispered. “Odin is not happy.”
“Neither am I,” she responded and turned to look up at him, tears threatening. “Let’s go.”
The wind increased as they made their way to the airport, bringing heavy clouds and the first splatter of raindrops.
“Maybe you should wait and take a later flight,” he suggested while they drove around the little terminal looking for a parking spot.
“No. I’ll be fine.”
He pulled into a slot and threw the gearshift into park with a jolt.
“But I won’t,” he said roughly, staring ahead, watching the fat drops of rain burst on the wind shield. “I won’t be fine.”
He waited for her response. Hadn’t she learned that her impetuous actions were foolish? This was a prime example. He turned to tell her, but she had opened the door and stepped out into the rain. He could only follow.
The pounding in his head matched the thump of his heart as they went through the motions of getting her ticket. Don’t do this, Ava. Don’t do this.
But he didn’t say it. They waited at the airport’s only gate, surrounded by the happy faces of relaxed tourists, tanned and mellow from their week in paradise and reluctant to leave. Don’t do this, Ava. He just couldn’t say it. They sat in metal seats together, holding hands.
“You don’t have to wait,” she said. “With the rain, it could be delayed.”
“I want to wait.”
From the desk, a woman announced the boarding of flight twenty-one to San Juan. Two dozen reluctant passengers started their walk across the runway, through the steady downpour to the waiting twin-engine turboprop.
They stood and she slipped her purse on her shoulder.
“I hate this part,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Don’t draw it out.”
He touched her cheek, lingering one last time on her dimple and smiling into the depths of the olive black eyes he’d come to love. “Bon voyage, princess.”
She turned and walked through the glass door to the runway.
God had a hand in giving her the window seat that faced the terminal. No, it must have been Satan, because it hurt like hell to see him there. He’d come out to stand behind the metal rail, the rain soaking his blond hair to a dark brown. With both hands on the railing, he stared at her plane. Maybe the rain mixed with his tears, she thought with an ache that squeezed her heart.
Maybe he’s going to come running madly across the runway, demanding they turn off those damn propellers because the woman he wanted to marry was on that plane. Wasn’t that what she wanted? Wasn’t all this quiet drama just her way of getting him to say the words she longed to hear? Please, Ava, stay and be my wife and love me forever. She ached at the admission, but it was true. That’s what she wanted. Hell, she wanted the Culinary Operations job too, she thought with a wry smile. But more than that, she wanted forever. And she wouldn’t settle for less.
Run, Dane. Now. The tears burned and fell down her cheeks. Now, honey, now. Run to me.
But he gripped the railing and stared, soaked and still.
As the wheels rumbled over the cracked concrete and the engines screamed to announce takeoff, Ava kept her gaze locked on him. His T-shirt had turned to a wet rag clinging to his body. She could see the water dripping off his hair. He never moved.
I love you, Dane Erikson. Forever.
Farther and farther they taxied, and she watched his sad figure grow smaller in the distance until she could see him no more. Then they lifted into the wet, gray clouds and she imagined him standing in the rain a long, long time.
20
A va stood on her toes to see over the heads blocking her view of the arriving passengers from Miami. At two o’clock in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Logan was crammed with anxious travelers and impatient relatives greeting them. No one was more anxious or impatient than the three Santoris who’d waited five years for this moment. Ava squeezed her mother’s arm through a thick parka sleeve and grinned.
“Don’t worry, Mama. I know they made the flight. Cassie called
from Miami.”
“I’m not worried, honey. I’m just happy.” Mama looked from Ava to Dominic as he, too, peered into the darkness of the jetway beyond each passenger. “This day has been a long time coming.”
Then they saw him. Tall and imposing like his father, his arm slung around Cassie, they came strolling out of the darkened hallway wearing wide, matching smiles.
“There he is!” Mama called out. “Marco! Cassie!”
In a flash, they found each other and Maggie threw her arms around Marco and Dominic hugged them both. Ava folded Cassie in her own arms and kissed her cheek. When they parted, Ava’s gaze drifted beyond the tiny woman, and she cursed herself for looking.
“It’s just us, luv,” Cassie whispered in her ear. “Sorry.”
“Of course,” she said casually and smiled into the knowing green eyes. “Welcome to Boston, Cass.”
Marco reached down and swooped his sister into a bear hug.
“Avel Navel, you brat.” He kissed her on the cheek. “We missed you down there.”
She backed away and winked at him. “We missed you up here.” He looked so much stronger. His face was no longer hollow but handsome again, and the teasing spark that lit his eyes had returned. “Let’s get you home, Marco Polo.”
Dominic pronounced it the best Christmas Eve dinner in Santori history. They closed the restaurant and ate in Mama and Dominic’s spacious apartment, the dining room, living room, and kitchen bursting with the joy of reunion. The entire clan gathered for the traditional meal of seafood and pasta.
While Ava and Grandma Rose made Marco’s favorite baccalà and calamari, the little white-haired woman wiped a steady stream of tears, muttering her mantra of “if only Mike were here, if only Mike could see this.” The fact that her husband had died three years earlier without ever seeing Marco again pained her, but Ava just kissed her wrinkled cheek and assured her that Grandpa Mike was watching from heaven.
Three generations of Santoris hovered around Marco like he was a visiting dignitary. Laughter escalated with the homemade wine and the courses continued for hours as they lingered and ate and argued and celebrated the extraordinary moment in their family history. As dinner ended, Ava’s gaze traveled over Dominic’s brother John and his whole family, Aunt Anna and Uncle Frank, all of the cousins, Mia and Nick, Tony and Mary Rose, and a few extra babies from the next generation. How she adored her passionate, raucous, argumentative, lovable family. She tried to imagine Dane in this room and how his sculpted, Nordic magnificence would stand out among this crowd. But, somehow, she knew he would have fit right in. The knowledge stabbed at her, and she looked around for the comfort of Cassie.
Grandma and Aunt Anna announced that cannolis and coffee would be served in ten minutes, so Ava slipped into the back of the apartment and found Cassie sitting on the floor with baby Christina, her cousin Nicky’s one-year-old daughter. Cassie cooed and the baby giggled.
“Getting a little practice in?” Ava asked as she came into the room.
Cassie swooped up the crawling child, who tried to escape with drooling determination. “Oh, isn’t she a darling wee thing? She followed me to the bathroom and I had to stop and discuss life with her. Now I think I want a girl.”
The baby tugged at the bedspread, trying to pull herself up. Cassie lifted her into a gentle stand. “There you go, little luv.”
Ava sat on the corner of the bed and ruffled Christina’s wispy brown waves. “So, what do you think of the mad Santori clan?”
Cassie leaned back on her hands and crossed her legs in front of her. “Loud. Funny. Absolutely wonderful. Reminds me of the wild and wooly Sebrings I left down under.”
“Think you’ll stay for a while?” Ava ventured.
“Definitely. At least until Marco’s one hundred percent, and probably until the baby’s born.” Christina plopped back down on her diaper and Cassie pulled the little bundle into her arms. “We’ve picked January twenty-first as a wedding day. It’s enough time to pull something together, but not so long that I’ll be the size of a house.” She tightened her blouse over a now noticeable rise in her stomach. “Think you can help me organize a small wedding in a few weeks?”
Ava laughed. “Italians who own a restaurant? Are you kidding? We can do a wedding in our sleep. But don’t count on small.”
“That’s okay. I think my folks will come up from Sydney, maybe my two brothers too. I don’t have a sister, Ava.” She looked up expectantly. “I was hoping you’d take on the maid of honor job for me.”
A warm rush spread through Ava, and she slipped from the bed to join Cassie on the floor. “Oh, Cass,” she said as they embraced. “You have a sister now.”
Little Christina tried to get in the middle of the hug. They tickled her and Ava decided she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer.
“And what about the best man?” she asked cautiously. “Who gets to walk me back down the aisle after you say ‘I do’ to my brother?”
Cassie kissed a brown curl and helped Christina up on wobbly legs. “He said he didn’t think he could get away.”
Ava’s stomach dropped and she avoided Cassie’s gaze. “Oh. You mean Dane? Well, of course not. He’s so busy. And this is your high season, right?”
“I don’t think that’s the reason, Ava.”
Ava’s heart pounded faster as she waited for the explanation.
“He’s…he’s…not really doing so well,” Cassie said softly.
“What is…what do…what’s wrong with him?”
Cassie shrugged. “He took your leaving quite hard. I must say, I’ve never seen him in such a state.”
A tendril of satisfaction, a flicker of hope, and a warm rush of sympathy collided in her heart.
“How about you?” Cassie asked. “Have you put your pirate days behind you yet?”
Ava dropped her head and closed her eyes for a moment. Pirate days. What a lovely way to think of her time with the heart-stopping sailor and his magnificent ships. “I’m all right.”
Cassie cleared her throat in an obvious demand for the truth.
Ava stared at the ceiling. “Okay. Not all right. I’m a mess.”
“That makes two of you, then,” Cassie said as she lifted the baby onto her lap. “Because he’s a royal disaster.”
“He’s only called twice.” She knew the exact day and hour of each call but didn’t tell that to Cassie. “He says he wants to stay…in touch. He sounded fine. A little distant, but really fine.”
Cassie shook her head. “If he sounded fine, he deserves an acting award. I’ve never seen him like this, Ava. He just works and works, all day and all night. If he’s not working, which is rare, he comes over and spends his only spare time with Marco. I can’t remember hearing him laugh. He’s so…preoccupied. So sad and dark.”
“He has a big job in putting things back in order,” Ava offered. “Six employees involved in drug running, Maurice Arnot at the center of it, and quite a few damning headlines about the company. It’ll be months before Utopia is what it once was.”
“Oh, yeah. But that’s not what’s eating away at him.”
“Cassie,” Ava sighed. “He had every opportunity. I was not opposed to the idea of staying in St. Barts. I love him. But…” She swallowed against the familiar lump that started to form in her throat. “I don’t want a temporary arrangement. And he couldn’t promise anything else.”
“All I know is that the man is dying, Ava.” Cassie looked pointedly at her friend. “Just dying.”
The thought of his misery hurt even more than the constant ache that had become part of her everyday existence. “He’s been through a lot.”
Cassie nodded. “Yes, he has. He lost his ship. He lost all those men. And then he lost the first woman I think he ever loved.”
The words cut her. “What should I do?”
“Go to him. Live with him. Be his woman.”
Ava closed her eyes against tears she could no longer fight. “No. I want the whole deal, C
assie. I want to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him. I love him too much to be happy with anything else.”
The baby squawked in Cassie’s face, pulling at her necklace, demanding attention. “Well, to answer your question, I think Marco will ask your father to be his best man. So, Dominic will walk you down the aisle.”
Ava knew her sad smile gave away her true feelings. “Might be his only chance.”
The sun broke through and made a valiant effort to melt the snow that had accumulated on the sidewalks and streets of the North End. But for most of the day on January 21, Ava only got the weather report from Mia, who periodically left her post in the kitchen to check the skies. Determined to supervise the feast, Ava had the kitchen in high gear by the time she looked at her watch and realized she’d have to get Cassie over to her apartment in less than half an hour if they were to have enough time to get ready for this wedding.
Ava took one last taste of the marinara sauce and looked around for her cousin. “Mia!” she called. “Where are you?”
The kitchen doors swung open and Mia nearly skipped in, hurriedly pulling her long honey-colored hair back into the required ponytail. “Sorry, Ava. I didn’t know you were looking for me. How’s the marinara? I worked so hard on it.”
“It’s perfect. Really. Dominic will be proud of you. It will be the hit of the wedding.”
“Hey, I learned from you, Ave,” Mia said earnestly.
“Don’t tell your uncle.” Ava winked at her cousin and took a quick look around the kitchen. Several cooks were busy at the stoves, and the pastry chef hid behind a three-tier white wedding cake. “I’ve been buried in this kitchen since dawn. I want to go get Cassie and her gown, and get back to my place to take a bath, and have lots of time to make my new sister a beautiful bride.”
Mia glanced toward the dining room doors. “Don’t forget the maid of honor, Ave. You’re going to be a knockout in that dress you picked. You look fabulous in red.”