Barbara McMahon - Bella Rosa Proposals

“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.

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. “If you happen to be in the village this afternoon, you can find her at Rosa.”

And chance running into Luca? No, thanks, Angelo thought.

Max seemed to read his mind. “Your father will not be at the restaurant today. In fact, he is away from Monta Correnti on a buying trip to the coast for fresh seafood. He prefers to take care of important business in person.”

Max’s message was clear. Angelo should offer his apology to Isabella in person as well.

He was right, too, Angelo thought after ending the call. Hadn’t Big Mike, the only foster father he’d ever considered worthy of the title, taught Angelo that very lesson right along with tips for how to steal a base when the pitcher wasn’t looking?

Dressed and ready to eat whatever amount of crow was necessary, he started off for the village a little later. He figured he could poke around a bit before going to see Isabella.

In New York or while on the road with his team, Angelo left the driving to others. Here, he had a car at his disposal, a sporty little five-speed that his brother had thoughtfully rented on his behalf. He was itching to get behind the wheel, but he decided to walk. He could use the fresh air and exercise. Besides, he was too off-kilter to remember which side of the road he was supposed to be on.

The temperature was cool when he started out, the air still moist from dew. After a while, the sun poked through the filmy layer of clouds. Between its warmth and Angelo’s physical exertion, by the time he reached the village he was regretting the jacket he’d pulled over his button-down shirt. He shrugged it off and slung it over his good shoulder as he made his way down cobbled streets that looked like something straight out of Brigadoon.

He navigated his way around what he figured was the main business district. With each turn, he discovered quaint shops and encountered the homey smells of fresh-baked bread and drying herbs. Based on his reaction the previous day to scent, he waited for some blast of recognition or sense of déjà vu to slow his steps. But while he definitely found Monta Correnti inviting and the smells mouthwatering, none of it was familiar.