Believe (San Francisco Brides Series Book 2) Read online

  Lita rushed out of the hall, grabbing her coat off the chair. His stomach shimmied into his throat. “Lita.” His voice croaked, as if someone strangled him. He swallowed.

  “I’ve got to go. Lee texted me. If he finds out I spent the night here…it’ll ruin your friendship.” She waved a hand and hurried toward the front door.

  He shot forward. He grabbed her. He held her close. Her hair brushed his chin. Her scent—still sweet and fresh—made him tighten his hold.

  “Let me go. I can’t let this ruin your friendship.” Lita wriggled against him, her curves caressing his chest, his arms, his thighs.

  Heat blazed up, like the fires he built in the fireplace at the family house in Carmel on a cold night.

  “No. He won’t find out.” Lorenzo folded Lita in his arms, her back to him. She stilled. Her purse and coat dropped to the floor. The subtle rise and fall of her breath pressed her stomach on his hand. Someday…He shook his head. They would have this morning. Even one morning with Lita would be worth any price. And love always had a price.

  “Please, Lorenzo…” Supplication softened her tone.

  His veins coursed with the possibility of her giving herself to him, completely. Control, he had to keep control.

  He kissed her earlobe. “Please what, kitten?” His voice was low, hoarse.

  She sighed, a tiny sound he wouldn’t have heard had he not been so close. “I can’t…You can’t…”

  His spine straightened. In this moment, he’d do anything for her—except let her go.

  “I can’t be here, with you.” She softened into him further.

  “You already are.” Lorenzo laced his fingers into hers. He hadn’t held hands with anyone since college. He’d thought he was in love then. He’d been wrong.

  “I don’t want to be just another woman to you. I’d rather be nothing—”

  He turned her to face him and held her cheeks, warm and soft, in his hands. “Never.”

  She gazed at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re not just another woman, Lita. You’re everything. We’ll find a way. I know what you want. I want a chance to give that to you. But I need time, to change, to make a plan.”

  Lita nodded, a quiet smile making her more radiant than ever. “I can wait. We won’t tell anyone yet, that’s all.”

  He kissed her. It was dangerous, not being honest. But he’d been truthful with Lita. And she mattered most.

  Chapter Three

  Lita closed her eyes as Lorenzo held her, trying to gather her stray thoughts like she used to organize the unruly stacks of papers on her father’s desk. She imagined grasping the thoughts and crumpling them, unneeded paper in an already crowded stack. She couldn’t grasp this, what was happening. Lorenzo had said he wanted her, wanted to be part of her dreams. She felt like she was dreaming now. But the possible complications weren’t dreamy.

  While in the bathroom, she’d checked her phone. Lee had texted her. Panic had seized her. If Lee found out where she was, it would ruin a fourteen-year friendship. Or, if Uncle Enzo discovered she’d spent the night with Lorenzo, no matter how innocent, it would cause a rift between the people she held closest to her heart. She couldn’t be the cause of more family tension, disappointment, and estrangement. She’d already experienced those separations, and so had Uncle Enzo and his family. They were finally experiencing some happiness again—Lita didn’t want to do anything to hurt that happiness.

  Of course, being estranged from her mother, Jane, was no real hardship, since Jane hadn’t been any kind of mother to Lita. But Uncle Enzo was capable of long estrangements—he’d only recently reconciled with his son, Sal. Lita didn’t want Uncle Enzo to cut Lorenzo out of his life. Family was everything to Uncle Enzo, and maybe to Lorenzo too. When Lorenzo spoke of his mother’s family, or when he was around Uncle Enzo, he wasn’t as hard and cynical.

  Lorenzo squeezed her hands again, harder. Lita whooshed out of her thoughts, back to Lorenzo. Lorenzo, Lorenzo, Lorenzo. His warm, strong grip, his handsome, manly face, his dark, brooding look…She softened like ice-cream-filled profiteroles newly drizzled with hot chocolate sauce.

  “Are you sure you want to keep this, us, a secret?” He laced his fingers in hers.

  She nodded. “Just until you make your plans.”

  “Just a day or two, then.” Lorenzo spoke briskly, like he already had ideas. “For breakfast, we’ll go to D’Angelo’s Market. Celeste still bakes almost every morning—you’ll like it.” Lorenzo picked up her coat, helped her slide it on. He held out her purse.

  “Thanks.” She clutched her purse. “I’ve heard about D’Angelo’s.” Uncle Enzo had gotten married to Celeste D’Angelo a couple of weeks before, after a tumultuous months-long engagement. Lita had wanted to be back in time for the wedding, but there were too many loose ends in Italy for her to tie up, or cut off. Like her last boyfriend, Aldo, who hadn’t understood the meaning of loyalty, faithfulness, or “we’re done.” Had said she wasn’t woman enough for him because she wanted to wait to have sex, but yet had hounded her for months to get back together with him. A shiver made her tremble. She was here now, home, safe. She was with Lorenzo. She had family. Yesterday, Celeste had welcomed Lita alongside Uncle Enzo—Celeste was a warm, calm, loving, grandmotherly woman, beautiful inside and out. Lita loved her already.

  “Yeah. The owner, Frank, still doesn’t like us.” He meant the DeGrazias, Lorenzo’s mom’s family. Celeste’s son, Frank, had been the most vocal in his disapproval of his mother marrying Uncle Enzo.

  “It’ll work out.” Lita needed to believe in la grazia dell’amore. Uncle Enzo and Celeste had gotten married, and her granddaughter, Gina, was newly engaged to Lorenzo’s cousin, Vincente. Proof of the grace of love.

  “Always optimistic.” Lorenzo followed Lita out, holding the front door for her.

  Lorenzo held her hand. Her heart opened, the spread of wings, the flutter of hope lightening her step as they walked downstairs.

  He pushed at the back door. Sunlight made her blink. She entwined her fingers with Lorenzo’s. They walked up the block, reaching D’Angelo’s Market in a few minutes. Lorenzo shook his hand from hers as he opened the door. Uncle Enzo stood by the counter, his silver hair gleaming, his slacks neatly pressed. She rubbed her hands. Uncle Enzo turned.

  “Lita, here you are.” He walked to her and kissed her cheek. “Lorenzo. Where’s Lee?”

  “He…” The lies caught in Lita’s throat, a snagged stitch in the dream cloth she’d been embroidering.

  Lorenzo stepped behind her. “He had some work, dropped Lita off in the square. I said I’d get her home, but she hadn’t eaten.”

  “I’ll take her.” Uncle Enzo waved his hand at Lorenzo.

  Lita clasped her hands, fighting the urge to reach out to Lorenzo. They hadn’t had their time together yet. Lorenzo blew out a breath. His heat teased her hair, tingling through her. She wanted to wash that man right into her, not out, as the song went.

  “Lorenzo promised to show me around the neighborhood, Uncle Enzo.” Lita smiled, as bright and innocent as she could force.

  Uncle Enzo placed a hand on the counter, slowly tapping his finger.

  “Why, Lita, I didn’t expect to see you this morning.” Celeste, smiling serenely, walked out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her capacious white apron. “And Lorenzo. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.” Lorenzo shifted behind Lita.

  “Mom.” A stocky man with steely blue-green eyes stared at them.

  “Frank, please get Enzo his usual and me a cappuccino. Lorenzo, what would you and Lita like? Did I hear you’re taking a walk? Perhaps some coffee and cornetto to go?” Celeste, with a calm smile, managed to usher Uncle Enzo to a table, where he sat. He still glared at Lorenzo. The glare factor among the men in the market outdid the morning sun.

  “Thank you.” Lita smiled again.

  Celeste nodded and draped her apron over the back of the other chair at the table and sat.<
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  “Are you sure you won’t join us?” Uncle Enzo tapped a finger on the table.

  “Thanks, but I want to see more of the neighborhood.”

  “Very well. We’ll see you for lunch.” Uncle Enzo turned his glare back onto Lorenzo. “Take care of my girl, Lorenzo.”

  Lita glanced at Lorenzo. He and Uncle Enzo both wore the same “you are on my list” frown. Lita kissed Uncle Enzo’s cheek. “He will.”

  Celeste’s son Frank walked over with coffees. “Your bag and coffees are on the counter, miss.” He set down Uncle Enzo’s and Celeste’s cups with a grimace and walked back to the counter, where Lorenzo stood.

  Lita waved goodbye to Uncle Enzo and Celeste and stepped beside Lorenzo.

  “My son Michael is your age. He’d be happy to show you around. I’m sure Lorenzo here has a busy day.” Frank took Lorenzo’s twenty and passed him the change along the counter.

  “Saturdays are busy for you too.” Lorenzo pocketed the money, his tone as cold as the coins would be. “You’ll need Michael’s help. He’s a good kid.” Lorenzo turned and grabbed one of the to-go cups. “And congratulations on your daughter Gina’s engagement.”

  Lita nodded to a grimacing Frank and grasped the bag and other cup. Lorenzo must’ve been baiting Frank, because even she knew Frank had not only been against Celeste marrying Uncle Enzo, but also he had reservations about his daughter’s engagement to Lorenzo’s cousin Vincente. Lorenzo held the door for her. They walked away. Lorenzo kicked one of the café chairs as he passed. It rattled and rocked, but stayed upright. Lita swallowed. Conflict, anger, unsettled her.

  Lorenzo strode ahead, as if he didn’t even see Lita anymore. She hurried forward. He stopped, shaking his head.

  “Michael’s a good guy.” Lorenzo’s face seemed pained, his lips compressed, features tight.

  “I’m sure.” Lita shrugged and sipped her coffee. “How about we sit in the park?”

  Lorenzo nodded and placed his hand on Lita’s lower back, guiding her across the street. He dropped his hand. Soothing, arousing heat radiated from the spot he’d touched. She gripped her cup tighter. They had a couple of hours, that was all. She couldn’t give in to the mellow warmth, not yet.

  She sat on a bench, near where she’d been standing the night before. It was some kind of serendipity that Lorenzo had been there.

  “Thanks again for last night.” Lita rubbed her hands on her cup.

  Lorenzo leaned forward, away from her, and sipped his coffee. He hitched his shoulders. Lita opened the bag. The rustling seemed loud in the silence between them. She passed a cornetto to him and took the other. They each munched on the croissant-like, jam-filled bread. Lita let the morning sun warm the chill from Lorenzo and his armor of anger and distance.

  After she was done eating, Lita sighed, hopped up, threw away her cup and the bag, and turned to Lorenzo. She touched her shoe to his, like she used to do as a girl when he was studying too hard with Lee or was in one of his black moods. She sang a bit of “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid.

  Lorenzo leaned back and smiled. His dimple punctuated his cheek, a reminder that he was the man who made her feel special, who cared.

  “Sorry, I was thinking.” He eased up and tossed his cup into the trash. He tweaked her ear. “I get it. You need attention.”

  Lita grabbed his hand. Let him think that. It’d never been about attention—it’d been about making Lorenzo smile. That was as true now as it had been twelve years ago.

  “Where do you want to stroll, princess?”

  “I want to be alone with the prince.” Lita smiled and pulled Lorenzo forward.

  Lorenzo chuckled. “What was in that bread?” He pulled her back.

  Lita leaned toward him. “You promised me the morning.” She pouted a little.

  Lorenzo fingered her hair. It fluttered in the breeze, matching the feeling in her belly. He kissed her, nipping her lower lip. Lita sighed, her breath releasing in time with their embrace.

  “Let’s take a drive.” Lorenzo held her hand.

  Lita pressed herself close to him as they walked back across the street and up to a small parking lot behind Sal’s. He opened the door to his black Mercedes coupe for her, watching as she slid into the deep leather seat. The engine hummed as he exited the lot and drove the same streets she’d admired the night before.

  Buildings, some colorful, some drab, some tall, some small, and everywhere in between, crowded the streetscape. Patches of green alleviated the spans of concrete and asphalt. The bright spring sun sparkled on the bay. Sailboats dotted the marina.

  They passed Fisherman’s Wharf and the piers, already filling with pedestrians and vendors. Lita lost sight of the bay as Lorenzo drove toward the Haight, where she’d grown up. Her stomach dipped and rolled along with the streets as they drew closer to her mother Jane’s house. She let out a breath, let out the lingering feelings about Jane. Lita focused on Lorenzo. Stopped at a red light, he returned her stare.

  “You like the Japanese Tea Garden?” He glanced away when the light turned green.

  Lita blew out a longer breath, the slow deflation of a balloon. “Yes.” One of the few good things about living at her mother Jane’s had been its nearness to Golden Gate Park. Lita used to walk there after her secret attendance at church on Sundays, and any other time she’d needed to get away from Jane.

  Lorenzo drove into the park, its rolling greens and patches of trees and flowers buoying her from sinking into dark thoughts of her past. Lorenzo parked and walked around to open the passenger door. Lita slid her arm through his. They strolled toward the tea garden, the morning sun warming and brightening, but not as much as the feeling of Lorenzo next to her, supporting her arm, his firm bicep keeping her close.

  He didn’t let her go as he paid at the entrance booth, or as they walked the winding, ordered paths of the gardens. The trees and shrubbery were clipped and trimmed, the pagodas blending in with the landscaping. All so planned and well-maintained, the way Lita had tried to live her life. But her feelings for Lorenzo were a wildflower meadow, like those she’d seen on a trip to England—a riot of color, unexpected, fresh, exciting, but somehow comforting and familiar.

  Lita stumbled as they crossed a bridge. Lorenzo steadied her. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She hadn’t seen where they were, over a gently moving stream, the rocks and small plants carefully placed. Lita leaned into him and fingered his hands. Love flooded in, spilling through her, like the water over the rock falls in the distance.

  Lorenzo moved her hair to one side, his fingers caressing her neck. Lita closed her eyes. Awareness, of Lorenzo’s lips brushing against her neck, his hands grasping hers, his tall, lean body against her, made her skin heat, the sweet, mellowing pain of a too-hot bath.

  Voices sounded from somewhere along the path. Lita pulled away, her movements slow, her body aching to stay in Lorenzo’s arms. Lorenzo held her hand and walked forward.

  “Have you seen the DeYoung since they remodeled?”

  “No. I’d like to. You and Lee were sure impressed.” Lee and Lorenzo had told her in more detail than she’d understood about the remodel of the museum, a San Francisco landmark. He and Lee both loved architecture, and Lita had enjoyed Lorenzo’s explanations when they’d walked around Sorrento with Lee. But Lorenzo had chosen to major in business in college, while Lee had become an architect. Besides, Lita didn’t really care what they did today. She and Lorenzo were together—that was what mattered. For now.

  They walked out and across to the DeYoung. Palm trees swished in the light breeze. They strolled through the sculpture garden—too modern for Lita’s taste, but she smiled, watching the children running and playing, her arm snug in Lorenzo’s. The path led them to the old Pool of Enchantment, with its lily pads and hidden bronze statue of the young brave playing his flute. Entering the tall building, they boarded an elevator to the top.

  The glassed-in room looked out over the city. Lita stoppe
d. Lorenzo stood behind her again. Lita leaned into him. The city sloped up in front of them. Buildings, trees, the red spires of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the bay created a picture, familiar and cozy. A feeling of being home—the comfort, thrill, and warmth—flowed through her. San Francisco was home. Lorenzo was home. She’d go anywhere with him and it would be home.

  The sky brightened, the sun blazing overhead. Soon they’d have to leave for Uncle Enzo’s.

  Her throat tightened with the knowledge that their time together was ending—the fairy tale morning would give way to the reality of afternoon. Like in The Little Mermaid, sunset would descend, the lovers parted. But no, not parted forever. Not this time. They just had to pretend for a day or two. Then they could start their happily-ever-after.

  Lorenzo tightened his embrace. Maybe he had the same thoughts. Maybe he wanted more time. Maybe…No, she had to have faith in their plan. It would all work out. A little lie wouldn’t hurt, though her father had said all lies besmirch a person’s spirit.

  Lita studied Lorenzo’s hands on hers. His fingers, smooth and firm, looked large compared to hers. Protective, safe. Faint scarring blended in with the skin of his knuckles, from when he’d gotten into fights as a teenager—and maybe more recently as well. She noticed the time on Lorenzo’s watch. “Uncle Enzo will be expecting us.” Lita placed her hand over Lorenzo’s.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t move. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the steady thump of his heartbeat against her back, made Lita snuggle herself closer to him.

  People jostled into them, the room crowding as more tried to see the panoramic view. Lorenzo kissed her ear. Lita placed her hand on his cheek. He kissed her palm and grabbed her hand. They walked out together. If only they could walk together through life, husband and wife.

  Chapter Four

  Lorenzo kept his mouth clamped shut. He walked with Lita to his car, watching her, hungry to take in her every movement, the way she fingered her hair, the way she held her legs together as she slid into the passenger seat, the way she smiled her playful, innocent smile at him, the way the sun shone on her smooth, tanned skin and danced in the highlights of her hair.