Reckless (15 page)

M
aren

“
D
ante tells
me you have two boys,” Valentina says, pouring two glasses of merlot as her sons clean the kitchen after dinner. There’s a slight Italian accent in her tone, one that perhaps has faded over the years. “Come. Let’s go outside and chat.”

She hums a catchy little tune, her sweet song mixing with the crash of the ocean waves on the shore as we head toward two beach chairs embedded in the sand. The sun went down about an hour ago, and there’s a slight chill in the air but it’s still a beautiful night, and I’m honored that Valentina wanted to spend time with me when her sons are all inside.

“Thank you,” I say, taking my glass from her once we reach the chairs.

She’s a beautiful woman who wears her age with grace and refinement. Her light caramel skin and dark, chocolate-colored hair cut into a shoulder-length bob are nothing short of exotic and yet there’s something warm and matronly about her. Her eyes are deep brown and expressive, rimmed in black eyeliner. She’s petite but strong, and she carries herself with the confidence of a woman who’s been through hell and came out swinging.

“I don’t know how you did it with five boys,” I say. “I’m pretty sure you’re eligible for sainthood at this point.”

Valentina swats her hand, chuckling. “It was pure chaos. And I wouldn’t trade any of it for all the diamonds and rubies in the world.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t always easy, but you must be so proud. Your boys have grown up to be successful men,” I say. “They’re so hardworking. So full of ambition. It’s incredible.”

“Incredibly humbling,” she says, lifting a pointer finger. “To be honest, I don’t know how I did it. Love. Faith. Prayer. Hope. All those good things, you know?”

I nod, leaning my elbow on the edge of the chair, fully entranced by this fascinating woman.

“My boys all have such distinct personalities,” she says. “Alessio has always been a leader. Fearless. No-nonsense. He stepped in after his father passed and in many ways helped me raise his brothers. He used to get them to school in the mornings when I had to be to work early, and when he was older, he would sometimes make them dinner. It was hard when he went away to college, but I’d never been so proud.”

She smiles, staring ahead at the rolling waters.

“And then there was my Matteo,” she continues. “Always so imaginative. He was creative and outgoing, and those dimples.” She sighs. “He’s pursuing a career in Hollywood, and I know in my heart of hearts, he’s going to succeed one day. That man was born to act. Something magical happens when you give him a few lines to read. I hope you get a chance to see him in action someday.”

Her hand splays across her chest as her head tilts, as if she’s experiencing a nostalgic moment in her mind.

“Dante,” she says. “He’s my middle child. Such a sweet boy, he was. Growing up, he was quiet. He enjoyed anything having to do with computers and video games and electronics. He once took apart our home phone just so he could put it together again. I didn’t believe him when he said he could do it, but he proved me wrong. He enjoys that sort of thing, you know. Proving people wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“People take one look at him and they think they have him figured out,” she says, giving me a squinted side-eye. “But there’s more to him than meets the eye. Sure he’s handsome and successful and has more money than one person might need, but beyond all of that, at his core, he’s just a man with a heart of gold. Loyal. Protective. Loving.”

Her gaze falls to her lap.

“He was so young when his father died,” she says. “He probably doesn’t remember much about it, but back then, he was the one who took it the hardest. I think that’s why he’d lose himself in technology. It was a distraction. It made him forget. But he was such a sweet boy, and all he ever wanted was to be part of a happy family.”

“You had that, right? You were a happy family despite it all.”

“For the most part, yes,” she says. “But after my husband died, there was always that missing piece. That void where something should have been.”

I try to imagine Dante as a child, innocent and mourning the loss of the father he never got to know in a way that a young boy should.

“Cristiano,” she says, her lips pulling up in the corners. “He’s my charmer. My world traveler. My adventurer. Sometimes I never know where he is until he calls me. Every once in a while, he’ll send me a postcard from somewhere I’ve never heard of. He knows I like that sort of thing. And when he comes home, he brings me ‘treasures.’ Sometimes it’s soap or trinkets or something he bought from some street vendor, but he always brings me something. So thoughtful, that man.”

“And Fabrizio?” I ask. He isn’t here yet. He’s supposed to fly in in the morning, and I’m anxious to see the five Amato brothers reunited because Dante says it rarely happens anymore.

“Fabrizio is my baby,” she says, cupping both hands over her chest. “He’s finishing his senior year at Ashburn University in Chicago. He’s changed his major about five times now. I’m not sure what kind of degree he’ll graduate with. I’m just thrilled he’s graduating. He’s a good kid. President of his fraternity. Smart as a whip. I’m not sure what’s in store for him in this life, but he’s the kind of boy who puts his mind to something and makes it happen. He’s going places, my Fab.”

“I am just in awe,” I say, sipping my wine. “There aren’t a lot of women who could do what you did.”

She waves her hand. “All I wanted was for them to be hardworking. And kind. And to follow their hearts. And I did it the only way I knew how–by setting an example.”

I glance straight ahead, watching the way the moonlight kisses the horizon, leaving a warm glow on the gently rocking waves. A sea salt scented breeze rustles my hair. I could sit here forever, soaking in the beauty of this evening.

“Tell me about your boys,” Valentina says. “What are their names? How old are they?”

“Dashiell is my oldest,” I say. “He’s twelve. He loves to read, and he’s starting to notice girls. Everything I do embarrasses him, but every once in a while, he has a way of reminding me he still needs me. And Beckett is my baby. He turned eight over the summer. He’s opinionated. He’ll tell you exactly what’s on his mind. And he loves sports. I wouldn’t be surprised if he grows up to play football. They’re close. They fight sometimes, like brothers do, but at the end of the day, they’re best friends. And they’re good kids. And I’d be the happiest mother in the world if they turned out half as wonderfully as your boys did.”

Valentina reaches between the chairs, placing her hand over mine and squeezing it tight.

“I have no doubt,” she says. “You’re a good woman, Maren. I can tell already. I watched you tonight, with Dante. You’re so good sweet and kind to him. You make his face light when you walk in the room. And the way he looks at you . . . there is love in his eyes.”

My chest tightens when I think of Dante, and I take a sip of wine after brushing a strand of hair from my face.

The sound of laughter floats on a breeze, carried our way, and Valentina turns to glance back at the house where the rest of the family is seated on the outdoor patio under a canopy of party lights.

“We should probably head back,” she says, rising slowly. “I didn’t want to keep you. I just wanted to spend a little one-on-one time with the woman my Dante is falling madly in love with.”

She flashes me a wink and heads back. I follow, my toes digging in the sugar-soft sand with every step. I love this place. I love this night. But it’s a different kind of love.

There’s a fullness in my chest that expands when I think of him.

And something tells me . . .

. . . that’s what real love is.

D
ante

I
wrap
my hands around Maren’s waist as she rinses wine glasses in the sink after coming inside from the shore.

“How was your chat with my mother?” I ask. Mom poured them a couple glasses of wine and took Maren aside shortly after we ate. The two of them sat by the shore for almost an hour just talking. I stayed back, giving them space, but I could see they were laughing, and judging by my mother’s animated hand gestures, they appeared to be having some kind of heart to heart.

“I love her,” Maren says with a sigh. “And I’m pretty sure she loves me. That’s all you need to know.”

I sweep her hair over one shoulder and kiss a bare patch of flesh on her shoulder, feeling her body melt against me.

“When do you want to head to the hotel?” I ask.

“Soon,” she says. “I’m feeling like a walk on the beach might be in order. It’s just one of those nights where I want to be outside and under the stars.”

Taking her hand, we head out the sliding door, across the covered patio, down the steps, and toward the crashing waves illuminated by the half moon and a billion stars. We’re barefoot, kicking sand as we walk, our bodies idly moving near and apart while our hands stay clasped.

“You having a nice time so far?” I ask.

“More than you could ever know. This is nice. Your family is great,” she says, glancing toward the ocean. The moon shines in the dark of her irises. I have half a mind to pull her into my arms and kiss her right here, but she’s enjoying this moment, so I’ll wait. Besides, as soon as we get back to the hotel, she’s all mine. “How’d we get so lucky?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were just a guy in a bar, and I was just a woman blowing out the candles on her divorce cake,” she muses, “and now here we are. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been this happy with anyone before.”

“Agree.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a light kiss into her soft skin.

“You’re so genuine,” she says. “What you see is what you get, and I love that about you. And you have a good heart. Your mom even confirmed it. Do you realize how rare that is? Most people are so full of shit and ulterior motives. Most people are just in it for themselves. But not you.”

The wind whips her dark hair across her face and she brushes it away, glancing up at me with the kind of look you give someone you’re beginning to fall head over heels in love with.

“How did this happen?” she asks.

“Destiny,” I say, “with a side of Saige.”

Maren laughs. “True.”

I squeeze her hand as we walk, letting the salty ocean air mix with Maren’s honey-almond scent as it fills my lungs.

“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you for being so open and honest. From day one, you’ve never pretended to be anything you’re not. It means more to me than I could ever express to you, especially coming out of a marriage where my husband had no qualms about lying to me on a regular basis.”

I clear my throat, feeling a slight burn in my chest as it tightens.

I have to tell her.

And I have to trust that she’ll understand.

“Maren, I have to tell you something,” I say.

She stops in her tracks, toes in the sand and expression fading. I sense fear in her dark gaze, so I take both of her hands and press them against my chest.

“It’s nothing bad,” I say. “It might sound bad at first, but if you let me explain, I promise, it won’t be that bad.”

“Dante, you’re scaring me.” Her expression fades.

“I’ve always been honest with you, Maren. Every step of the way,” I say, “but there’s something I think you should know. Something I haven’t told you yet.”

She blinks, lips flat and eyes studying me. “All right. What is it?”

“That weekend we ran into each other at the ER, when I didn’t call you Friday night and when you ignored me the rest of the weekend,” I say.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“You wrote down your son’s name for the receptionist, remember? Because she kept spelling it wrong,” I say.

“Okay.” Her tone is flat, and her chest rises and falls. I can practically feel her pulse quickening in her wrists, but mine is beating a thousand times faster.

“I did an Internet search because that’s what people do in this day and age. It isn’t uncommon or unusual,” I say. “I dug up everything I could on ‘Maren Greene,’ which wasn’t much, but I was able to deduce that you were the ex-wife of Nathan Greene, the man my fiancée ran off with.”

Maren pulls her hands from my grip. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m just saying,” I continue, “that I knew, before we first slept together, that your ex and my ex were together.”

She takes a step back, and a sick sensation washes over me.

“But I swear to you, Maren, it’s not why I wanted you,” I say. “I wanted you before I knew who you were. I wanted you before I even knew your name.”

“Dante, why are you telling me all this? What are you getting at?”

“The first time we slept together,” I hold my head in shame, “there was this small part of me that felt vindicated because I wanted to get back at her. At him. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. But that was before I got to know you. That was before I realized how crazy I was about you.”

She gasps.

“It was immature and it’s not me, Maren. I swear. But I felt it. And I felt horrible afterwards because I very much enjoyed being with you, and I wanted to be with you again and again,” I say. “I couldn’t believe I felt that way, to be honest. I wasn’t expecting it, but I-”

“You moved next door to them on purpose,” her tone is a stark accusation. “I knew it.”

“No,” my voice booms and I meet her pointed stare with one of my own. “Absolutely not. Cristiano found the rental for me. The location was pure coincidence. On my life, Maren, I swear.”

“Then why are you telling me all this? Is this supposed to make me feel better?” she asks. “Or is this to make
you
feel better?”

“I wanted to be completely honest with you,” I say. “It’s been bothering me for a while now. I’m disgusted with myself for thinking such a thought.”

She huffs and looks away, glancing over her shoulder toward the lit rows of beach houses in the distance.

“That morning we ran into Lauren outside my place,” I say. “Seeing the way she looked at us, seeing that jealousy on her face, I felt vindicated again. And then as quickly as that feeling flooded through me, I hated myself for it. That’s why I was so quiet in the car that day when I drove you home. I was angry with myself.”

“So let me get this straight,” I say. “You like me. You like being with me. But you also get a thrill out of screwing the ex-wife of the man who stole your fiancée.”

“It’s so fucked up.” I drag my hand through my hair, pulling a fistful. “It’s juvenile, I know. And it was just that first time. The thought was fleeting, but it was there. It happened. I wanted to come clean, because it’s been bothering me.”

“It’s been bothering
you
?” she releases an incredulous snort.

“Maren.”

“To be honest, I almost wish you hadn’t told me.” She stares down, kicking sand off her feet.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wanted to come clean because I really like you, Maren. A lot. And I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

I reach for her face, intending to cup her hand, but she jerks away.

“Maren,” I say as she begins to walk away, trudging along the shoreline and back toward the house. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“That’s so fucked up, Dante,” she yells, throwing her hands in the air. She stops, turning to face me. “I don’t care that you felt vindicated or that you felt bad afterwards. The fact is, you knew before you even fucked me that I was Nathan’s ex, and you said nothing. And
that
, Dante, is really fucked up.”

“Maren, it wasn’t like that. Okay, maybe it was a little risky, a little reckless, but we’re here. We’re together. It all worked out.”

“I don’t care how you think it was,” she says, voice breaking. “Don’t you get it? I feel like an idiot. You made me into a fool, Dante.”

Maren heads back to the beach house and I stay a few steps behind, hoping she’ll give it some more thought and see that I care about her, that I was only coming clean because I cared about her. I’m hoping she’ll get this out of her system and come running back into my arms.

But she never does.

We approach the steps leading up to Ace and Aidy’s back patio. The house is dark, like everyone’s turned in for the night, and now it’s just the two of us.

“I’m going to call a cab,” she says. “And I’m going to take the next flight home.”

“What am I supposed to tell my family tomorrow?”

“Tell them I’m sorry. I just . . . I can’t. I can’t look at you, Dante. I can’t be in the same room as you. Being with you right now makes me sick to my stomach.”

I stay back, giving her space. Seeing Maren so hurt breaks my heart. My chest physically aches, and I wish more than anything that she could see my intentions were noble. I was coming clean so that we could move forward.

I’m crazy about this woman, and I owed it to her to be honest.

I couldn’t imagine moving forward with her and never telling her that I knew who she was before we slept together. It just wouldn’t be right. I can’t have a heavy conscience with her. It’s not who I am.

Taking a deep breath, I let her go.

But only because I know she’ll come back when she’s ready.

Maybe I’m a fool, but I’ve never had anything like this with anyone else.

What we have is the realest thing I’ve ever known.

I refuse to believe she’s walking away for good.