Betrayal Read online

  “That is an idea,” he said, each word like an ice cube rattling into a silver bucket.

  “It is.” The elderly woman hurried forward. “Mr. Fiasco, my grandson Noah brought me down to meet you. I’m Sarah Di Luca, and I confess, I was worried when the boys insisted it was time to freshen the look of our public areas. But to know that you’re going to open the room to the grandeur of our gorgeous California outdoors and at the same time provide an anchor to our wonderful family history…” She offered him her hand.

  For Mrs. Di Luca, it seemed he was bathed in charm. Taking her hand, he kissed her fingers. “Call me Storm,” he murmured.

  “Before his death, my husband did so much around the resort, and when he could no longer remember how to do the wiring or where all the plumbing ran through the walls, he could still craft pieces like this.” She gestured to the rocking chair. “To know you recognized the love that went into the creation… You are a man of discernment as well as an artist.”

  The young man, Noah, turned toward Penelope.

  But she was too terrified by Storm’s impending rage to pay him any heed.

  Still Noah grinned and winked, then went to Storm and shook his hand. “We spoke on the phone. I’m Noah Di Luca.”

  “Good to meet you at last, and to know the family is so closely involved is a delight indeed,” Storm said.

  Penelope swallowed. She could hear the sliver of frozen sarcasm in Storm’s voice. Couldn’t the Di Lucas hear it, too?

  Mrs. Di Luca could, for she laughed and said, “I promise I don’t intend to be here every day checking on your progress. In fact, the only time you’ll see me at all is when you come up for Sunday dinner. We start about three. The meal is about seven. There’s always an incredible lot of people, but we have wonderful times. You will come, won’t you?”

  Now Storm melted like a snow cone on a hot sidewalk, and all sign of his displeasure vanished. “Mrs. Di Luca, I would be delighted. And you may boss me around anytime you like.”

  In slow increments, Penelope began to relax.

  “You come, too, child.” Mrs. Di Luca smiled kindly at her.

  “I, um, my mother is here in Bella Terra with me and—”

  “Bring her, too. Company is a blessing I enjoy.” Mrs. Di Luca could not have sounded more sincere.

  A few more congenial words, and Noah and Mrs. Di Luca backed out of the room.

  Storm started shouting instructions again.

  Penelope took notes, chastened, and resolved not to contradict Storm Fiasco ever again as long as she lived.

  Then she found out it didn’t matter, because two hours later, he fired her.

  Chapter 23

  I n all her life, Penelope had never been so humiliated as when Noah found her crying in the supply closet of the unoccupied resort office. Sure, it was a stupid place to hide, but where else was she supposed to go? She didn’t have a car. Her mother wasn’t scheduled to pick her up for three hours. And the tears wouldn’t wait any longer.

  So when he opened the door and flicked on the light, Penelope did the only sensible thing to do—she scrunched further into the corner and tried to disappear into the wall.

  Most guys—normal guys—would have taken one look at her splotchy face and runny nose and fled. Instead, he came and squatted down in front of her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was right in the middle of the first full-fledged paroxysm of despair and humiliation of her design life. Which was over. Her career was over before it even began.

  So she put her head on her knees and continued to cry, long, wrenching sobs that tore at her throat and shook her whole body. She’d stolen a roll of toilet paper off one of the shelves, and occasionally she used it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. Violently.

  And still Noah stayed, kneeling there, patient and calm.

  What a dumb-ass.

  She controlled her sobbing long enough to say, “Go away.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Okay.” He left the closet.

  “Shut the door!” she wailed.

  He didn’t. Instead he was back in a minute with a bottle of cold water and can of cold Coke. He thrust them both under her downturned face. “Drink?”

  “N… no. Th… thank you.”

  But he didn’t withdraw them.

  So she took the water. Of course, she couldn’t get the cap unscrewed—because she really was the incompetent, interfering, ignorant half-wit that Storm Fiasco said she was.

  So the Di Luca guy took the bottle away from her, unscrewed the top, and handed it back.

  She took a slurp and cried a little more, then took another slurp. She heard him pop the top of the can. He took the water away from her and put the Coke in her hand. “Drink it. The sugar will make you feel better.”

  “No, it won’t. I’ll never feel better as long as I live.” And she started crying again.

  “Did he fire you?” he asked.

  “What? Yes! How did you know? Did he tell you?” Mortification twisted like a snake in her belly.

  “I did the research on who we should hire to redesign the facility, so I know a lot about Storm Fiasco.” Noah sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall that was at a ninety-degree angle from hers. “Storm Fiasco is famous for firing his interns. Although I think you may have set the new record for least time served.”

  “Oh, God.” She shut her eyes and thumped her head against the wall. “I contradicted him. As soon as I did it, I knew I was in trouble, but I thought Mrs. Di Luca smoothed it over.”

  “Yeah, not so much. He’s known for carrying a grudge and for magnificent temper tantrums.”

  “He threw his phone at me.” She showed Noah the bruise on her shoulder.

  Noah placed the lid back on the bottle of water. “Here, put this on it. It’s cold. It’ll help.”

  She did as he suggested. “What am I going to tell my mother? She moved mountains to get me this position. She took a leave from her job in Portland to bring me here. She got a job cleaning rooms at the Sweet Dreams Hotel to pay for our stay.” Her voice wobbled again. “And now, after uprooting her completely… I’m fired.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Was he deaf? “Yes, I am!”

  “Look. Storm Fiasco is known for his fits. He’s also known for getting over them. He desperately needs an intern. You’re talented, or your mother could have moved Mount Everest and Fiasco wouldn’t have cared. He took you because you’re the best.” As he praised her, Noah sounded absolutely prosaic. “Let’s face it: He’s screwed if he doesn’t have you. The only interns left for him to hire at this late date are the B-grade students.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know what I’d do?”

  “What?”

  “I’d wait a couple of hours, get my notebook, join him like nothing happened, and do the work.”

  She stopped thinking about avoiding Noah’s gaze, and she looked at him. Really looked at him.

  He was about her age, maybe a year or two older, built like a gladiator, with broad shoulders, a fully muscled chest, long arms, long legs, and big hands. He wore ironed khakis and a blue polo shirt with the Bella Terra logo on his left shoulder. He was Brad Pitt handsome, with a facial structure so sculpted as to be almost austere. Yet there was nothing monkish about his lips, sensual and inviting, or his eyes, alight with kindness. Those eyes… They were the oddest green she’d ever seen, with flecks of gold clustered around the pupil, and set into his face with an exotic slant made him look almost Asian.

  And although he was part of the family that owned this resort, he seemed sensible and mature and down-to-earth.

  His advice made her waver between hope and disbelief. “Do you think that would really work?”

  “If it doesn’t, what are you out? To the persistent go the spoils.”

  “That’s not the saying.”

  “Isn’t it?” He smiled.

  For the first time, she saw all the Di Luca charm
in full Noah-size bloom.

  And for the first time, she realized she looked like hell.

  Not that it mattered; he was leagues above her when it came to money and class. But here she was, alone in a supply closet with the best-looking man she’d ever met, and her eyes were swollen almost shut, she held a soggy wad of toilet paper in her hand, and she needed to blow her nose.

  He misunderstood her whimper of despair. “You can do it. You were totally handling him. You’ll figure him out, you’ll keep the internship, and when you graduate, having Storm Fiasco on your résumé will be big-time influential.”

  “You’re right.” More important, she wouldn’t have to tell her mother she’d been fired.

  “Come on.” He stood and offered his hand. “I’ve got the key to the Di Luca family private restroom. You can go in there, splash your face with cold water, drink your Coke, and when you feel better, come out and proceed as if the whole firing thing never happened.”

  She used her nontissue hand to take his, let him help her to her feet, and dusted off her seat. “What if he doesn’t go for it? What if he throws his phone at me again?”

  “Duck faster.”

  She laughed. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she laughed. “You’re so understanding. You must have sisters,” she said.

  “Nope. Two handsome, talented older brothers. Talk about tough to grow up in their shadows!” As he led her to the spa-luxurious private bathroom, he chatted about Eli and Rafe, his grandmother and his recently deceased grandfather. Then he handed her the key, patted her shoulder, and disappeared down the hall.

  She went in, gasped at the sight of her reflection, soaked towels in cold water, and pressed them on her face. She got herself into halfway decent shape, so she no longer looked like an animated Disney gargoyle, gave herself a pep talk, retrieved her notebook and pen from the closet where she’d left them, and went back to the great room.

  She hesitated at the entrance.

  Storm Fiasco was pacing off the length of the room, and when he turned and caught sight of her, he snapped, “Where the hell have you been? Where’s the tape measure? I need you to hold the other end and write down these dimensions.”

  “Right.” She walked over to him, pulled the tape measure off his belt, and offered it to him. “What are we measuring first?”

  Chapter 24

  I n the next week, Storm Fiasco fired Penelope twice. He also skipped his phone across her ribs with a sideways flick of his wrist, and later the same day broke his phone when he flung it at her and she followed Noah’s advice and ducked.

  He fired her for that, too.

  She went and got him a new phone and returned to work.

  She saw Noah from a distance, but they were both too busy to speak.

  But mentally she hugged Mrs. Di Luca’s invitation to her bosom, and waited anxiously for Sunday evening, when she would see Noah again.

  When she and her mother drove up, they found the small house filled to bursting with neighbors, friends, and family. The party reached from the kitchen, where half a dozen poker players sat at the round kitchen table and argued loudly over chips valued at no more than a quarter apiece, to the living room, where sports enthusiasts shouted at the baseball game, and finally spilled out onto the porch and the front lawn, where Chinese lanterns hung from the gnarled, wide-armed live oak trees.

  Storm Fiasco brought his wife, a plain, quiet, gentle woman, the mother of his four children, and he showed none of his temperament while she was around.

  Mrs. Di Luca welcomed Penelope and her mother, introduced them to everyone, and made sure they were comfortable among the crowd of strangers. She made them feel special, like the only guests who truly mattered to her, and the thing was… she did that with everyone, and she cooked and she served the food.… She never stopped moving, her eyes sparkling with pleasure at the rollicking party.

  Penelope wanted to be her when she grew up.

  Mrs. Di Luca’s meal was rich and filling, better than any restaurant food Penelope had ever had. Penelope’s mother allowed her a glass of wine with the meal, and it must have gone to Penelope’s head, for when Noah’s brother Rafe got out an antique squeeze-box accordion and squeaked out a few songs, she sang along, even when the songs were in Italian.

  At eight thirty, her mother gestured her over to her chair at the long dining room table. “Honey, I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go. I’m pooped.”

  Penelope felt her joy wilt. “But, Mom. It’s not even nine o’clock.”

  “I’m sorry, dear.” Her mother really did seem sorry. “I’m enjoying myself, too, but I can’t stay up any longer.”

  “But you didn’t work today.” Penelope was whining. She knew she was, but the words grumbled out of her.

  “It’s been a rough week. I’m not used to cleaning motel rooms.” Her mother smiled apologetically and turned to Mrs. Di Luca and began the task of thanking her for a wonderful time.

  Penelope sulked, wishing she could stay, wishing her mother didn’t work so much, but she always had worked too much; she liked it, Penelope guessed, and why didn’t she remember they were dining at the Di Lucas’ tonight and not work so hard yesterday… when all of a sudden, Penelope realized that her mom truly did look tired, yellowish and waxy. Without thinking, she interrupted the conversation between Mrs. Di Luca and her mother. “Mom, are you sick?”

  Her mother’s eyes got wide and sort of alarmed. “Just truly tired. But listen—Sarah says she can get Noah to bring you back to the motel. Would you like that?”

  “Yes!” Penelope actually hopped a little, then settled down, glancing around, hoping no one had seen her. “Oh, but are you going to be okay going back by yourself?”

  Her mother chuckled. “Honey, I survived the whole school year without you. I can get back to the motel on my own.” She used her hands to push herself to her feet. She kissed Penelope on the cheek. She thanked Mrs. Di Luca again. Mrs. Di Luca invited her back next week, then summoned her grandson Eli to walk her to the car. Her mom waved good-bye, and Penelope stood and watched her, thinking her mother looked old.…

  But she wasn’t really, really old. She had had Penelope when she was eighteen, and she wasn’t yet forty, so why did she look like she need a cane?

  Noah appeared at Penelope’s side. He tucked his hand into her arm and smiled down at her. “So when the party winds down, I get to take you home.”

  She realized maybe he felt stuck with her, and she blushed hotly.

  “You don’t mind if I make sure none of the other guys here swoop in?” he asked. “They’ve been watching you all evening.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because you’re the prettiest girl here.” Then he stuck close to her for the rest of the evening.

  Penelope was so thrilled, she forgot all about her mom, and she expected she glowed like a lightning bug.

  Nonna shut down the party at eleven, and Noah drove Penelope home in his grandmother’s classic Mustang, and the best part was… there were no awkward silences, no moments when they groped for words. They chatted like old friends.

  He told her his brother Rafe’s leave was over tomorrow and he flew back to Germany to join his unit.

  She confessed she had thought Storm Fiasco was gay, and she was never going to judge people by their career and flamboyance again. They laughed about the moment on the front porch when Mrs. Fiasco had shivered and Storm had rushed to get her sweater and used it as an excuse to wrap it around her and hold her in his arms.

  Noah told her that after his grandfather’s death, his grandmother hadn’t wanted to start up the Sunday-night parties, but his great-aunts Annie and June had visited and asked to see the whole family, and every Sunday night since, Nonna had hosted anywhere from half a dozen people to half the population of Bella Terra and beyond.

  Noah and Penelope pulled up to the Sweet Dreams Hotel. She directed him to number eleven. He parked and turned off the motor.

  A bare lightbulb glowed
above each motel room door. Behind them and across the parking lot, the Beaver Inn blared with music and raucous laughter.

  She looked across the console to put her hand on Noah’s arm. “That was so wonderful. Thank you again.”

  He turned to face her and grinned. “You’ve thanked me about a dozen times. What’s the big deal? It was just an evening at Nonna’s.”

  “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a family like that.”

  His grin disappeared. “Actually, I do.”

  She didn’t pay any attention. She charged right on. “My mother’s family is the biggest bunch of patoots you’ve ever met. They fight all the time.”

  “We Di Lucas fight.”

  “I suppose you do.” She didn’t want to think about that. “But not like my mother’s family. They’re mean. They look for your weak spot and stab a knife into it. Nasty people. My grandfather is still mad at my mom because she got pregnant with me. When I was fourteen and got in trouble with the law, he tried to force her to put me into a juvenile detention center. Then he tried to get her to put me in foster care. Then he turned her in to child protective services and lied and said she was abusing me. He was the abusive one—he used to swing that belt of his, and even his adult sons ran away.”

  “Whoa.” The white light from the porch bulbs and the fluorescent red light from the bar divided his face in half, giving his green eyes an eerie intensity. “Kudos to your mom for getting you away.”

  “I know.” She looked at the motel room where, through the crack in the curtains, she could see that a single light burned. “She’s amazing.”