Betrayal Read online

  “But it can be done?” Brooke asked.

  “With enough money, anything can be done.”

  “My husband’s rich.”

  Penelope had already figured that out. “Cool.”

  “Yes, it’s one of the traits I like about him.” Brooke smiled. “Also, he wants a home with me. This time he’s determined that everything is going to work between us. Plus he negotiated a really good deal on this place and gave me an outrageous budget to get it into shape as soon as possible.”

  Envy tasted bitter on Penelope’s tongue, but if anyone deserved happiness, it was this woman, so generous, so kind to an almost-total stranger. “So he’s not only rich, he’s got the right priorities.”

  “I will love him forever.” The words were dramatic, but so simply spoken Penelope suffered a pang in the region of her heart.

  She struggled with loneliness, with the prospect of long days to fill and no one with whom to share her trials and her triumphs. She would work, of course, and make friends, but to never speak with her mother again, to never go home to the one man who loved her, to never hold her child in her arms…

  Maybe it wasn’t envy she tasted. Maybe it was sorrow.

  Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. She picked up her water and drank, trying to wet her suddenly dry mouth; then in a flurry of activity, she came to her feet and strode into the parlor. It was even dimmer in here than in the entry, an echoing room that needed a fringed Persian carpet on the floor, a Queen Anne sofa artfully angled with a large easy chair on the side, and a fire burning in the hand-carved rose marble fireplace that dominated the room. She kept her voice hearty and forceful. “Yes, I think this would make a lovely room for entertaining. We’ll break through to the dining room, then create a supporting arch, or even possibly install a pocket door so you could feed your guests, then leave the dirty dishes and close off the dining room—”

  She must not have been convincing, for Brooke rose to her feet and in a gentle voice said, “Penelope…”

  An overload of emotion rolled over Penelope—months after her mother’s death, fifteen months since the phone call about Keith, it still sometimes happened—and she knew she hadn’t fooled anyone. Not Brooke. And not herself. She took a quivering breath, held out her hand in a stop gesture. No sympathy, she meant.

  Brooke nodded, understanding without words.

  And Penelope knew she’d found more than a job. She’d found a friend.

  Thank God. This was surely the first sign that she had moved on beyond the tangle of pain and sorrow. Now, at last, she could successfully rebuild her life.

  As she struggled to subdue her unruly sentiments, the front door lock made a clicking sound.

  Both women turned to look.

  Two men, tall and broad shouldered, stood silhouetted and unrecognizable through the cut glass.

  The knob turned. The double doors swung wide.

  Brooke’s face lit up, and she cried with rapturous pleasure, “Rafe!”

  A distant memory stirred in Penelope’s brain, an ominous rumble of trouble.

  Rafe? A Rare name. A distinctive name. She’d heard it years before.…

  All day, Brooke had never said her husband’s name. Why? what was she hiding?

  The men stepped into the foyer, both handsome, dark haired, obviously brothers.

  Brooke looked between them and Penelope and deflated like a balloon. Her whisper sounded loud in the silence. “Oh, no.”

  The truth, and the horror, struck Penelope through the heart.

  Brooke’s husband had arrived, and he was Rafe Di Luca. And the other guy…

  The other guy was Rafe’s brother.

  He was Noah Di Luca.

  Her Noah Di Luca.

  Chapter 9

  Time shifted. Motion froze. Penelope saw the tableau etched with such clarity, each one of them might have been a figure in an artfully lit wax museum.

  Rafe, In a dark suit, White shirt, And tie, Walking toward his wife, His hands outstretched, Saying, “What’s Wrong, Honey?”

  Brooke staring at penelope in wide-eyed dismay.

  Noah, In blue jeans, A blue t-shirt, And a linen jacket, Glancing around as if assessing the house, Catching his first glimpse of penelope.

  And the shock of meeting his eyes flung Penelope ten thousand feet up into the atmosphere.

  The air was thin; she couldn’t breathe. Her ears were plugged; she couldn’t hear. All her concentration narrowed down to a single focus: Noah’s face, his chin, his lips, his lips, his lips. And his eyes, as deep and as green as the ocean, and just as unfeeling and faithless…

  She was cold, frozen; she couldn’t move, couldn’t feel.…

  Then, abruptly, he moved and the ice snapped.

  She was back with her feet on the heart pine floor… and she could feel. Her skin was icy, her fingers trembled, and the pressure in her chest made her wish she could sink to the floor in a nineteenth-century faint.

  He started toward her.

  She stiffened her spine. She was not a Victorian maiden. She was not a coward. She had faced far worse than this confrontation. She would get through the experience with the courtesy and poise life had taught her.

  Noah extended his hand.

  Good. It was to be a businesslike meeting.

  She extended hers. “Noah, how good to see you again.” A lie, but for a good cause.

  “Penelope, I had no idea you were in town.” His voice wrapped her in the remnants of the old, dark, rich depths of remembered passion. He took her hand.

  And Penelope was flung once more into space. Everything was in that one touch: all the joy of first love, all the pain of his rejection, all the years of being apart.…

  This time Penelope didn’t wait for release. She took time by the throat, slammed herself down to earth.

  She breathed.

  She smiled.

  She made herself look pleasant and normal.

  She spoke. “I arrived yesterday. I hadn’t told anyone I was coming, but Brooke and I met at the diner and we discovered a mutual appreciation for turn-of-the-century architecture.”

  “You always did love old houses,” he said.

  She tried to think how a person behaved when meeting another person in business circumstances. She should know this. She did know this.

  First, get your hand out of his.

  She freed herself.

  He let her go.

  She rubbed her palm against her jeans, trying to wipe off the sensation of his touch.

  She couldn’t. He was here, exuding the warmth of the California sun, the scent of bergamot orange clinging close to his skin, the structure of his face as striking as ever, but refined, matured.… After nine long years, one marriage, and too many devastating losses, she hadn’t been able to erase the memory of his touch. Why would she succeed now?

  When Brooke picked up the thread of conversation, Penelope deliberately looked at her rather than at Noah.

  Brooke chatted nervously, brightly. “Rafe, dear, I don’t know if you ever met Penelope when she lived here before—”

  “I did. I remember her.” Rafe looked right at her. “Penelope Alonso. You’ve changed.”

  Noah spoke. “I don’t think she’s changed at all.”

  Like his presence, like his touch, his warm, rough voice raised goose bumps all the way to the top of her head. But this time she was able to respond at once, meeting his gaze, smiling that same smile that stretched across her lips like a tight rubber band. “I have changed. Nine years is a long time.”

  “Your hair is shorter,” he said.

  “After I graduated, I worked for an interior design firm in Cincinnati. A braid down my back seemed unprofessional.” She turned to Rafe—or rather, she turned away from Noah. “I remember you also. You were home from the service.” She walked toward him, offered her hand. “I’m now Penelope Alonso Caldwell.”

  He shook it briefly. “You’re married.”

  “Widowed,” she counte
red.

  “What happened to your husband?” he asked.

  “He was killed in a car wreck over a year ago.” Brooke had said Rafe was in security; Penelope could almost see him storing away the information to check on it later.

  “I thought you were going to say divorced,” Rafe said.

  She recognized the tone of his voice, like an L.A. cop arresting a young, foolish, frightened shoplifter. How ironic. He wanted to protect his baby brother from his wicked seductress—and she would rather be anywhere but here.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Noah said the words, and sounded sincere.

  “Thank you.” She’d learned that was the easiest thing to say. Because really, what else was there? Keith was a nice guy; I loved him for his kindness, and in the pain and anguish that followed, I forgot him too easily.

  That had been the worst: looking back in shock and realizing that his passing had barely made a ripple in the emotional tenor of her life.

  When she did think of him, she wondered… was it that first bright, heated love for Noah that had cast Keith into the shade? Or was it the tragedy that followed that made him a thin, transparent memory in her mind?

  Blaming Noah was too easy, too convenient. Dwelling on what had happened after… what good would that do her?

  She didn’t want to discuss her marriage or her husband with Noah. It was none of his business. Pushing the subject aside, Penelope said, “I told Brooke that this house looks like a good, solid acquisition.”

  Noah glanced impatiently around. “Yes.”

  “With good planning and the Di Luca connections, the remodel should not take long. Don’t you agree?” she insisted.

  He looked around again, seeing his surroundings for the first time, scrutinizing the entry, the stairs, the visible rooms. Turning to Brooke, he asked, “How soon do you plan to move in?”

  “Six months,” she said.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “Six months for a remodel of this magnitude? You were the concierge at the resort. You know what contractors are like. Schedule is just a word they like to use.”

  She considered him, then announced, “We have to move in six months. I’m having a baby in seven.”

  Chapter 10

  As if he’d been smacked between the eyes with a pole, Noah rocked back on his heels. “A baby?” he croaked.

  Penelope shook her head in wonder. How could Noah be so oblivious? She hadn’t had to be told. Five minutes in Brooke’s presence and Penelope had had her suspicions. An hour and she was certain.

  Right before her eyes, Noah transformed into the Italian family man. He hurried to Brooke and pulled her into his arms. Crushing her in a massive hug, he kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got to go buy a baseball glove.”

  “What for?” Rafe was clueless now.

  “For my nephew!” Noah grinned.

  “Or your niece,” Brooke said.

  “Or my niece,” Noah agreed.

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” Brooke said.

  Noah’s grin faded. “Yeah. Plenty of time.”

  Surprised, Penelope scrutinized him. For the merest moment, he looked like an older caricature of himself, haunted by the deeds of his past.

  Then his expression became once more smiling and cocky. “Who else knows?”

  “Nonna guessed. We told my mother right before she flew to New York to visit Rafe’s mother while she rehearses for her Broadway debut, and we told Francesca while Mom was in the air. We were going to wait until Sunday to tell everyone else, but now that you know…” Brooke turned to Rafe. “We’re going to have to drop by to see Eli and Chloë tonight.”

  “Ha! You told me before you told Eli,” Noah said.

  “You are so mature.” Brooke’s sarcasm was crushing.

  Noah just grinned as he set Brooke aside, very carefully, as if she were fragile. “So we have to get this remodel going. I assume we need floor plans drawn?”

  “We most certainly do,” Penelope agreed.

  “I’ll get the guys in here to take measurements right away.” He extended his hand to Rafe. They shook, all manly congratulations, and then, like brothers raised in affection, they hugged and laughed.

  The way they acted, it looked to Penelope almost like a reconciliation.

  “You didn’t waste any time.” Noah stepped away from Rafe and pounded him on the back.

  “We didn’t plan it.” Brooke watched them, smiling. “After the last couple of months’ trouble, we just… weren’t very careful.”

  “Let me think.” Noah puckered his mouth like an elderly lady. “What did Mrs. Burns teach us in junior high? Oh, yeah. It only takes once.”

  “Shut up, Noah. You’ve made your share of mistakes.” With a glance at Penelope, Rafe stopped abruptly.

  “Not that mistake,” Noah said coolly.

  No. It was true. That summer Noah had been very, very careful about contraception. At the time, Penelope had been relieved to have a boyfriend who meticulously took all the responsibility. When he later tossed her aside with casual disdain, she realized it hadn’t been for her, but for him—he hadn’t wanted the possible entanglement of a child with her.

  Now she knew a little more about the stats concerning condoms—they were ninety-eight percent effective in preventing pregnancy. That meant that in one year’s time, two couples out of one hundred who used condoms would have an unintended pregnancy.

  When she looked back on that summer, on the urgency of their passion and the pleasure of spending every possible moment in each other’s arms… Well, it was lucky she hadn’t conceived.

  And her own mother, who had raised a daughter on her own with no help from Penelope’s father or her own family… her mother would have killed her.

  Before the pause could grow awkward—more awkward—Brooke said, “It’s true, Rafe. Penelope is an interior designer, and we are so lucky I found her! As soon as we met I knew we were simpatico.”

  “Where did you meet?” Rafe didn’t sound nervous or overly cheerful. In fact, he scrutinized Penelope as if he knew she had stolen the family silver.

  “At Rhodes Café.” Brooke put her hand on Rafe’s arm and squeezed hard. “I knew she was the exact right person to help me make this house our home.”

  Rafe looked at his wife as if trying to curb her enthusiasm. “First we’ll want to check her credentials, of course.”

  “I’ve already forwarded my résumé and references to your wife,” Penelope answered.

  “And darned if I’m not capable of checking and approving those credentials myself, seein’ as how I used to be the head concierge of a large resort and hired hundreds of employees in my time.” Brooke smacked her husband hard with the sarcasm stick.

  Noah laughed.

  Rafe was clearly unmoved. “Of course you’re capable. I would never insinuate you’re not. But I’m in charge of security now, and all employees are vetted by me.”

  Startled by Rafe’s inexorable tone, Penelope lifted her brows at Brooke.

  “It’s a long story,” Brooke said to her, hands rising and falling in uncharacteristic vulnerability.

  Noah stepped in with a swift change of subject. “Rafe, you’re lucky. Penelope’s degree is from the University of Cincinnati. Isn’t that right?” Noah smiled at her.

  My God. That smile. It used to make Penelope’s heart stop. “I don’t remember sending you a graduation announcement,” she said. Which sounded surly. But she felt surly. Had he been spying on her?

  “Nonna told me.” Still Noah smiled at her.

  That smile used to make her world go around.

  He said, “You know how my grandmother is—no matter where you go, she’ll always be your friend.”

  Oh, great. Now Penelope felt surly and guilty.

  “Nonna would love to see you again.”

  When Penelope left Bella Terra, she had been eighteen and Mrs. Di Luca had been ancient, at least seventy years old. Of course, she had been vital and busy, kind to the young woman
who had managed to land a job as an intern to a thriving design business in Bella Terra.

  “While you’re here, I hope you’ll visit her.” Noah sounded winsome and appealing.

  It was a little late for him to appeal to her. “I can’t imagine she remembers me.”

  “Nonna remembers everyone, but she remembers you with particular affection. She liked you very much, and she never understood why I broke it off with you.”

  That makes two of us, buster. “My plans right now are rather… confusing, but I would love to see Mrs. Di Luca again.” Which was the truth—that summer, Penelope and Sarah had become fast friends, and when Penelope and her mother left town, Sarah sent a lovely note expressing her hope that Penelope would keep in touch.

  Penelope had not responded. She meant to, but she didn’t know what to say, how to revisit that pain and heartache, and in the end it was easier to walk away and never look back.

  Now Penelope wondered… had Mrs. Di Luca suspected the real reason Penelope and her mother were in town?

  No, probably not. As far as Penelope knew, no one had suspected the truth—including the youthful Penelope.

  She looked at herself in the mottled entryway mirror. She resembled her mother.…

  Behind her in the mirror, a figure moved out of the dark reaches of the corridor down by the kitchen.

  Alarmed, she swung around to face the stranger as he emerged from the shadows.

  Simultaneously, Rafe pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket.

  Smoothly, Brooke plucked a pistol from beneath her vest.

  And suddenly, Noah held an eight-inch-long knife in his grip.

  Chapter 11

  Penelope stared in openmouthed shock at the weapons—and at the grim-faced people who wielded them so handily.