Bella Rosa Proposals: Star-Crossed Sweethearts

The breeze kicked up. Without the ball cap he found so offensive, it sent ribbons of her hair across her face. The yellow blossom tumbled free from its perch at her ear. He caught it before it could hit the ground.

“It doesn’t want to stay put,” she murmured as her heart kicked out an extra beat. He was standing so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“I guess I cut the stem a little too short.”

“You could try another one.”

“Yeah? You mean keep at it till I get it right?”

Atlanta swallowed, nodded.

“You know, you have a point,” he said slowly, seriously. “Not everything works the way we want it to the first time.” He leaned back against the car and rested his hands lightly on her waist. “Like last night.”

“What about last night?”

“That kiss you gave me.”

“You had a problem with it?” she asked, trying to sound insulted rather than insecure.

“I wouldn’t call it a problem. It’s just that if I’d been in control I would have done things a little differently.”

Angelo’s choice of words was deliberate, she knew. He was making a not so subtle reference to Zeke, as well as offering a not so subtle reminder that last night he’d let her call the shots, everything from where to eat to how to end the evening.

“You were a perfect gentleman, by the way, a fact I appreciated.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “Were you worried that I wouldn’t be?”

“If I had been I wouldn’t have agreed to have dinner with you,” she replied seriously.

He nodded. “And what about tonight?”

Because she found the invitation to spend another evening with him way too tempting, she dodged it by asking, “When are you going to get around to visiting with the relatives you came to Italy to see?”

“When I can no longer avoid it,” he said pointedly. “So, about tonight?”

“All right, under one condition.”

His eyes narrowed. “What might that be?”

“You have to tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows. I figure that’s only fair since so much of my dirty laundry is out in the air.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay, but I have a condition of my own. I get to pick the place tonight.”

“Deal,” Atlanta said, sure she’d gotten the better end of the bargain.

Back at the villa, she hurriedly changed her clothes. Angelo insisted she needn’t bother, with the exception of the ball cap. But that meant she had to do something different with her hair and, while she was at it, it seemed a shame not to slip into one of the pretty skirts and new blouses she’d brought with her. So while he paced around the courtyard, she was in her room, primping for another evening out.

She wasn’t sure what had happened to her resolve to steer clear of men in general and Angelo Casali in particular. Nor could she say why she’d told him things about her relationship with Zeke that she’d only admitted to a few people, and then with mixed reactions.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” her agent had warned when Atlanta had confided her unhappiness a year earlier. “You might be a box-office draw, but Zeke wields a scary amount of power in this town. So what if he likes to tell you how to wear your hair or which entree to order at Spago? Nine times out of ten, he’s right. The guy has the Midas touch when it comes to building careers. A million other wannabes would be only too happy to heed his advice.”

Angelo, however, had understood that it wasn’t advice Zeke imparted, but rules. He’d created her, named her, handcrafted every aspect of her past and present. He’d controlled her, every bit as much as her stepfather had, caging her in and making her feel trapped, helpless.

But just as she’d broken free from her stepfather’s grip, she’d wrested herself from Zeke’s control. No man was going to bully her or boss her around. That included Angelo, even if she’d opted to let him pick the location for tonight’s meal.

She felt confident and unconcerned when, once they were seated in his car, she asked, “So, where are we heading for dinner?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “My villa.”

“Your villa?” Her nerves kicked into high gear right along with the sports coupe.

“We can go somewhere else if you’d rather,” he said.

His offer quelled her concern. Now Atlanta was intrigued, “Why your villa?”

“My sister made this incredible feast for me the other night. I have a lot of leftovers. More than I can eat in this lifetime. I thought we could dine alfresco. The view from my patio is five-star.

“Is that the only reason?” When he shook his head, she added, “I didn’t think so.”

She waited for him to make some flirty comment about wanting to be alone with her. He didn’t. Rather, he sighed. “Monta Correnti is small. Everyone here knows my father or someone in my family.”

“You should be used to being recognized,” she reminded him. “It’s not like you’re anonymous when you go out in New York or anywhere in America, for that matter.”

“That’s just it. I’m not recognized here, Atlanta. No one here knows Angelo Casali.” He was talking about the ballplayer. “Here I am only Luca’s long-lost son.”

“Angelo.” Understanding the source of his pain, she reached out to him. Then she screamed, “Look out!”

Angelo had been watching her rather than the road, a dangerous proposition, especially on this winding stretch. As a result, he wasn’t quite ready for the hairpin turn ahead. To avoid collision with a tree, he stepped on the brake and yanked the steering wheel to one side. The car skidded on gravel for what seemed like a lifetime before the tire found traction.

He grunted and bit back the worst of an oath as pain shot from his shoulder. As he cupped it with his hand he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Atlanta said. “But I don’t think you are.”

He tried to lie around a grimace. “I’m good.”

She wasn’t buying it. “Your shoulder is bothering you again.”

“More like still,” he admitted.

“Are you taking something for the pain?”

“When it becomes unbearable.”

“From what I’ve observed that must be most of the time.”

Angelo didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “The pills the doctor prescribed make me tired and a little foggy. I’ve played through pain before.”

“We’re not talking about a baseball game, Angelo. This is your health, your quality of life. You can’t keep on this way. Eventually, I’m guessing your shoulder is going to require surgery.”