The Bravos: Family Ties: The Bravo Family Way / Married in Haste / From Here to Paternity

A guy exactly like Danny, as a matter of fact—Danny, who had just said goodbye and walked out the door.

So what about Cleo’s lifelong dreams now? She’d never have the life she longed for with someone like Fletcher. And please, who was she kidding? It was highly unlikely she’d have any life with Fletcher. He wanted her, period. And she wanted him.

This thing between them had nothing to do with the two of them building a life together. So if she couldn’t forget about him, she’d better learn to accept that what they’d have together wouldn’t last all that long.

Cleo supposed it was funny in a grim sort of way. Here she sat, contemplating the brief white-hot affair she and Fletcher would share. She was heading right into the kind of nowhere relationship her mother had never been able to resist. Lolita, though, had always believed that each player she fell for was finally the right one, that she’d found him at last.

Not Cleo. She was cursed with a crystal-clear view of hard reality. Fletcher Bravo was no knight in shining armor. With him, it would be hot and heavy and overwhelming … and brief.

The more Cleo thought about that—about how she was following in her mother’s footsteps without the benefit of her mother’s stubborn and somehow valiant illusions—the more she resisted her longing for Fletcher.

As the week went by, she tried to keep from running into him. In the morning and in the afternoon, when the kids were picked up and dropped off, she stayed away from the five-year-olds’ classroom and off the breezeway where she could easily cross paths with him coming or going.

She avoided him—and she longed for him. She daydreamed about kissing him. And at night her dreams went way beyond mere kisses.

On Thursday, she happened to be in with the three-year-olds again when Celia brought Davey in. J.J. wasn’t with them.

“Where’s that beautiful little girl of yours?”

Celia grinned. “Up at the apartment.”

Since Cleo had access to Davey’s student file, she knew already that Celia and her family lived in one of the big penthouses at the top of High Sierra Hotel. She couldn’t resist asking, “You like it … living on-site?”

Celia leaned a little closer and whispered, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. And J.J.’s with her aunties, Jilly and Jane. They refused to part with her even long enough for me to come down here and drop Davey off at school.”

Cleo remembered what Ashlyn had revealed at her birthday party. “Jilly and Jane. J.J.’s named after them, right?”

Celia nodded. “They’re my best friends. We grew up together, up north in the dinky little town of New Venice. Our husbands are New Venice natives, as well. They all had bad reputations as those wild Bravo boys. We—Jilly, Jane and I—were very, very good girls. It’s the classic story, I guess. A bad boy and a good girl. Sparks flying. Love. And marriage. Though I must admit, when I fell in love with Aaron, I never imagined we’d end up husband and wife. He so was not the marrying kind, if you know what I’m saying….”

Cleo did know. She nodded and made an agreeable noise in her throat, feeling wistful. Celia and her friends were not only happily married to Bravo men, they’d also lived the kind of childhood that Cleo had always longed for. “I know New Venice. It’s not far from Lake Tahoe.”

“That’s it—and hey, why don’t you come on up to the apartment around noon? You’ll like Jane and Jilly. And Jane is cooking lunch for us. She’s a genius in the kitchen. I guarantee the food will be fabulous.”

“Oh, I couldn’t….”

“Yeah, you could. Come on. Say yes.”

What could it hurt? And Cleo was curious about the other two Bravo wives. Plus, she’d liked Celia from the first time she’d met her at the Placer Room that day she and Fletcher had stopped by their table. “You know what? I’ll be there.”

“Great. We’ll set a fourth place.”

Jane Elliott Bravo, who had long, corkscrew-curly black hair and owned a bookstore in New Venice, was five months’ pregnant and thrilled about it. “It’s our first,” Jane announced, a proud hand on her swelling stomach. “Cade wants a little girl. I’ll take either. As long as she’s healthy, that’s all I ask.”

Jillian Diamond Bravo, a fashion plate in black and white with ropes of pearls, black tights and Mary Janes, was an up-and-coming lifestyle columnist in Sacramento. She was holding the baby when Cleo joined them. Jilly gazed adoringly down at the little darling. “I love being an auntie. But a mother? Well, not quite yet.” She beamed them all a broad smile and then grinned at Cleo. “I can see it in your eyes. You want to hold her.”

“You are so right.”

So Cleo took the baby, who waved her plump arms and yawned enormously, then promptly dropped off to sleep. Celia took her and put her in her crib and they all sat down to eat.

Lunch was every bit as good as Celia had promised: an incredible salad of baby greens and glazed pecans, followed by a main course of crawfish étouffée over rice. After the meal, they retired to Celia’s sun-bright living room where the view rivaled the one in Fletcher’s apartment across Las Vegas Boulevard at Hotel Impresario. Jane and their hostess sipped herbal iced tea while Jilly and Cleo indulged in second glasses of an excellent white wine.

Cleo knew she probably should have said no to that refill. The wine was making her just a little bit tipsy. But for the first time in days she found herself actually having a good time.

“I’m glad I came,” she confided. She sipped some more. Delicious. “Though the hard truth is that now I’m having a second glass of this wonderful Chenin Blanc, the rest of my workday will be pretty much shot.”

Celia looked slightly smug. “That was exactly my plan.”

Cleo laughed. “To get me drunk?”

“No, to get you to take a few hours off. I’ll bet by now you need a break.” She turned to the others and briefly explained the job Cleo had tackled and successfully completed in the last few weeks.

“Pretty darned impressive,” said Jilly. “Here’s to you, Cleo.”

Jane added, “We are so pleased that you came to lunch.”

“Oh, me, too,” said Cleo. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

They all rose, clinked glasses and drank.

Just as Cleo was about to sink back into her comfortable chair, Jilly caught her wrist. “Cleo. This watch … Cartier. Oh, I knew it.” She laughed. “I really, really need one of these.”

“It is beautiful,” Jane agreed.

Cleo looked around at the friendly faces of the three women she was so glad to be getting to know—and her throat clutched up tight on her.

She felt tears rising. How ridiculous. She gulped and blinked, trying to force them back down. But they wouldn’t go.

“Oh, honey,” said Jilly, her dark brows drawing together in real concern. “What did I say? I’m so sorry….”

Cleo grabbed Jilly’s hand. Tight. “No. Please. It’s not you, honestly. It’s only …” Her throat locked up tight then, and the silly tears spilled over.

Jane reached for her. Never had another woman’s open arms looked so … necessary. With another huge sob Cleo fell into that warm and welcoming embrace. She bawled on Jane’s shoulder, soaking her soft red sweater, feeling the bulge of Jane’s pregnant belly nudging her own flat stomach. Jane rubbed her back and the other two women made cooing, understanding noises.

“It’s okay….”

“Don’t worry.”

“Just cry if you need to.”

“Just let it all out….”

Jane guided her back to her chair and eased her down into it, and Celia handed her a tissue. Cleo swabbed her eyes and blew her nose and told them, “Oh, I can’t believe this. I never cry like this.” She sobbed some more, took another tissue, blew her nose again.

“What is it?” asked Jane so gently. “What’s got you upset?”

“Yes,” Jilly urged, “you can tell us.”

Celia tried a joke. “What happens in my apartment stays in my apartment.”