Scandals Of The Rich: A Façade to Shatter

“I think those things matter, too, Zach. It takes a lot of sacrifice to serve your country in any manner, don’t you think?”

He glanced at her. “You’re right, of course. Still …”

“It’s not the path you want to take,” she said when he didn’t finish the sentence.

He slid the pan onto the stove and added a pat of butter. Then he turned on the burner. “No, I don’t.”

“What do you want, then?”

He looked at her for a long minute. “I want to fly. But I don’t get to do that anymore, no matter that I want to.” The butter started to sizzle. Zach poured in the eggs and swirled them in the pan.

“Surely there’s something else,” she said softly.

His gaze was sharp. “I want to help people returning from the war. It’s not easy to go back to your life after you’ve been through hell.”

Lia swallowed. He was talking from experience. And it suddenly made something clear. “Which is why you speak at these fundraisers.”

“Yeah.”

Yet he wasn’t comfortable doing it. That much she knew from watching the effect on him last night. Oh, he was good at it—but it took a toll on him each and every time. “That’s a good thing, then. I’m sure it makes a difference.”

He shrugged. “It helps fund programs to return vets to a normal life. It also keeps the public aware of the need.”

The eggs set in the pan, and Zach added the cheese. Soon, he was sliding the omelet onto a plate and carrying it to the kitchen island. He turned to look at her expectantly.

“Coming?”

How could she say no? She was ridiculously touched that he’d made her an omelet, and ridiculously touched that he’d shared something private with her. She walked over to the island and hopped onto the bar stool. Zach retrieved a fork and napkin, poured her a glass of juice and sat across from her, chin on his hand as he watched her take the first bite.

The omelet was good, creamy and buttery, with just the right amount of cheese. But it was hard to eat it when he was watching her. She could feel her face growing hot as she slid a bite between her lips.

“You have to stop staring at me,” she finally said when her heart was thrumming and her face was so hot that he surely must see the pink suffusing her skin.

“I want to make sure you eat it all.”

“I won’t be able to if you don’t stop watching me.”

He sighed. “Fine.” He sat back on the bar stool and turned to look out the window. “Better?”

“Yes. Grazie.”

Though she hadn’t thought she was hungry, the omelet was good enough that she took another bite. Lia glanced up at Zach, and her heart pinched in that funny way it did whenever she realized how very attractive he was. And how little she really knew him.

“Thank you,” she said after a minute. “It’s very good.”

“Hard to mess up an omelet,” he said. “But I’m glad you like it.”

“I could,” she said. “Mess up an omelet, that is.”

He turned to look at her. “You can’t cook?”

She shrugged. “Not really, no. Nonna tried to teach me, but I’m hopeless with the whole thing. I get the pan too hot or not hot enough. I either burn things or make gelatinous messes. I decided it was best to step away from the kitchen and let others do the work. Better for all involved.”

“How long have you lived with your grandparents?”

“Since I was a baby,” she said, her heart aching for a different reason now. The old feelings of shame and inadequacy and confusion suffused her. “My mother died when I was little and my father sent me to my grandparents. I grew up there.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose a mother, but I can’t imagine it was easy.”

Lia shrugged. “I don’t remember her, but I know she was very beautiful. A movie star who fell in love with a handsome Sicilian and gave up everything to be with him. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out.” She moved a slice of omelet around on the plate. “My father remarried soon after she died.”

She could see him trying to work it out. Why she hadn’t gone to live with her father and his new wife. Why they’d left a baby with her grandparents. Bitterness flooded her then. She’d often wondered the same thing herself, until she was old enough to know why they didn’t take her back. She was simply unwanted.

The words poured out before she could stop them. “My father pretended like his new family was the only family he had. He did not want me. He never sent presents or called or acknowledged me the few times he did see me. It was as if I was someone else’s child rather than his.”

Zach reached for her hand, enclosed it in his big, warm one. “Lia, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

She sniffed. “Yes, well. Now you know why I had to tell you about the baby. I didn’t have a father. I wanted one.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I understand.”

Ridiculously, a tear spilled down her cheek. She turned her head, hoping he wouldn’t see. But of course he did. He put a finger under her chin and turned her back again. She kept her eyes downcast, hoping that if she didn’t look at him, she wouldn’t keep crying. She didn’t want to seem weak or emotional, and yet that’s exactly how she felt at the moment.

Thinking of her childhood, and the way her father had rejected her, always made her feel vulnerable. Another tear fell, and then another.

Zach wiped them away silently. She was grateful he didn’t say anything else. He just let her cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute. “I don’t know why …” Her voice trailed off into nothing as she swallowed hard to keep the knot in her throat from breaking free.

Zach let her go and scraped back from the island. Another moment and he was by her side, pulling her into the warm solidness of his body.

She pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes. Her arms, she vaguely realized, were around his waist, holding tight. He put a hand in her hair, cupping her head. The other rubbed her back.

“It’s okay, Lia. Sometimes you have to let it out.”

She held him hard for a long time—and then she pushed away, not because she didn’t enjoy being in his arms, but because she was enjoying it too much. Her life was confusing enough already.

“I haven’t cried over this in years,” she said, not looking at him. “I’m sure it’s the hormones.”

“No doubt.”

She swiped her palms beneath her cheeks and wiped them on her leggings. Dio, how attractive she must be right now, with puffy eyes and a red nose.

“It won’t happen again,” she said fiercely. “I’m over it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder—do we ever get over the things that affect us so profoundly? Or do we just think we do?”

Lia sniffled. “I’d like to think so. Not that the past doesn’t inform our experience, but if all we do is dwell on it, how will we ever have much of a present?”