Reunion with Her Sicilian Enemy - Chapter two

Evelina had seethed for two days. Oh, she’d kept it to herself, emailed him the pertinent information, but inside she’d seethed. Thankfully, the only person who’d really noticed was her sister-in-law Isa and only because Evelina lived with her brother and his family.

Isa had been persistent about the cause of her foul mood, but Evelina wouldn’t relent. Stefano no doubt knew that Cabbrieli had bought out DVC, but he wouldn’t know that meant she would be working with him since they were in completely different departments.

She didn’t know what her brother’s reaction would be. She’d never shared in detail the full heartbreak she’d suffered. He might not feel protective.

But he might. Or he might tell Lorenzo, who… Well, he’d calmed down some since his marriage and expanding family had settled him. But still. He was a very protective older brother.

Regardless. She could handle Cabbrieli. And would.

But what right did he have to be in her office, so handsome and sure and just like his old self, even with the lines of age on his face, and accuse her of being the perpetrator of all their hurts?

He’d asked her to run away. Not just from the brothers who’d kept her going, but the little ones she’d helped raise. He’d wanted her to turn her back on everyone who had ever sacrificed for her.

And he’d never once tried to understand why she couldn’t do that. Why she could not pick him above everything else. He could not accept compromise as anything other than refusal and a lack of love.

It still burned. Because he had been wrong to think that, of course, wrong to accuse her of all the things he had accused her of. But sometimes, in her worst moments, she questioned if she should have done it. Sacrificed herself for him.

Because no one else in his life ever had.

“It worked out,” she said aloud in her car as she drove to the venue. “We are both successful and happy.”

But happy was…complicated. She loved her job and her family. In so many ways she was fulfilled and content. But…

Nearly ten years was such a long time, and she knew that love she had should have died the moment he refused to acknowledge that her wants mattered at least as much as his.

But it hadn’t. No matter how she’d tried to put herself out there, as her youngest sister often chastised her to do, every date, every kiss had felt like a betrayal of the one man she’d really loved. And no amount of telling herself how he’d betrayed her could seem to take that away.

And he hadn’t changed. Still so damn arrogant, so damn certain. She was so angry with him, all these years later, and still…

She sighed heavily. Her heart had soared at the sight of him. Beautiful and bright, like the first day he’d kissed her.

They’d been thirteen. She had been so…haunted by her surroundings she was certain the cocky boy saw her only as a friend. And then one afternoon he’d swooped in and pressed his mouth to hers.

Then grinned when she stood there motionless and speechless.

I like the taste of you, dolcezza.

She shook her head at the memory that made tears burn in her eyes. She’d been so dazzled by him. Thrilled someone would look at her and see something they liked. Thrilled she’d had a safe place to be herself that did not require worrying about if she was a burden.

She had to shake away all that…past. They’d left it behind when Lorenzo had moved them out of that place. When he had saved them. And she’d lost Cabbrieli when he’d refused to bend—no matter what he told himself all these years later.

Years. Why does he still care about making me crazy all these years later?

She couldn’t let herself consider that question, because it would no doubt lead to her being just as foolish with him as she’d been before. She could grow, she could learn, she could mature, but she wasn’t sure any of those things held a candle to the yearning she still felt for Cabbrieli.

The jerk.

She pulled her car into a parking space and gave herself another glance in her rearview. She’d spent an hour on her makeup. Days planning what she would wear. Even chastising herself that it was foolish and a waste of time, she’d agonized over the perfect image to put forward.

Yes, she wanted to look good. What was wrong with that? Women were supposed to want to shine in front of their exes, and Evelina didn’t care if it was petty, considering that everything about this seemed petty.

She got out of her car and walked into the venue, greeting anyone she’d previously talked to by name.

“Mr. DiAgata is in the main ballroom, Ms. Parisi,” one of the assistants kindly informed her. “He’s with Mr. Antonio.”

Evelina smiled and thanked the woman, then walked to the main ballroom. Mr. Antonio thought they should use it for the event, while Evelina had decided on the smaller ballroom. No doubt Cabbrieli was in there already ruining her plans.

She opened one of the doors and stepped inside. Cabbrieli stood on the other side of the room, chatting personably with Mr. Antonio.

He took her breath, truly. She had meant most of everything she’d said earlier in the week. She was proud of him. He no doubt had worked hard. These had never been his faults. He was—or had been—a good man. Just…young. Immature and desperate and angry.

And, if she was being fair—and she always tried to be, even if it got her into trouble—with ten years of growth and maturity under her belt, she almost understood what had really ruined them all those years ago.

He had been alone, with only his alcoholic father for family. Everyone who should have loved him had deserted him. She understood that, because her father had been his own problem, though she’d spent much of her childhood wishing he’d desert them before he’d finally died.

But she’d had Lorenzo, and her late sister, Rocca. She’d had Stefano, Valentin, Accursia—older siblings who’d protected her and ushered her throughout a tempestuous childhood. Then there’d been the younger ones she’d helped take care of, who had given her purpose.

Cabbrieli had had nothing like that, and so he did not understand her. No matter how much or how little he’d loved her. They had needed understanding, and neither of them had been able to give it.

And now?

Well, there was no now. Not really. He was playing some kind of revenge game, but no doubt a man who looked like that, who was successful and powerful and driven, wasn’t still hung up on his first love.

That was her department.

He turned to face her then, his gaze clashing with hers. All those different colors fighting for purchase—because that was the whole of him. A fight for purchase. And no amount of years made that less impressive to her. No amount of frustration or irritation with him seemed to take away the basic yearning to soothe that war in him.

Did anyone else do that for him? She knew she shouldn’t wonder. She definitely shouldn’t ask. But the question sat there, haunting her.

*

Cabbrieli stood motionless for a beat too long. The change in environment from her turf to a more neutral setting, the knowing he would see her and she would look just as beautiful if not more so than she had, did nothing to ease the punch of her.

She wore a dress today. In blue again, but the fabric reminded him of silk as it moved around her legs. He was reminded, too vividly, of what it was like to slide his hands up those legs. To taste every delicious inch of her. To have her arms around him while she begged him for more.

They had been so young and it was so long ago, it shouldn’t be a memory so deeply embedded on his psyche. But he could picture it all—only those old memories seemed superimposed with who they were now. Because the want was just as deep an ache as it had been before.

How had he thought it could be different?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Antonio. Mr. DiAgata.” She nodded at both of them with the same professional smile. “I thought we’d agreed on the smaller ballroom for the event, Mr. Antonio?”

“There’s a smaller room?” Cabbrieli said, because that was news to him. And he had to think about rooms rather than how she might look all these years later without her dress on.

Mr. Antonio looked chagrined. “I just thought we’d get a second opinion.”

“As I’ve previously stated, money isn’t the issue here. We want a cozier feeling for this event. Let’s move to the smaller ballroom and not waste any more time here.”

It should have been insulting, but she tucked her arm into Mr. Antonio’s and began talking about arrangements they’d no doubt discussed before. In that easy, friendly tone that had Mr. Antonio’s stiff shoulders relaxing once more.

And essentially cutting him out of the conversation so he was trailing after the pair toward the smaller ballroom.

It was tedious. Cabbrieli didn’t care an iota about event details, but he listened and filed them all away. He would never be accused of not knowing what he was about, even if the whole thing bored him to tears.

Except the way Evelina spoke. The quiet smile. The clear capability she had—not just in maneuvering Mr. Antonio, but in making sure she got exactly what she wanted for this event.

He added his own two cents when he could, just to remind her they were working together on this. She could not cut him out. Not again. When Mr. Antonio disappeared to signal the waiters it was time for the tasting menu, Evelina spoke. She did not look at him, her posture ramrod straight as she sat on a dainty little seat and looked straight ahead.

“I have thought through all of this. For much longer than you’ve been with DVC. I don’t really need you here.”

“And yet, here I am.”

Her mouth firmed. “Next I suppose you’ll want to argue about the ballroom choices.”

“No, the smaller one suits your vision. You’re quite right.”

“I am?” She shook her head. “Well, I know I am. I’m surprised you’re willing to admit it.”

“I’m willing to admit all sorts of things.”

“How about the fact that neither of us was the jilted party all those years ago?”

He looked down at her then. That earnest expression that had a crease forming across her forehead. Without thinking the move through, he reached out to smooth his thumb against it. Just as he used to.

She jolted at his touch. But she didn’t move away. She sat there, stiff…but her eyes were not stiff. Wary, maybe. But warm. And the same.

He dropped his hand, frustrated with this thing jostling around inside of him. Like all that old love had never died. Just lived dormant inside of him, disguised as anger. Hurt.

Mr. Antonio reappeared with a staff of people and little plates with bites of food for them to try. Cabbrieli had come to bother her, yes, but he hadn’t come to simply sit here and agree with everything she said.

But that’s exactly what he found himself doing. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the food, the conversation, he just kept watching her. Cataloging all the differences and the way they laid over the core of her, he knew that it hadn’t changed.

When it should have. Leaving him the way she had, taking what Lorenzo offered over him, it should have made her different. Brittle or something.

But she was the same warm, inviting Evelina, with the perfect poise that hid all sorts of secrets. He told himself not to think about where she’d gotten that poise, but he knew too well. Because it was the same place he’d gotten his drive, his conviction, his arrogance and his refusal to be wrong.

At the hands of a terrible childhood they’d had no say in. But she’d had a say in leaving him. She had. And he was here to make her sorry.

He was sure he would.

Until she laughed at something, and it wrapped around him just as it had in the old days. This bright beacon in the midst of so much darkness.

But they were both out of the darkness now. He didn’t need her light. Didn’t want it.

He wasn’t supposed to want it.

Once the tasting menu was decided and they’d both offered their thanks to Mr. Antonio, Cabbrieli found himself walking out of the venue right next to Evelina.

She was a little stiff, but otherwise her professional self. Until she came to a car—clearly hers, since she put her hand on the door handle. But then, in a move of surprise, she dropped it and turned to face him.

“If you think that by ingratiating yourself to Mr. Antonio you will somehow thwart any future events I might plan outside our partnership with DVC, your satisfaction will be short-lived. I have many venues, many contacts, and the bottom line is Parisi is well regarded here in Rome. You cannot somehow…hurt me. If this is some…strange revenge plot against what you think I did to you ten years ago.”

He laughed, because what a pointless revenge that would be. “Hardly, dolcezza. If I was after revenge, I would have taken you and Parisi down a very long time ago. Without you even knowing about it until it was too late.”

She didn’t seem impressed or concerned by that. She folded her arms over her chest. “Why else would you arrive early and be kind to Mr. Antonio?”

“For the hell of it?”

She shook her head, not laughing at the joke. “You forget perhaps that I have known you all along. I know what lessons your father instilled in you. Niceness for the sake of it is not in your arsenal.”

“I was nice to you.”

“Because I was something you wanted, Cabbrieli.” She paused for a moment, then with a too-knowing gaze, changed gears. “How is your father?”

For a moment, he had no words. Because his relationship with his father had always been…complicated. His father had not been a vicious man like Evelina’s, but he had been a drunk.

And then he’d died. Alone. Mostly of his own doing.

“That is not the memory lane I’d like to drive down, Evelina.”

“Yes, you prefer the memory lane where you are the saint and I am the evil woman who cast you aside.”

He grinned. Couldn’t help it. It was not the insult she thought—she’d never been very good with an insult. Her heart was too soft for it.

She was getting irritated enough though to break her professionalism, which amused him. Plus… “I have never considered myself a saint.”

She rolled her eyes and made a move to turn back to her car. But he stopped her. Even though everything in his mind told him not to.

But he was a man who’d been guided out of the slums by instinct—for good and for ill. She looked first at his hand on her elbow, then slowly raised her gaze to his. Her expression was haughty. And he knew he should not smile at that, but he couldn’t quite help it.

She was entirely too beautiful for anyone’s own good.

“I think you should take your hand off me, Cabbrieli.”

“Don’t you wonder?” he asked her, because the wonder was so thick it nearly choked him, and he didn’t think he could exist in any world for another moment without satisfying that wonder.

“Wonder what?”

“What it will feel like?”

This time she did not pretend to misunderstand him. “I know what it will feel like,” she said darkly, a bit like he haunted her even half as much as she haunted him. Good.

“It has been years,” he offered.

She shook her head, but she did not pull her arm out of his grasp when it would have been so very easy to do.

“I’m not sure the years matter,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, all that haughtiness gone. So there was only the same kind of restrained yearning on her face that he felt deep in his soul.

And he knew all the reasons why he should not be pressing on this old wound, but reason could not win in the face of Evelina Parisi.

“Then why resist?” he returned and swooped in to capture her mouth with his.

At last.