smug arrogance in Gianluca’s, and that breaks my heart.
A dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a leopard print jacket passes by, stopping for the spectacle on the sidewalk. Taking a step aside, she stops and watches, her deep-set eyes growing wider and rounder with each word that flies from the mouths of these angry beasts.
“Dio mio,” she says, shaking her head and making the sign of the cross.
“Do you know what they’re saying?” Topaz asks.
The woman nods. “It’s not good. Not good at all . . . That one betrayed that one . . . he stole his fiancée . . . they both loved her since they were kids . . . they all grew up together . . . forgiveness is out of the question . . . the long-haired one is apologizing but the other one won’t have it . . . the sorry one says he’s not sorry for loving the girl, he’s only sorry for hurting the only brother he ever had . . . the tall one says he’s still dead to him and will always be . . . and he’s telling him to stay out of his life . . . and away from his girlfriend . . .”
I glance at Topaz, and she lifts her brows.
“You two are back together?” she whispers.
“It’s looking that way.” Shrugging, I turn back to the men. Ace has backed off a bit, that cherry color leaving his face and his complexion returning to its natural warm tan.
“Ma vaffanculo, traditore.” Ace hurls his final words at Gianluca and waves him off, slicing his hand through the air and making a fist as he walks toward me. Gianluca leaves, head held high. He doesn’t so much as look at Topaz. Climbing onto a parked Ducati, he starts it up and peels off.
The Italian woman watches us all, shrugs, and then heads inside the restaurant.
“There goes my date.” Topaz sighs from the corner of her mouth as she watches the Ducati disappear into a cocktail of headlights and traffic.
“I’m so sorry.” I rub the side of her arm.
Topaz tilts her head, eyes fixed on the cracked sidewalk beneath us. “It’s fine. Beautiful assholes aren’t really my type anyway. Kind of got the impression he was a little bit of a man-whore anyway.” She glances at Ace as he takes heavy strides in our direction. “All right. I need a drink. I’m going to head in and let you two talk.”
Topaz leaves and Ace comes to my side, eyes flicking between mine. His shoulders rise and fall as he pulls in heavy breaths, and everything about him is hot and angry and bitter and yet . . . apologetic.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says.
“Don’t apologize.”
“You okay?” Ace moves closer, cupping my face. His palm is hot on my skin. “I hadn’t seen him in over a year, not since everything happened. I wasn’t expecting to run into him tonight.”
“Who knew you had a temper like that?” I smirk and reach for him, tucking my hands under his arms as he comes closer. It feels good to touch him again. To smile. “It was actually kind of hot. You feel better? You get a chance to say all the things you wanted to say to him?”
“I did.” One side of his mouth curls, and he leans down, his lips smashing mine.
There’s something lighter about him now. I feel it in his touch, the way he breathes, the tenderness in his kiss. I can’t imagine being betrayed like that by a man you loved as if he were your real brother. No wonder he’s been so distraught and tortured and bitter and angry. I can’t blame him at all.
Lifting my hand to his smooth jaw, I pull away and meet his penetrating gaze.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I say.
He exhales, nodding. “We do.”
“But for now, why don’t you come inside and see everyone,” I suggest. “You can even meet my mom . . .”
“I’d love that.”
Thirty-Five
Ace
* * *
“You know, my girls never played sports,” Julie Kincaid says, legs crossed and leaning into me. She hasn’t left my side since Aidy introduced us, and I get the impression that she’s slightly enamored with me, though it could be the booze talking. She’s had her champagne topped off about three or four times in the past hour. “They just weren’t interested. But me? I played softball. I was on a women’s semi-pro team in the eighties. First base was my