An Offer He Cant Refuse - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,114
the deep breams in the world weren't going to fix this. Her sisters would never understand her unless she betrayed her father. The only person who did understand her, the one she was in love with, had betrayed her.
Her head jerked up to stare at the man who held her in his arms.
Oh, God. Oh, God. She'd done the unthinkable. The stupid. The thing she'd feared from the beginning. She'd gone ahead and fallen in love.
She was in love with Johnny.
Her heart stuttered. Her Knees went soft as air caught in her lungs and found no way out.
He just looked at her with that noncommittal expression on his handsome, varsity-captain-of-heartache face.
She opened her mouth to gasp in oxygen and then another wave of anger and despair washed over her, tumbling her heart and her stomach in its wake. He'd made her vulnerable. And weak. Oh, God.
"How I hate what you've done to me," she whispered., "How I hate you."
His eyes closed. "No, Tea. Please. We've got to find a way around all this - our fathers, my mistakes."
There was no way around the fact that by making her fall in love with him he'd won. And she'd lost.
Control. Pride. Power.
Stepping back, she moved out of his embrace. But he grabbed her hands and held them so she couldn't get away. "Contessa, please. I - "
Then Cal was on the dance floor, grabbing Johnny's arm and breaking his hold on her. The lanky man muttered something near the older man's ear.
Then, without looking back, Johnny hurried away from her.
She stared after his retreating form, glad to be rid of him. Glad. With any luck, she'd never see him again.
But no, she wasn't glad, she thought, those frustrated tears pricking her eyes once more.
Because he wasn't the one who got to walk away! His didn't get to be the last words! Maybe that was how to turn this evening into a true triumph. She'd take back her heart and her life by making clear how totally she despised him. Her gaze on the direction he'd taken, she followed.
Tea found Johnny near the lagoon, standing by a section of collapsed retaining wall. Cal was at his side with a flashlight, while Rachele stood a ways off, one hand over her mouth, the other playing with her eyebrow ring. Her head jerked toward Tea.
"Boss!" she called out, darting a glance toward the men. "You shouldn't be out here."
Johnny and Cal spun toward her, and then Johnny sprinted to her side and took hold of her arm. "Contessa, go back to the party," he ordered.
"What?"
His mouth was set in a grim line. "Go back to the party."
"Why?"
He was breathing fast and rough, as if that sprint had been miles instead of a few yards. "Because..." His free hand wiped down his face. "Because, I need you to do as I ask. Please."
"Right." She wrenched her arm from his and stomped toward the lagoon and the broken wall.
The other three converged on her, blocking her view. "You don't want to see this," Rachele said, her voice pleading.
Something cold tiptoed down the back of Tea's naked spine. She'd never liked this part of Johnny's estate, but now it and Rachele's desperate voice were out-and-out spooking her. "What is it?"
Cal looked at Johnny. He rubbed his hand over his face again, then gave a weary nod. The other man handed her something he held, then trained the flashlight on the object.
It was a wallet. The black leather was moldy around the edges of the trifolds, and it felt chilled and damp beneath her fingers. "You found a man's wallet."
"It's your father's," Rachele whispered.
Tea's grip tightened for a minute, then she watched herself unfold the edges. The plastic sleeves inside were a little moldy too, but she recognized what they held as she flipped through them with her fingernail. A California driver's license. Expired American Express and Visa. ATM card from Palm Springs Savings. A snapshot of Tea's mother in a wedding dress and veil, looking young and achingly optimistic.
Then the last photo. Tea almost smiled. The three little princesses, at ages four, six, and six, wearing white velvet dresses and gathered around a Christmas tree. She ran her fingertip over the plastic covering the picture. Her father must have taken it, she was sure, because each daughter wore identical expressions of smugness and joy. I know I'm your favorite, the three little faces seemed to say.
Her father had been so good at making them believe in fairy tales.