Bent not Broken (369 page)

She stared at her feet silently.

“You know I love you and your mom, right? I’d never want anything to happen to either of you.” I hoped the sincerity in my voice was enough to convince her how serious I was.

Snapping her head up, she looked me in the eye. “I…I…” Giant tears pooled and clung to her lower lashes.

Leaning toward her, I added, “I hope I can become part of your family someday.” In some ways, I felt like I needed her blessing.

“I…Yeah, that would be good. I think.” Alexis stammered and clutched her knees tight against her chest.

Smiling, I said softly, “Nothing would make me happier.” Standing up, I softly kissed the top of Alexis’s head and tiptoed back to the room where her mother slept.

I slipped into bed with Salem and curled myself around her, finally losing myself to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

SALEM

Two months had passed since that scary night in Southside. We’d all tried to put it behind us. Business was booming in his recording studio. Our small, sleepy town had been put on the map by King Records, home of Fifth Wheel’s very own Chris King.

Tommy and Jeremy had made several visits to work on their next album. It was fun to sit in on some of their late night sessions. They’d even pulled an all-nighter a time or two. Seeing Chris work, breathing life into the music of his heart, was the most exciting experience. I sat for hours, soaking in the image of him picking out chords and singing his lyrics. Seeing the camaraderie between he and his band mates made my heart soar. I never wanted him to give up music—the very thing that fed his soul.

“What do you say we get out of here this weekend?” he asked me as we lay in bed late one night after a long recording session with Ian Asher, a teenage heartthrob in the making. Ian was one of the new talents who had just signed on as a client at King Records.

“What about Ian?” I asked. “I know you aren’t finished recording him yet.”

He rolled toward me and propped up on one elbow, laying a hand on my exposed hip. “We can be finished by Friday. Alexis is going to her dad’s this weekend. Let’s take off somewhere, just you and me. The break will be nice.” He planted a light kiss on my lips.

I thought about our amazing trip to New York. Getting away would definitely be a nice change of pace. With a spark in my eye, I replied, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Chris smiled and kissed my forehead. “Great. A weekend getaway it is.”

****

Friday came at a turtle’s pace. I had been packed since Wednesday night, so ready to get out of this town for a few days.

“So where exactly are we going Mister Travel Agent?” I teased Chris as we stood in line to check our bags. He had insisted on making all the arrangements, keeping our final destination a secret.

He gave me a sidelong glance, a little mischief in his eyes. “Ever been to Chicago?”

“Chicago?” I asked, confused. I hoped he was kidding. When he said ‘weekend getaway,’ I automatically assumed somewhere tropical.

“You’re a Bears fan, right?” he teased.

My mouth gaped, horrified. Everyone knew I was a Cheesehead. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” he said with a wink.

He’s kidding. We’re not going to Chicago.

I was certain that in Chicago we would be catching our connecting flight to Honolulu or somewhere else beachy, but there was no way we were
just
going to Chicago. Besides, what’s in Chicago that would be considered a ‘getaway?’ I held onto the hope of traveling somewhere tropical until I realized that there was
no
connecting flight while Chris guided me to baggage claim in Chicago O’Hare.

“You weren’t kidding, were you?” The feeling of dread overwhelmed me, thinking I’d soon be forced to endure a Bears game.

“I told you I wasn’t,” he laughed. “You’ll love it.”

I chuckled. “I guess there’s no use for a bikini here. It’s not nearly warm enough.”

“I’m sure there’ll be a hot tub,” he said waggling his eyebrows.

“Ha ha,” I retorted, grabbing my suitcase as it rolled past me on the conveyor. But, to be quite honest, Chicago or somewhere tropical, it didn’t really matter to me. I just wanted to spend time with Chris. This getaway would be perfect.

****

Once we were checked into the hotel room, Chris told me to get ready quickly. He had reservations for us at eight.

By seven fifteen he was pacing the floors. I was just starting my makeup when Chris came up behind me and slipped his hands around my waist.

He watched me impatiently in the mirror. “No amount of makeup could make you more beautiful than you are right now.”

“Oh stop.” I nudged him with my shoulder. “You’re just trying to push me out the door faster.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” he defended himself in mock horror. Leaning in, he kissed my temple. “This weekend is going to be amazing. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

I smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “You must be reading my mind. Oh, by the way, I grabbed some brochures at check-in. There are some pretty cool places here. Maybe we can decide what to do over dinner.”

“Sounds great. Now let’s get a move on,” he teased, smacking me on the butt.

I squealed then shooed him away as I applied the smoky eyeliner around my eyes. “You can’t rush art,” I joked.

****

Before long, we were heading down the highway on our way to dinner. Chris had rented a luxury town car for the weekend. It felt like we were driving a yacht compared to my little Elantra, but the soft leather seats were so comfortable I could almost camp out there.

Twenty minutes into the trip and I’d almost dozed off. “Where are we going?” I said sleepily from the passenger seat.

“You’ll see,” he said, sounding way too pleased with himself.

I huffed, teasing him. “You like to tease people, huh?”
You’ll see.
He’d said the same thing when he’d surprised me with his new recording studio back home.

Chris just smiled. “Let’s make it even more fun. Here, put this on.” He handed me a bandana.

“A blindfold?” My eyes widened, looking at the gray fabric, reminded of that sexy trilogy I’d recently read. I shivered at the thought.

Chris smiled, clueless. “Yeah, it will be fun. You know how much I love surprises.”

“Okay,” I said, skeptical. I tied the bandana around my head and covered my eyes. “I just hope I don’t get carsick.”

“You won’t,” he assured me, rubbing his finger against my thigh. “We’re almost there.”

It felt like we were driving around in circles with the blindfold on my head. I had zero sense of direction, and it certainly didn’t help that Chris’s hand found its way to my inner thigh, softly caressing the exposed skin below the hem of my skirt. I found myself losing my concentration more than once during the trip. Finally, we made the last turn, and Chris stopped the car. As long as we’d been on the road, I knew we couldn’t be in downtown Chicago anymore, unless he’d just been driving around aimlessly.

“Sit here. I’ll come get you,” he whispered. “Don’t take off the blindfold.”

“Okay,” I told him, trying to get my bearings, to no avail. I resisted the urge to cheat and peek out from under the bandana.

Within seconds, he opened the car door and pulled me from the vehicle.

Slipping his arm around my waist, he guided me toward my surprise. “Just a few more steps,” he assured me. His deep, throaty hushed tones sent shivers down my spine.

Excitedly, he held onto my shoulders and directed my feet for their exact placement. Standing behind me, he grasped the blindfold.

“You ready?” he whispered.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said, trembling with excitement.

Removing my blindfold, I opened my eyes. There, standing before me, was the most magnificent sight. A replica of the Leaning Tower of Pisa stood majestically in the middle of a downtown square.

“Chris!” I exclaimed. “Oh my god, it’s…it’s…” I couldn’t find the words.

“It’s where your dad brought you when you were five,” he said softly.

Tears immediately sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. “Oh, Chris, you remembered…This…Oh my god, this is the most amazing gift ever. Thank you!” I threw my arms around him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Chris smiled under my kiss. Pulling away he said, “I figured you couldn’t have imagined all that, so I did some research to find this place. Turns out you didn’t dream that day up with your father after all. It just wasn’t in Italy like you thought. Instead, it was in Niles, Illinois.”

This wonderful man went to such lengths to help me relive a stolen memory in my life. My father had been gone for thirty-three years, but the moment I saw the tower, thoughts of my daddy holding my hand as we stood on the balcony of that beautiful tower flooded my head.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I whispered, “Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”

He curled his arm around my waist, turning to look the majestic building. “You’re so welcome. I’d hoped it would.” Chris said softly, clutching me by my waist. “I checked with the city. We can’t go in. The building has been shut down for years, but we can still enjoy dinner.”

I looked around the empty parking lots nearby. We’d managed to drive out of Chicago and end up in a small village town. The site of the leaning tower reminded me of the downtown square back home. Trees were planted and fountains were built, but people were lacking. It was a quaint little area. “Dinner?” I asked, wondering where all the restaurants were.

Chris slid his fingers down my arm and clasped my hand. “Yep,” he said as he led me to a tiny table set for two near the fountain in the square with a perfect view of the beautiful tower. A red checkered tablecloth with a vase full of roses adorned the table. Sliding the chair out for me, Chris motioned me to sit down. “Mia bella signora,” he said, with a gentleman’s bow. “My beautiful lady.”

“Wow,” I whispered. “You did all this for me?”

“And then some,” he said with a smile.

A man carrying a tray approached our table. “Buona sera. Good evening,” he greeted us.

“Buona sera,” Chris responded.

“Vino?” the waiter asked as he placed a wine glass in front of me, pouring a few ounces.

I swirled the glass and tasted it. Just sweet enough, but not too sweet. “Perfect. Thank you,” I said.

The waiter then poured some wine for Chris and disappeared behind the building.

I looked at Chris who flashed that adorable half grin that I couldn’t get enough of. “This is wonderful, Chris. I just can’t believe you remembered my story from all those years ago.”

Chris’s expression grew serious. “It was the moment I saw you as a person. Not just as a counselor doing her job, but an honest to God
person
, with life experiences and feelings, and hurt and pain.” He paused, seemingly remembering the significance of that moment for him. “It was the moment that changed everything in my eyes.”

I looked up at the tower, remembering the moment my dad and I sat on the sidewalk enjoying an ice cream cone after our climb to the top. It was one of the happiest days of my life…or dreams, as my mother insisted. Sitting here with Chris, I realized after all these years, that day with my father really
did
happen. Thanks to Chris, I’d just learned that my most precious memory with my dad hadn’t been merely a grieving child’s dream after all. I could almost hear the sounds and smell the scents from that day, a moment etched into my memory forever.

Tears slipped from my eyes as Chris held my hand across the table.

“I love you, Salem,” he said, eyes brooding with intensity.

My heart was bursting. “I love you too, Chris.”

Just then, three young men walked toward our table.

I recognized the three faces from a recent interview on my favorite early morning news show.
Il Volo.
The famous Italian pop trio with the voices of opera singers. They immediately began to sing one of their more popular songs, “Màs Que Amor.”

I snapped my eyes back to Chris, surprised. “Il Volo? How did you…?”

“I’ve got connections.” Chris said with a wink.

I couldn’t translate the words, but the song was absolutely breathtaking.

“Wanna dance?” Chris asked.

“Of course,” I told him as he pulled me from my chair.

Grasping my waist, he pulled me close. I could feel the heat of his breath in hair as we gently swayed back and forth. The cool, crisp scent of his cologne wafted in the air. Leaning my head into his chest, I paced my breathing with the beat of his heart. I melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Listening to the three Italian voices croon with their spine-tingling operatic voices, I found myself smiling against Chris’s chest.

As the song came to an end, I lifted my head to look at Chris. He stared down at me with those deep, soulful eyes with which I had easily fallen so hopelessly in love. Leaning down, his lips found mine, soft at first then increasingly more eager. The softness of his lips caused my heart to pound and my stomach to clench. I loved this man more and more every day. I never knew that kind of love before him.

Just then, the waiter returned with his tray. Chris and I sat down as he placed the plates on table in front of us.

“Courtesy of La Tavola Trattoria,” the waiter boasted. “Salmone al ferri e Veal Chop Rosmarino.”

“It looks delicious,” I said, my mouth watering with the smells that wafted off the plates.

Chris smirked as if he knew a secret. “Remember the ravioli from that Italian restaurant that you told us you loved the day your dad brought you here?”

Even after thirty-three years, I could almost taste the sauce in my mouth. “I remember not wanting to taste it because it had ‘green specks’ in it. My dad promised me it was delicious, so I tried it. Then I ate the entire bowl. Best ravioli I’ve ever had. The funny thing is I remember it so well because I insisted that they misspelled ‘ravioli’ on their menu. They left the ‘i’ off the end. I told our server that the cans in my pantry didn’t spell it that way. The waiter just laughed when I told him that. Oh, and when my dad read the menu to me, I couldn’t understand why they’d named their salmon ‘Carlos.’”