House of Payne: Rude (31 page)

It was one of the best afternoons of her life.

She had only seen her father five more times after that, and for the last two visits he’d sent word for her to come to him. Each time she saw him, he was visibly more fragile, so it came as no real surprise in late January when Scorpio—whom she now called Polo—got in touch with her.

“I don’t think it’s going to be long now. Before the rest of the family is called, you and Rudy need to get here.”

Earlier that day she’d received a box full of lovely, glossy-paged copies of her cookbook, and on her way out the door she’d grabbed one and held it to her chest on the drive to Barrington Hills. Like before, Polo greeted them, but this time he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he’d rushed them upstairs to a Baroque-style master bedroom worthy of a Russian Czar, complete with a leather and gold-edged scrolled headboard that was so massive its highest point almost reached the ceiling. The bed, however, was hospital-issue, and it clashed mightily with its opulent surroundings as did various medical machines, IV stand and a medical cart cluttered around the bed. A thin, white-haired man with a stethoscope looped around his shoulders stood facing the windows, hands behind his back and eyes fixed firmly ahead of him. When she and Rude had glanced his way, Polo leaned in.

“He’s one of your father’s oldest friends, as well as his physician. As such, he’s often pumped for information by members of the family, and since he’s an inherently truthful guy, he sucks at lying. So, he has to resort to unusual ways of telling them the truth. Right now, he’s making sure that he can honestly tell anyone that he hasn’t seen any people visiting your papa. It’s a weird system, but it works.”

She’d been too distressed at the time to ask why it had been so imperative that her father’s family members—and logic followed that they’d be
her
family members too—should be kept in the dark that she’d visited. All the mattered was that her father’s eyes had opened, and as she sat with him, those eyes had smiled at her.

For half an hour she had read aloud all the excerpts pertaining to his mother, Dasha, the only family name that had been deemed “safe” for her to use. She also showed him the pictures, though she knew he’d already seen those photos a million times. But his eyes welled up all the same, and when she read the conclusion that held a dedication to all the wonderful people she was proud to say she had come from—both her foster family and her biological one—she watched those tears fall from the corners of his eyes to disappear behind the strap that held his oxygen mask in place. Despite that mask muffling his voice, she heard his words as she closed the book.

“I love you so much,
devochka moya
.”

Until that moment, she hadn’t known her heart could swell and break all at the same time. “I love you too, Papa.”

Two days later Polo had appeared as she and Rude were leaving the apartment building, and she’d known by the look on his face that her father was dead. Polo had been abrupt in warning her away from the viewing, funeral and wake, since the situation within the family was, as he put it, “volatile.”

The way he’d said it, she’d had the distinct impression that the word “lethal” would have worked just as well.

Rude had stayed with her in the apartment the day of the funeral, an event that had been covered by local media. During the brief snippets shown on TV she was surprised to glimpse Cap Fogelmann as a face among the mourners—“He wanted to see who’d turn up, just to keep a security-minded finger on the pulse of the city”—along with a couple other people Rude pointed out as members of the FBI.

“Good thing you’re not there, Sassy,” he’d told her, cuddling her close as they watched the event unfold. “You can bet the Feds are taking pictures of every person there and starting a file on them as so-called
persons of interest
. Your dad obviously wanted to protect you from that.”

That thought helped ease the ache of not being allowed to say goodbye to him in the normal way. But it didn’t erase it completely.

Rude had made sure she didn’t dwell of the loss of her father. He began an all-out search for a bigger place for them, and had insisted she give him a list of things she did and didn’t want in a new home. That, along with getting the final details of the anniversary party ironed out and planning her upcoming book tour that had a huge budget from her publisher—she suspected that was another gift managed by her father even after his death—she’d barely had time to think.

The Dean Martin song came to a close. She looked up at Rude only to find his eyes already on her, something that never failed to make her heart do somersaults. “What?”

“Just thinking that it’s time to get this show on the road.” His eyes behind the mask swept over her face—a face covered in a white half-mask with a corona of purple feathers coming out of it—before he bent for another kiss. “Come with me.”

“Come with you where?”

He ignored her, instead leading her by the hand to the mural of the Panuzzi family tree, now heavily decorated with the purple, green and yellow handprints of the partygoers. When they stopped in front of it, he held her back when she would have gone for the neon green paint to place her print on the tree as well.

“Every year through either pictures or video, I would watch this ritual take place from somewhere in the world,” he said, curling an arm around her while looking at the tree. “Last year, I really thought I’d be home to make this party for the first time. But I got stuck thanks to bad weather, and once again I had to watch everything happen through videos posted online. I remember seeing you, in hot leather pants and a bright purple top…seriously, you were so fucking sexy you’re all I can remember clearly out of all the videos I watched. There was this one clip of you dipping your hand in the paint for the strays, and when your date tried to do the same, you corrected him by guiding his hand to the paint meant for friends of the family. You wouldn’t let him cross that line, because if he’d done that, it would have been a statement that you and he were to be thought of as one unit—like a married couple.”

Sass remembered the moment, just as she recalled her date had been Liam Cadwallader. She couldn’t help but wonder if that should have been seen as an indication of how seriously he’d viewed their relationship.

“That’s when I realized that colors can change, just as people can change.”

She glanced up at him, bewildered. “Change?”

“Think about how much I’ve changed. I went from resenting you because you were going to take up precious bathroom time, to needing to see you again and using that as my inspiration to stay alive. I’m alive because of you, Sass.”

An echo of hollow anguish curled through her, as it always did when she thought of the hell he’d gone through. “You’re alive because you’re the strongest man I know.”

“You made me strong enough to get through that hell, and you know why? Because you’re my weakness. Your father once said that every man has one, and he was right. I knew exactly what he was talking about, because you’re mine, Sass. A weakness that forced me to be stronger than I ever knew I could be.”

“Is that what you and my father talked about when you were alone together? Your so-called weakness?”

“If you mean we talked about you, then yeah. Like any good father, Borysko wanted to know what my intentions were. I told him the truth. I told him that I was waiting.”

“Waiting? Waiting for what?”

“For you.” He turned her so that they faced each other, and he reached around to untie her mask, then removed his own to set them aside. “I’ve been waiting for you to be ready to change colors. I’ve been waiting for you to be ready… for this.”

With his gaze never leaving hers and his hand holding onto hers, he went down on one knee.

Her heart surged into her throat so fast she clamped a hand over her mouth to make sure it stayed inside her body.

“It’s happening.” Somewhere far off, she thought she heard her foster mother’s voice. “Bolo, are you getting this? Look, look, look!”

“I’m looking, I’m looking. Don’t hit my arm, you make the picture go crazy.”

“Quiet, you two.” Scout’s murmur reached her ears. “Ivar’s filming this, and he’s streaming it live on the big screen.”

“Is he using our hashtag? I like our hashtag. Bolo, I think I’ll get us matching shirts with our hashtag on the front.”

Good grief.

“Show me that you’ve left being a stray behind forever, Sassy. Change colors for me and become my family.” Rude’s hands were messing with the one he held, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when the cool slide of a ring around her finger registered. “Say yes.”

A kaleidoscope of memories crashed into her all at once—their first meeting where he announced she wasn’t
welcome
and she wasn’t
home
. Rejecting him when he asked her to dance at Scout’s wedding. His comfortable air as he drank espresso at The Secret Garden. His promise to give her bathroom privileges.

The first time he told her that he loved her.

There was so much he’d given her. So much he’d made her feel. He was her love, her light, her reason to smile. And the amazing thing was, they had only just begun to explore life together.

She couldn’t say anything but yes.

Slowly she reached over, bypassing the green paint of the foster Panuzzis, and put her free hand in the Panuzzi family bowl of purple finger paint. With a blazing smile, Rude rose to his full height and did the same. Bending to capture her mouth with his, he guided her hand to the mural so that they could leave their purple handprints on the tree as one.

“Operation Sassy Pants is now a
complete
success,” he whispered against her lips while the crowd that had gathered cheered. “Mission accomplished.”

Wrapped up in her coat with her mask dangling from her fingers, Sass watched Rude disappear into the gloom of the nearly deserted parking garage. The party had ended half an hour ago and the valet attendants were long gone. Only Scout and Ivar remained, and they were right behind her, boxing up the party’s remains.

“Man, I love these blowouts for Mama Coco and Papa Bolo. I’ve attended every single one since you were just out of high school, did you know that? When I think of March, I think of this party.”

Sass whirled around and found Polo Scorpeone leaning against a concrete pillar, the half-mask of a demonic-looking fox firmly in place.

“Polo… geez, you suck.” Pressing a hand to her thudding chest, she gave him her best glare. “You just gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

She could tell by his tone that he wasn’t. “You don’t still have to watch over me, do you? I mean, you’re released from that, uh, obligation now, right?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” With a shrug, he came away from the pillar, glancing back over his shoulder when he heard sounds from the stairwell—no doubt Scout and Ivar heading their way. “Better make this quick. The less witnesses and questions, the better. Here.” He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a white envelope. “For you.”

She took it and noted the weight of it. “What is it?”

“A key to a safe deposit box that no one knows about, containing your off-the-books inheritance of five million dollars. Which isn’t that much,” he added on an apologetic note while her jaw unhinged and her stomach dropped to her knees. “Your father figured this amount would be just enough to help you and Rudy get started on your new life together, but still wouldn’t be missed once the family did a complete accounting. And believe me, that’s exactly what they’re doing. Every fucking nickel and dime is being fought over like jackals at a carcass, and two members of the family are already dead. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Her shock dissolved into unhappiness tinged with bitterness. “Does anyone care that he’s dead?”

“Some do. Most don’t. It’s enough that you care.” He closed in for a quick hug. “Don’t look like that, Sass. You made the old man’s last days the happiest he’d ever had. I hope you know that.”

The grief that hovered at the edges of her heart threatened to spill over. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Why cry on such a perfect night? Am I right, soon-to-be-Mrs. Panuzzi?” He lifted her left hand, looked at the solitaire diamond engagement ring that sat there with obvious approval, before gracing her knuckles with a kiss. “You father would have been over the moon to see this, you know. A few days before he died, he told me that if he’d searched the world over in order to handpick the man he wanted to look after you for the rest of your days, he couldn’t have done any better than Rudolfo Panuzzi. That guy’s a one-man army, and he guards you like the treasure you are. You be good to him, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best.” The sound of a car pulling up made her look back to watch Rude climb out, his eyes locked on Polo.

“Thought I saw you earlier,” Rude said by way of greeting. “Still on watch?”

“Not anymore, man. As of now, she’s officially all yours to protect.” Dropping her hand, Polo stepped back and nodded to Rude. “You probably won’t see me for a while, if ever. Things are going… a little nuts. Best to make sure we’re not connected in any way.”

If Sass had blinked, she would have missed the concern that went through Rude’s expression. “Call me if you need anything, Polo.”