Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (14 page)

He’d probably barked at Angelina enough this morning to warrant this silent treatment. They’d grown a thousand miles apart. Why was he distancing himself from her?

Because you distance yourself from everyone
.

He thought he had changed since meeting her, but apparently not. For now, he was content to leave her to her own thoughts. The expected drama at his parents’ dinner party was enough to keep him on edge.

Going to Aspen together this weekend probably wasn’t such a good idea after all. Perhaps he should have just come alone, but Mama and Papa insisted he bring Angelina along to celebrate their anniversary. He wouldn’t let them down. They liked Angelina a lot.

Hell, so did he.

So why was he forcing her away emotionally?

Because emotions are messy.

Sex, kink—those connections he thrived on. He could make her happy in the bedroom—or playroom or wherever—without having to share his feelings, doubts, fears.

He’d tried to put Melissa’s New Year’s lies behind him, but something kept niggling at the back of his mind. What if she was right and these people weren’t his birth parents?

Why was he afraid to just come out and ask them? Even if they didn’t give birth to him, they’d been there when it counted throughout his life. He loved them and knew they loved him, too.

Of course, that was partly why Angelina was upset with him. She’d been after him about getting the truth clarified, or at least out in the open, for the past six weeks. Why did knowing the truth seem like a much bigger deal to Angelina than to him?

The more she pushed, the farther apart they’d grown.
Merda,
when was the last time they’d had sex? Two weeks? No, more like a month ago. Not because she hadn’t wanted to, but he just hadn’t been in the mood. She’d accused him of using sex to avoid confrontation. Maybe she was right. More and more, he spent time at the store or hiking in the mountains—with or without clients.

But always without Angelina.

“The boys have asked us to come to Leadville next weekend. Matt’s practicing for the upcoming skijoring festival.”

Hanging out with her brothers only stirred up feelings he didn’t understand, as he’d learned at Christmas. He hoped his noncommittal grunt made it clear he didn’t want to spend a weekend with her brothers, much less watch some jackasses on skis being catapulted off a snowmound and dragged by racing horses. There was skiing and there was horseback riding—and skijoring was an abomination of both. Just leave the two sports separate.

“Luke says he has a mustang ready to work with another rider for the festival.”

“Listen, I’m not much on horseback riding.”

“We don’t have to ride. Luke just got a new rescue pony last night. This one’s pretty banged up.”

Marc hadn’t seen much of Luke lately, but apparently Angelina had been keeping in touch with him. Marc trusted Luke not to cross the line from friendship to something more with Angelina, but if Marc didn’t get his head on straight soon and focus more on her needs, who’s to say Angelina wouldn’t go trolling elsewhere?

The deepest commitment Marc might ever be able to achieve was to satisfy her body’s needs. Given how badly he had performed at that lately, he wondered why she hadn’t left him already.

They always do.

No, not always. He’d been the one to leave Pamela, not the other way around. Hard to tell who left whom with Melissa. He’d just been happy she was gone once he saw her true colors.

Dio,
he needed a diversion. “Why don’t we go out and spend some time with Luke instead of going to Matt’s this weekend?” He had missed having Luke around as a SAR partner since he’d moved out to his new place.

“Sure.” The disappointment rang loud and clear in her voice.

“If you want to go to Leadville, go ahead.”

Just don’t expect to take me with you.

They drove on in silence once again. Thirty minutes later, he parked the car at his parents’ condo. Angelina opened her own door before he reached her side of the car, but Marc took her hand to help her out of the Porsche.

Man, they were late. “I’ll get our bags later.” With Valentine’s Day resort packages booked solid at Bella Montagna, the only place for them to stay overnight had been his parents’ condo unit. That certainly might account for some of his anxiety about this trip, too. Was he leaving the bags in the car in case they decided to head back to Denver tonight instead?

Angelina nodded and took a few steps toward the lobby entrance before turning around. “Oh, wait! I forgot the salad in the trunk.”

As he retrieved the bowl, he couldn’t help thinking that her mind must be very busy for her to have forgotten the dish she’d insisted on making for dinner, even after Marc assured her Mama’s chef would have everything covered. Her dish would be the best on the table, though, without a doubt.

Inside the building, Angelina tensed as they stood waiting for the elevator. Was she remembering the last time they had come here? Surely Mama had honored his request and hadn’t invited Melissa here today.

He stroked Angelina’s back, and she turned to him with a tentative smile. He hadn’t noticed the dark circles under her eyes before. He reached up and brushed his thumb across the left smudge.

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” He had been anxious about this visit all week, perhaps even longer. Having Angelina with him helped relieve some of his stress.

She wrapped her arm around his waist, and her smile grew. “I love your family, Marc. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

That made one of them.

The elevator opened onto the penthouse floor. “Marco!” He looked up to find Mama standing in the open doorway to their unit. “And Angelina! So nice to see you both could come.” Mama glanced at the bowl in Angelina’s arms. “What have you done? You did not need to bring anything.”

“Oh, I just threw together a salad. Hope it complements the meal.”

“I’m sure it will. Here, I’ll take it to the kitchen.” She took the bowl. “Please, come in.”

Marc kissed Mama’s cheeks before entering the condo he’d once called home. The place had never seemed particularly cozy. The modern furniture was stark white—well, when he wasn’t trudging through after playing outside, dirtying everything up. He really hadn’t fit in here, even then.

“Marco, Angelina, good to see you both.”

“Happy anniversary, Papa.”

Mama joined them, and Marc and Angelina extended the well-wishes to her, as well. He noticed Papa seemed to be moving a little more slowly. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and his skin rather sallow. Had he been sick? He’d have a talk with Mama later to make sure everything was okay.

His parents weren’t getting any younger. Maybe it was time for them to turn over even more responsibility to their younger children. They should be enjoying some of the money they’d made over the past few decades.

“Let’s ask Marc.” Sandro and Carmella came out of the den, and each latched onto one of Marc’s arms. “Angelina, mind if we steal him for a few minutes?”

“No, go ahead.”

He shrugged helplessly as his brother and sister dragged him into the den and looked back over his shoulder toward Angelina. “Have a glass of wine,
amore
. I’ll be right back.”

She smiled as Papa claimed her arm. “What can I get for you,
cara mia?”

Marc watched them head over to the bar until the doorway to the den blocked her from view.

Sandro steered him toward the sofa. “We have to be quick or they’ll know we’re up to something.”

* * *

Thank God Melissa wasn’t here. Angelina hadn’t been sure if Marc’s mama would finally sever the bond with Gino’s fiancée or not. Hard to know if the woman was still holding on to the fringes of the family, but she definitely wasn’t at the dinner table this time.

“Angelina, if you have time before you head back to Denver tomorrow, I’d like for you to share your recipe for this pasta salad with Chef Alfonse. It’s delicious. Our guests would love it.”

Angelina beamed at Mama’s compliment. “I’d love to. Secret’s in the marinated prosciutto.” She looked forward to having a chance to get a behind-the-scenes look at D’Alessio’s, the resort’s premier restaurant. She’d been doing some catering work, and while Marc’s kitchen was a dream to work in, it wasn’t the same as being in a bustling restaurant.

Marc’s papa, seated beside Angelina, patted her hand. “Why some restaurant in Denver hasn’t snatched you up by now is beyond comprehension.”

“Thanks, Papa D’Alessio. From your mouth to God’s ear.”

Dinner passed with lighthearted banter between Marc and his siblings. Too bad Marc’s Gramps and Karla’s grandmother, Vivian, weren’t here, but apparently they were on a Mediterranean cruise with some of his surviving World War II buddies.

After the table was cleared, the family proceeded into the den. Marc took Mama’s arm and Papa Angelina’s. Carmella and Sandro brought up the rear of the entourage, but Sandro soon took charge.

“Mama, Papa, you sit here on the sofa. We have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Mama truly sounded stunned. “What have you children been up to?”

Sandro picked up the remote and turned the power on the wide-screen TV. He turned to Angelina, “Hope we don’t bore you too much.”

Now Angelina wondered what they had planned, too.

“Mama, Papa,” Sandro began, “Carmella and I have been going through the boxes of old family photos and digitizing them, so we could put them together in a slideshow.”

Marc’s hand in hers grew stiff, and she turned to him, seeing an expression bordering on terror in his eyes. She squeezed his hand, and he gazed at her. Her smile of assurance did nothing to change the look on his face.

What was he afraid of seeing in these photos? Or was he afraid of what he wouldn’t see, such as himself as a baby?

“Everyone take a seat.”

At Sandro’s instruction, Angelina started toward a chair in the corner before Marc guided her to a wingback next to the sofa. He sat first and pulled her into his lap. She blushed at the intimate position, but no one was paying attention them. Leaning in, she gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I promise not to tell a soul about what secrets from your childhood are revealed in the photos.”

The arm under her fingers stiffened, and he stuck his chin out. “I have no secrets.”

Angelina wondered about that, especially after what Melissa had said last month. Sometimes there were things people didn’t know about their pasts that could come back to bite them or family members in the ass, like her papa keeping his cancer a secret. Her mama had wanted her children to remember only that Papa had died a hero’s death. But understanding why he’d sacrificed himself that day rather than allow any other SAR worker to be hurt made him even more of a hero in Angelina’s eyes.

Maybe this was just what Marc needed, though. If he saw himself as part of the family, perhaps some of the insecurities Melissa had stirred would be allayed.

Angelina curled against him. How long had it been since he’d held her like this? Even if he merely sought comfort, she was glad he’d reached out to her.

The first photos showed a house in a quaint village.

“That’s Brescia,” Marc whispered in her ear. “My hometown.”

Angelina remembered her visits to Nonna in Marsala, Sicily, and her throat grew tight. She still missed her grandmother after all these years.
“Bella.”

Mama said, “That house belonged to a dear friend of mine from secondary school.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Carmella interjected. “I thought that was yours and Papa’s house. It was in so many of the photos we went through.”

Angelina looked at Mama, who frowned and paused before explaining, “My sister Emiliana and I lived there, though at different times. Gino and Marco spent many months there. Do you remember any of that, Marco?”

He shook his head in the negative, but his body tensed. She turned back to the screen and saw an image of Mama holding a tiny baby. A woman who could be her twin rested her hand over the baby’s pale-blue crocheted blanket.

“That’s my Aunt Emiliana and Mama at Gino’s baptism. She died young.”

How sad. She looked so vibrant in the photo. Marc’s voice held little emotion, but he probably only knew the woman from photos if she had died when he was very young.

There were a few more photos, all with the same three subjects. Angelina glanced over at Mama, who remained stoic. The inability to express emotion seemed to run in the family. Angelina couldn’t imagine losing one of her brothers and not being a basket case whenever she heard his name or saw his photo. Her heart went out to the woman who always seemed to hold it together, much like Marc did. Maybe that was Mama’s coping mechanism.

“Is that me?”

“Yes, it is, Marco.”

Marc almost sounded surprised to find himself in the show. Melissa’s false accusation really had rattled him. Angelina turned back to the TV to find Marc as a tiny baby with Gino looking on, a protective hand on his baby brother’s head. This time his Aunt Emiliana held the baby wrapped in a pale blue shawl similar to the one Gino had been wrapped in at his baptism. Mama looked at them, dark circles under her eyes. She looked so sad. The two sisters must have been very close.

Out of the corner of her eye, Angelina watched as Papa reached out and squeezed Mama’s hand. Odd that they hadn’t included any photos of Papa in the slideshow yet. Turning her attention to the screen again, that was soon remedied by images of a young Mama and Papa together. The two boys—
Dio,
Marc was still so young, perhaps three or four—stood straight and tall in a family portrait next to his parents in front of a plaster-covered church. Both children stared blankly toward the camera, eyes glossy and tragic, reminding Angelina of images her own papa had shown her of his family after the devastating World War. But this was the early 1980s. Italy hadn’t been involved in a war then. Perhaps this was around the time Emiliana had died. Mama’s face seemed to have aged more, too, in the years since Marc had been a baby in the photos.